Back in early December, I was visiting my parents in the midst of what was considered a major ice storm in Dallas. Though it messed up most of our plans for that weekend, it gave me a rare opportunity to spend an extended amount of uninterrupted time with my parents. During that time, my mom and I talked about a time in our family’s past that wasn’t all that pleasant. It involved the church in which I grew up. It was a church my grandpa literally helped build brick by brick and a place where my parents gave years in service and love. It was a part of our family.
Without going into too many details, when I was in high school, the church turned on my parents. Wildly false accusations were raised against them. Long-time friends turned their backs on us. It got ugly. Eventually, my parents found another church, I went on to college, and we all tried to move on.
While we did indeed move on and dealt with much greater, more important challenges in life, that time for my family was a demarcation point in my own life. It marked a time that I no longer felt comfortable in the town where I grew up. After that incident, I began to view the world differently. Hope and trust in others was replaced with skepticism and cynicism. Continue reading →