So, yeah, I watch Game of Thrones. Not a big deal, right? After all, if broadcast ratings are to be believed, over 17 million households watched the most recent episode. I also watch Game of Thrones on a Sunday, mere hours after attending my conservative evangelical church.
Ay, there’s the rub… how dare a professing Christian (especially one whose political views tilt more toward the conservative end of the spectrum) enjoy a spectacle filled with all manner of gross, perverse, and utterly barbaric words/deeds? Does this not contradict numerous Biblical exhortations to live a life of purity and piety?
Continue reading “Cripples and Bastards and Broken Things”
Well… not exactly.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d totally hang out with the guy — and I am very interested in much of what he has to say — but I throw my endorsements around like manhole covers.
That is to say: I like his work, but I certainly have some concerns and ideological quibbles here and there.
Continue reading “Jordan Peterson is my homeboy?”
We buried you today, Virgil. It was a hot, humid, and miserably typical East Texas day in late July.
The ceremony was a blur, leaving all of us feeling worn out, raw, and yet numb at the same time.
Indeed, it was a high school class reunion from hell.
Continue reading “Virgil Eugene Minor IV (1977-2018)”
Today is my forty-first birthday, and it feels… well, anti-climactic. There is absolutely nothing significant about turning 41.
Of course, my birthday falling on a weekday probably didn’t help. This morning I just got up, went to work, ate dinner, went to church, and now I type these words sprawled out on my bed.
Having eclipsed most age-related milestones, it would seem the only birthdays that still “mean something” will be when I surpass another decade. Turning 40, or 50, or 60, or 70, or 80… may be a big damn deal, but add a year and it’s suddenly anti-climax.
Continue reading “XLI (reflections upon my 41st year)”
Last week I had lunch with an elder colleague. We ate sandwiches his wife made and talked about planting. He showed me seedlings in his greenhouse. Our conversation passed from horticulture to civilization and back again almost seamlessly, with the occasional digression into college football. “It looks to be a hard growin’ season,” he sighed, … Continue reading Sowing into the whirlwind
The first day of school is looming and I’m sitting out on my porch, watching my two youngest sons beat the hell out of each other. Oh, it’s not serious. They’re laughing and tackling and trying to strangle each other. I think a ball might be involved. It’s a cool gray day in August and … Continue reading Back To School (Never Enough Time)
Wendell Berry makes me cry sometimes… and by “sometimes” I mean: all the time. Every time I find the time to read his words, I curse the fact that I’ve gone so long without reading him.
Continue reading “Practice Resurrection”