A little over a decade or so ago I read a book that transformed my view of the Bible. The book was Philip Yancey’s “The Bible Jesus Read.” … I read another book recently that may change as dramatically the way I read the New Testament, or at least the Gospels. Lois Tverberg’s “Walking in the Dust of the Rabbi Jesus” helped to transport me to the time and culture of Jesus on earth.

During the weekend we had opportunities for moderately safe adventures, including hiking and repelling. Some men went fly flishing too, though I’m not sure there’s much danger in that. There would have been if I’d gone along.

My second annual review at my first church in Toledo was a hard one to receive. The first year, that honeymoon year, had gone quite well. The second year not as much.

I don’t know whether this is true or not, because I have no knowledge of the legal profession, but I’ve seen this on law shows and movies. When one agrees to a guilty plea, typically resulting in a lesser punishment, they must admit their guilt in open court.

I have a hard time watching baseball teams like the Yankees and Red Sox, not just because they are evil AL East empires with vast (and unfair) payrolls, but because I never know who the players are, since they don’t imprint players’ names on the backs of their jerseys. In reading John’s gospel you’ll discover that he never mentions himself by name.

I’m considering shutting down SWYW. That doesn’t mean I won’t continue to write. I will. It’s just I think I’ve gotten off course with my initial commission to write. It was two and half years ago that I sensed God telling me to write. Since then I’ve written a lot, some good, some not so good. Writing for me was supposed to be an artistic outlet, as well as a manner of pastoral communication — sharing the truths of Scripture using my own voice, as a preacher without a pulpit.

I spent most of my high school years not following Jesus. Not until my senior year did I go back to church, but even then I easily compartmentalized that aspect of my young life. Therefore, I was never really forced to acknowledge that I could possibly be — or at least be becoming — a Jesus freak, as D.C. Talk would put it.

Some ten years ago a friend of mine handed me a burned copy of David Crowder Band’s Can You Hear Us? I admit I wasn’t too fond of it initially. I assumed they were just another band coming out of the UK and could have sworn Crowder’s accent originated across the pond. An accent, yes, but a Texan one.

Jesus reminds them that they need to get off the ground and arrest him, to do what they’d come to do, to participate in the fulfillment of prophecy and the plan of redemption.

Micah and I were in a public restroom a couple weeks ago. I was trying to help him wash his hands, which proved to be difficult due to the height of the sink — we use a stool at home — and the faucet was one of those push-on varieties, the kind that you have to press every couple of seconds. I had to keep telling him that, no, we weren’t done yet: “I still see bubbles. Let’s get all the bubbles off.”