For as long as I can remember, my family has celebrated St. Patricks’ Day like many other Irish-American families: corn beef and cabbage, homemade Irish soda bread, green dye in everyone’s beverages all served on Mom’s best Irish linen tablecloth. Typically, the sound of The Chieftains or Tommy Makem and The Clancy Brothers can be heard on my parent’s stereo.
I encountered Jesus on a trip to a mercy ministry in Bangalore. The people at this particular place were a mix of old, disabled, infirm and insane. But in some pairs of eyes, I could see what Mother Teresa talked about: Jesus in his most distressing disguise. I sat by a woman who was skin and bones. Half-naked and not fully
“God, You have outwitted me!” Isn’t that a delightful phrase?…What a testimony to the providence of God, the working of God’s grace in our lives.
I’m a Yankee. Specifically, I was born in central Michigan, where the air is scented with pine needles and damp sand. I live in northeastern Texas – a region known for its own Piney Woods – but a world away from the cornfields of the Midwest, where I grew up. It may seem like a small question, but how does
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