Once we recognize our faults, blemishes, and undesirable features, we can seek to understand them and displace the imperfection in our lives.
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I hate making mistakes. I almost entitled this issue “Mistakn”, intentionally including a typo, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
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Belonging. When originally approached about this theme, I had topics in mind, some fun stories, perhaps a joke or two. But as I compose this article, none of these come to mind. All that pervades my consciousness is the loneliness and isolation I have experienced in terms of community.
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It didn’t take long for me to learn that I was different. I was waiting in line for my school lunch, standing in front of the counter, my six-year-old self just tall enough to see the cafeteria moms doling out our food, when a classmate came up to me.
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The road I have walked has not always been easy. When I turned nineteen, my parents decided to uproot and move from Pennsylvania to Colorado. At the time, I was partway through my freshman year of college, and it was immediately clear I should not follow them.
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As a young man reading through the New Testament on his own, I envisioned Christian Community to be something like a post-apocalyptic enclave, gathering together in the shadows as the world whirled around them.
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