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the end of days

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I’m facing a deadline. It reminds me of the Mayan calendar thing from a few years ago; the world ends at the new year. On January 1, 2015, for the first time in 10 years I will not be a full-time youthworker. In fact, for the first time in nearly 20 years I won’t have

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pot of gold.

So I’m taking an online writing class. We (the Youthworker Circuit) signed me up for it, hoping to find a couple of nuggets for expanding our invisible empire of Wesleyanism. It may yet yield something; unfortunately it begins with addressing people to whom it had not yet occurred to write anything, ever. So there’s some

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oh, there I am.

Ummmmmmmmmmmmm. Sorry about that, if you were following along closely. I took an unscheduled leave of absence from blogging at the end of last spring. I encountered a bit of life change that threw me for a while. I’m re-engaging social media under some new practices. I’ll probably eventually begin to unpack some of my

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flag man ahead

When we moved to the small north Georgia town of Ringgold 5 years ago, we were surprised to discover what a throwback community it was. We’ve lived in and are both from small towns, but the uniqueness of a town where everybody still seemed to know everybody was striking. Other quirks appeared over the years.

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this doesn’t matter a bit.

Except that it was amusing. Both of my boys are delightful goons, but very difficult to wake up in the morning. As a result, there is no one method of waking them that works for any length of time. A couple of weeks is about all you’ll enjoy out of any particular success. So a

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winding down

You know, once all the wheels have come off of the bus the ride isn’t nearly as scary anymore. Slows right down. I had to break dress code a week ago. As my friend Jake & I were finishing our hike on Big Frog, I stepped off of the edge of the trail and rolled

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