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I am not a good salesman. If I had to make a living selling things to people, I would probably starve.

I was in sixth grade and living in Saudi Arabia when terrorists bombed the Al Khobar Tower there. I felt the blast shake the neighborhood where I was babysitting at the time. When the smoke cleared from the building, where many kids from my elementary school lived, 19 Americans were dead, and nearly 500 people from many countries were injured.

What if we decided to give Jesus our pain and anxiety rather than trying to carry it ourselves? What if we stopped to listen to others around us who are broken and hurt? What if we stood to advocate for justice when we saw injustice happening? What if we chose to love our neighbors, even when loving looks sacrificial?

I can’t tell you how many years I’ve waited to have the conversation.

Leave it to G. K. Chesterton to write an essay called “In Defence of Baby Worship.”

The temple gate was called “Beautiful.” He was called “beggar.”

Crossing cultures doesn’t simply happen when you board a plane or go overseas. 

Black smoke rises from an old apartment building. 

There is a reason why Paul writes about putting on “the whole armor of God” in Ephesians 6:10-18.

In my twenties, I liked a good argument. And I loved to win.