American Christianity’s no-cost discipleship


A Syrian refugee and her newborn, photo by Russel Watkins, Dept. for International Development

“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” – Dietrich Bonhoeffer, leader in the German Confessing Church

Today one of my Facebook friends compared the Middle Eastern refugees to snakes. Not a few of the refugees, mind you, but all of them – complete with side by side pictures of a writhing pile of rattlesnakes and a crowd of refugees. When I tried to engage with him he suggested I post my address so that “they” (I guess he and the 165 people who had liked his status) could send refugees to my house. Frankly, I don’t care if refugees have my address, but I’m not offering it to 166 American bigots.

This friend (who is no longer my Facebook friend) identifies as a Christian. He called 11 million men, women and children snakes, and he will go to church this next Sunday and pray to the same God to whom I pray. I am not convinced that we share a common faith.

Comparing refugees to snakes may be the worst thing I’ve seen, but not by much. Over the last few days I’ve seen Christians say, over and over, that the refugees are not our problem, might have diseases, might be terrorists, might cost us money, only want to use us, and besides, “They’re not even Christians.”

There is room to discuss vetting and funding and logistical concerns.  No one that I know is suggesting that we eliminate all security measures and hang out at the airport with “ISIS welcome here” signs.  But these days, even suggesting that Christians acknowledge the humanity of other humans is too much for some people.

A few months ago I saw the leaders of countless churches rising to fight against same sex marriage based on a handful of scriptures. There are hundreds of places in the Bible that address caring for the poor, refugees, widows, orphans, foreigners, and (because Jesus was nothing if not inclusive) our enemies. But where are those same Christian leaders? Where’s all that zeal for the Bible now?

Church, for the love of God, BE THE CHURCH. Jesus died for us, yes, but first he spent three years teaching us what it means to follow him and we have made obedience to him optional. We value our comfort and wealth more than the lives of our fellow humans.  We have come to believe that discipleship should cost us nothing.   This isn’t the gospel: it’s some syncretistic monstrosity – the Church of the American Way of Life.

I am starting to think that America needs a new Barmen Declaration, a new Confessing Church, and a whole lot more people reading Bonhoeffer.

Posted in Bible, Christianity, church, politics, religion, spirituality | 4 Comments

What, you too?


“Friendship is born at that moment when one man says to another: “What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . .” C.S. Lewis

I bought a t-shirt at the Storyline Conference.  It’s a great t-shirt:  a calming shade of blue, a very soft cotton.  I love it already.  I also love what is says:  “Your story matters.”

I spent days at the conference plotting out the major turning points in my life, examining my roles and relationships, learning how to craft a better story.  All of this was inspiring, but there was a big question below the surface, pressing in on me at every moment:  what next?  I’ve spent several months living with that question.  Having lost my minister’s license, how do I proceed in ministry?  God called me, the body that has been given the authority to affirm that call has said “No”-  so what  now?

I still don’t know the answer, which is fine.  Really, it’s fine.  I mean, you can’t expect a three day conference to sort out your entire life, can you?  Maybe I wanted God to split the heavens and show up with a five point plan for me, but deep down I knew that wasn’t realistic.

Nevertheless, I did get a revelation of sorts.  It came when I put on that t-shirt.  “You story matters,” my t-shirt said.  But why, specifically?  How?  If I’ve been called to the care of souls (which I still believe, license or not), how does my story aid me in that endeavor?

So standing there in front of the mirror in my new shirt, reading it backwards, I suddenly thought, “My story matters not because it’s unique,  but because it’s not unique.”



I mean, I understand that in its sum total my story is probably fairly unusual.  I don’t know a lot of other homeschooling feminist film critic defrocked pastor-moms.  But the pieces of my story?  Not a one is unique to me.  And here’s the good part:  that’s what makes them useful.  That’s what makes them meaningful, in the most literal sense.  All language is a social phenomenon, and certainly that includes our stories.  In the play Shadowlands, playwright William Nicholson has C.S. Lewis say, “We read to know that we are not alone.” We write, I think, for the same reason:  for connection.

“Tell me your deep, dark secret; and I will tell you mine.  Is that your deep dark secret?  Oh, well, never mind.” – Vigilantes of Love

I don’t know if I’ve discovered some profound  insight, or something that everyone else already knows.  Either way, it feels new to me.  If I was the only mother who had ever failed spectacularly, why bother admitting to it?  If I was the only one who had ever strained against gendered theology, if every other woman was content with submission and domesticity, why bring it up?   I tell the truth about my life because experience has taught me that there is always someone out there who needs to know that they are not alone.  Do you want to know that someone understands something of your anxiety and depression, your crises of faith, body image problems, sexual shame, ADD, general rage against the machine attitude?  I’m your gal.

But that list of “issues” is not all of me, I realize.  And maybe I don’t talk about the rest often enough because I’m allergic to sounding like Pollyanna.  It’s not simply my pain that I have to share, but hope that’s come out of pain – because (to be a bit cliché) I’m not who I want to be, but thank God I’m not who I used to be.  My story includes significant growth as a parent, finding my voice as a woman in the church, relief from grief and shame, channeling my anger into advocacy, and….well, I still live with the ADD, as anyone who knows me well can affirm.   My story is an ongoing mixture of challenges and change, and I want to offer it not because it’s special but because it’s universal.  Because your story, too, is one of challenges and change.

Maybe, reader-friend, if we could meet for coffee this afternoon we would find the places were our stories intersect.  And I could say, “Me too!  You’re not alone.  This can get better. Let’s do this thing together.”

“One thing I do know:  I was blind, but now I see.” – John 9:25

For now, aside from any credentials I may or may not receive, this is what I know about my ministry.  I am useful insofar as I am willing to share my life with others so that they won’t feel alone; so that they will feel less ashamed; so that they won’t give up.  My story contains a lot of crap.   Also a lot of grace, more love than I will ever deserve, some really funny stuff, and increasing amounts of hope.

I’m not suggesting that everyone needs to go around being emotionally naked, or that we should all be constantly spilling our guts.  That can be a shtick, and Lord save me from that shtick!  Even vulnerability can be faked.  But I don’t know…it seems to me that all that’s been stripped away in recent years has brought me to this place:  not much reputation to protect, not much to lose, with a hunger to connect over true stories.  Yours. Mine.  Flawed central characters.  Crazy plot twists.  The occasional villain.  Stories leading some place good, stories that haven’t yet reached their ends.  And always, always stories that allow us to say to each other, “What?  You, too?”

Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

First, Compassion: Compassion Fatigue Can Come Later


Mohamed Azakir/World Bank

We’re exhausted.  My last post was written in the days immediately following the SCOTUS same sex marriage decision, and it seems the entire summer has been one long stream of public controversies, celebrity scandals, tragedies, disasters and culture war battles.  This week alone our social media feeds have been filled with dead police officers, Kim Davis, Lila Perry, the humanitarian crisis in Yemen, destruction of historical sights by ISIS, and the latest outrage quotes from Trump.  We are worn out with arguments and laments and calls to action.

But in the middle of all of of this noise, there were photos of a tiny boy in velcro sneakers, lying face down in the sand.

Aylan Kurdi insisted upon our attention.  Thank God, after the first few hours we began to see photos showing Aylan in life, smiling next to his brother, Galip – who also died in the waters of the Mediterranean, along with their mother, Rehen.  Suddenly the stories we’ve heard about this refugee crisis, the numbers we’ve ignored – all of this white noise behind our outrage over dead lions and marriage licenses and Ashley Madison –  it had faces and names.


Mohamed Azakir/World Bank

But this is how social media works:  in the past two days I’ve seen dozens of stories about Aylan Kurdi, and dozens more about the refugee crisis.  It is front and center, which means it is momentarily inescapable.  We are grieving and distressed and horrified together, and all of this emotion is our collective catharsis.  Soon we will have had enough of thinking about it and we will play a subtle trick on ourselves.  We will believe that our thinking and feeling was actually doing something.  A few days of reading statistics and weeping over photos will serve as what we owe to Aylan and Galip and Rehen, and the millions of other refugees clinging to leaky rafts, crowding train stations, squeezing through barbed wire fences.

“I can’t take it.  I can’t think about this anymore,” we’ll say, and most of us will experience compassion fatigue without having actually done anything.  I know this cycle because I go through it over and over again.

UNHCR/D. Kashavelov

UNHCR/D. Kashavelov

Please, if you are like me – quick to feel and slow to act – can we do better this time?  Can we do something in response to the largest refugee crisis of my lifetime?  Can we take seriously the brotherhood of man, the idea of loving our neighbors – beautiful notions that mean nothing, nothing, nothing if we are never moved to act.

Others  have already done the work of finding ways we can help, and I will pass a few of those along to you.   You may not be able to do very much, I may  not be able to do very much, but we can do something.  Let’s pay attention a bit longer; let’s stave off the very valid excuses until we have performed at least one small act to relieve the suffering of our brothers and sisters.  The compassion fatigue can wait.

Mohamed Azakir/World Bank

Mohamed Azakir/World Bank

Churches of the Nazarene (my denomination) are caring for Syrian refugees in both Jordan and Syria.  To learn how to donate toward their work, go here.

My friend Cris sent me the link to a fundraiser for a Syrian Christian community (in one of the remaining safe zones) that is caring for 800 refugee families.

Ann Voskamp has written an extraordinary post on the refugee crisis, including five ways we can act.

Catholic Relief Services does good work, and is serving refugees both in the Middle East and in Europe.

Finally, here’s a petition asking our federal government to commit to the resettlement of 65,000 Syrian refugees (we’ve accepted less than 1,000 in the last four years).

Posted in news | 1 Comment

At Pride, in the name of love

pridefest1I was at St Louis Pride this weekend.

Saturday night, as I felt more and more anxious about being “outed” as a Pride attendee, I decided I needed to write about it; face my fear head on.

I could tell you that I was there in  my capacity as a pastor (or pastor-without-papers, as I think of  myself as the moment), and that would be true.  God told me to go several months ago, and I kept trying to figure out a way to really represent Him.  Carry a loving sign?  Hand out some kind of scriptural trinket?  Counter-protest the protesters?  I never came up with a good plan, though,  and that was part of the reason I was anxious that first night.

“How will I justify this?  How will I explain being here to the people who would freak out over me being here?  I’m not doing anything special.  I’m not being especially Jesusy right now.  I’m sitting on the grass listening to music, surrounded by – to be frank – a lot of gay people.  This is exactly the sort of thing that gets me in trouble with other Christians.”

My friend Tina was with me at Pride.  She’s a free-spirited Jesus-loving hippie who has no concerns about what the church folks will think of her hanging out at a Pride Fest.  She was delighted to be there, basking in the general laid-back, accepting attitude.  Tina is not gay, but she still somehow seemed to be in her element.  As for me….I was struggling a bit.  It wasn’t culture shock or disapproval.  It was just that creeping fear of being found out by my church, my extended family, my homeschool friends.  What would they say if they knew where I was?

And so here I am, making a decision not to hide where I’ve been this weekend.  And what’s more, while I hoped that God would use me as a gracious presence at Pride the reality is that I received far more grace than I was able to give.

What did I see?  Lots of color.  People of all ages.  Many, many families.  A two hour parade.  Lots of dancing.   Very few things (but admittedly a few) that curled my hair.

pridefest2What did I do?  I ate Greek salad, clapped and waved during the parade, collected free swag (mostly beads),  sat on the grass and listened to music, danced a little, did a lot of people watching.

At lunch on Sunday, Tina and I shared a picnic table with two men named Anthony and Mike.  Anthony is married to a different Mike, but his husband had to work and so Anthony was doing Pride with his best friend.  Both Anthony and Mike were friendly and cheerful and a little bit silly.   Anthony mentioned that his 18 year old daughter was at Pride for the first time, and he was trying to keep his drinking under control for her sake.  “She goes to church with her mother,” he said, “so she’s getting a lot of messages from that.  But she knows that we love her.”  Mike interjected to tell us that Anthony’s ex-wife still think he can “pray the gay away”.

Tina and I were standing in a line when a young man turned around and said, “You two are gorgeous, I want you to know.  And you’re inspiring.  I want my boyfriend and I to be just like you someday.”  We were puzzled by this, and Tina laughed and said, “Well, we’re just friends.”  The boyfriend spoke up and said,  “How long have you been friends?”
“Two years.”
“Really?  You give off a vibe like you’ve known each other for a long time!”  I replied, “It does feel like we’ve known each other for a long time.”  Then I basked in the glow of being called gorgeous.

We spent a long time sitting on a curb listening to cover bands, watching the crowd in the street.  One 30-something lesbian couple caught our attention with their exuberant dancing.  They must have noticed us, too, swaying back and forth as we sat on the curb.   One of the women ran over and grabbed both Tina and I, pulling us onto the street to dance.   And so we joined the crowd and danced along to a medley of Michael Jackson songs.  At the end of the dancing there were hugs all around.

What I saw this weekend was mostly people relaxing and having fun.  Yes, some people were drinking too much and behaving accordingly – but that’s true at Cardinals’ games and wedding receptions, too.  Daytime Pride, at least, was far more family-friendly than I expected.  The mood was jubilant (in part because of this past week’s SCOTUS decision, I’m sure), and it really did seem like a place where every age, every race, every body type, every style was accepted.

People want to be accepted, you know.

At Pride, straight couples and gays and lesbians and trans folks sing along together to a cover bands version of “Don’t Stop Believing”.  Children get their faces painted and teenagers play volleyball and it all seems so benign, so much like every other public gathering in these parts.  So why was I afraid?

This post is not about sexual ethics or politics or court decisions.  I think religious pluralism requires that we practice our various expressions of faith alongside each other without imposing religious convictions on each other.  For me, that means that a distinction between civil and religious marriage has always made sense.   But I’ve said that before.

This post is about me wanting the relief of not hiding, of speaking the truth – even if the truth is just that I went to Pride because I heard God calling me to go.  But in the end, I didn’t go to preach.  I just went to be with people.  I laughed at Anthony’s jokes, and cheered for the band in the parade and hugged friends I ran into and enjoyed the event just like everyone else was enjoying the event.  I think I felt safer when I imagined somehow having a “purpose” that would protect me from criticism.  But I’m letting that go.  Many of the people I was with have never had that protection, and never will.   I’m afraid to admit I went to a festival, but they’ve lived with fear of rejection (or worse) all their lives.  We Christians often talk about being “above reproach” and while I get the point, I think we sometimes just like to be “above”.  I am tired to trying to be above.  I want to just be among, for a change.

What else can I say?  I love my Jesus, who befriended everyone.  And I love that he’s pulled me out of my insular shell and into places I would never have gone before.  I was wrong in the past for thinking that people who are gay are any more screwed up than the rest of this screwed up human race.  I’m sorry that I ever said one word that made them feel less precious to God than I am.  Right now, I have nothing but love.

By the way, I did have a sign, and that’s basically what it said (with credit to Derek Webb).  I held it for a while in the parade, and then set it down so that I could clap.  It blew away from me, across the barricade and landed face up on the street.  The sweet young man to my right said, “Isn’t that your sign?”
“It’s okay, I was getting tired of holding it.”  And ironically, I think more participants in the parade read the sign on the ground than had noticed it in my hand.  It was just a disembodied message now, but I hope it was exactly what someone needed to hear.

I was wrong.  I’m sorry.  I love you.


Posted in Christian Ministry, Christianity, church, homosexuality, spirituality | 13 Comments

17 thoughts on not being a pastor

stopsign1.  I never much liked the title anyway, so that’s lucky.

2.  When I first heard that I might not be relicensed this year I was panicked, angry, hurt, and desperate to get the Credentials Board to change their mind.  By the time the door closed firmly behind me (yesterday) I knew it was in everyone’s best interest for us to part ways.  So thank you for that, God.  I almost feel relieved right now (though I know that grief is on its way).

3.  You can explain and explain, but sometimes people are just not going to see things the way that you do.  That doesn’t reflect negatively on you or them.  It’s just reality.

4.  I am very slow in learning #3.

5. I’m much stronger than I used to be and quite capable of advocating for myself.  Yay, me.

6. To be honest, I  wish I’d made a career plan at some point.  I  mean, another career plan.

7. When God asked me to give my life to His church, I thought He meant in the church.  Frankly, though, I don’t feel like my ministry in the local church has been very fruitful.  The most meaningful work I’ve done in the last several years has happened outside the church walls.  So maybe, like John Wesley, the world is my parish.  Or at least the coffee shop, or Denny’s, or the movie theater, or the internet.  That’s not so bad, is it?

road  closed8. I keep telling myself that the classes I’ve already finished were not wasted.  Ordained or not, I’ve gained a lot valuable information.  And if anyone has a job for someone who who has completed most of the course load for ordination in the Church of the Nazarene, I’m your gal!

9. I am, and will remain, a a church geek.  I still want a copy of Mildred Bangs Wynkoop’s “A Theology of Love”.  I will never stop wearing my “Female Theologians Rock” button.

10. I love my church, and I remain convinced that I fit somewhere in my denomination.  It’s still a big tent.  Unfortunately for me, ordination comes through a much smaller and regionally-determined tent.

11.  I have nothing to hide, so if you want to know why I wasn’t relicensed, I’ll tell you.  But ask me privately (in person , in an email or Facebook message, whatever).  I’m afraid if I try to explain it in a post I’ll either misrepresent the Credentials Board’s perspectives or my own.  I assure you that it’s nothing scandalous; just irreconcilable differences.

12.  If you care about me at all, please don’t use me as an excuse to bash the Church, or I’ll just feel super guilty and compelled to rush to Her defense.  #askmehowIknow

13.  Everything that has happened feels, to use a “Law and Order” phrase, like the fruit of the poisonous tree.  The extra scrutiny from the Credentials Board started with the false accusations I wrote about last summer.  It certainly rankles my sense of justice that someone lied about me in order to prevent me from being ordained, and now that all the dominoes have fallen he’s getting his way.  I remind myself often that I can’t frame this as winning and losing….but it’s not easy.  You guys, I’m struggling a lot with forgiveness.  It’s so hard when the other person won’t acknowledge that they’ve wronged you, and some of the people around you diminish what’s been done, and you feel like “the wicked prosper” while you’re flattened, and humiliated and feel like damaged goods, and there’s no real recourse.

14.  That got a little dark.  Sorry.  I know Jesus understands being betrayed by a friend, so that helps.  And I trust that eventually this pain has to dull.

open road15.  Here’s what I won’t miss about being a licensed pastor:  being afraid to speak.  Maybe  my compulsive, possibly pathological, need to share what’s in my head would have inevitably gotten me in trouble – even without the poison tree.  Pastors are expected to be very, very careful and to not admit to too many questions.  And I am a fool who rushes in and has tons of questions.  I want to tell my truth without fear again.  I look forward to that.

16.  I know that even sharing this much will be considered bad form and un-Christian by some people.  We have this idea that we protect the church by promoting the good stuff and hiding the bad stuff, but I’m an increasingly bad hider.  In case you haven’t figured this out yet, I love the church.  I don’t tell my story to shame the church but because it’s my story.  And I want to tell it.

17.  I’m still crazy about Jesus, and I know He’s crazy about me.  He’s brought so many beautiful people into my  life in the last several years, so many rich experiences, and even though I have no idea what’s ahead I trust Him with it.  Somehow this is going to be okay.  I wanted you all to know what’s going on because some of you have been with me on this journey since I embraced God’s call.  I don’t know what’s next, but to quote Gungor (and my next tattoo) “This is not the end.”

Love, Sharon

Posted in Christian Ministry, Christianity, church, religion, spirituality | 8 Comments

Religious Freedom, Priorities and a Terrible Anniversary

freedom for all hoosiersMy thoughts are a bit scattered today.  I’ve been remembering.

Have you been paying attention to the news out of Indiana this week?  Gov. Pence just signed their Religious Freedom Restoration Act into law despite a loud outcry and threats of losses to the economy over what many perceive as granting the “right to discriminate”.  They may have a point, since the bill was proposed shortly after Indiana legalized same sex marriage, and the law effectively gives businesses the right to refuse service to gay customers on religious grounds.

But there’s more to religious freedom than this one cultural behemoth – same sex marriage – isn’t there?  I’ve been reading article after article on Indiana’s new law and on similar laws in 19 other states, and the federal law which preceded them all, signed into law by President Clinton in 1993.  Maybe, I kept thinking, these laws have real importance for protecting religious minorities.  Maybe we should be talking about that, about how to protect Sikhs and Muslims and Orthodox Jews, and all of the other groups in this country that are vulnerable to religious oppression.  Why must this be framed as the anti-gay bill?  Why must we always go straight to the narrative that tells us that Christians are out to get gays?

And then I was reminded of what happened just over a year ago.  March 26, 2014, World Vision – the massive Evangelical child sponsorship non-profit – reversed its decision to open hiring to gay Christians in same sex marriages.  That policy of openness had lasted only two days.  As soon as the decision to hire gays was announced a tsunami of criticism hit World Vision, with high profile Christian leaders accusing the organization of rejecting biblical authority and caving in to the “homosexual agenda”.  Richard Stearnes, the president of World Vision and a man who had devoted his life to serving the poor, was now a wolf in sheep’s clothing.  Within the first 24 hours the Assemblies of God had counseled its members to disassociate from the ministry.

And disassociate people did.  Before it was all over, World Vision had lost 10,000 child sponsorships (Update:  World Vision’s end of the year report  now calculates between 15,000-19,000 sponsorships lost due to the controversy).   Think about that:  thousands of Evangelicals weighed priorities in the balance and decided that the battle against same sex marriage was more important than feeding, clothing and educating children that Jesus might well have called “the least of these brothers and sisters of mine”.

I was heartsick and angry then, and I said so.  In a comment on a blog post I said that I was no longer comfortable calling myself an Evangelical because of episodes like this.  And to be clear, I was upset both by what was happening to innocent children and by what that said to our gay brothers and sisters.  I remember one gay Christian writing, “It’s as if thousands of people have just said, ‘We hate you so much we’d rather starve children than let you have a job in a Christian organization.'”

I know what will be said.  “This isn’t about hate, but about truth.  We are just trying to uphold traditional marriage.  We won’t compromise.  We may hate the sin, but we love the sinner.”

It felt like hate, even to me as an observer.  I’ve watched people rush to Phil Robertson’s defense after he said vile things (repeatedly), and brutally attack Jars of Clay lead singer Dan Haseltine after he had the temerity to express sympathy for civil same sex marriage.   I’ve seen Christian pastors counsel parents to shun their gay children and I’ve heard this defended as a loving choice – even while the stats on homelessness and suicide in the young LGBT community pile up.

So last year the reaction to World Vision felt like the last straw and I said, online, that I wouldn’t call myself an Evangelical anymore.  I wanted to be an ally for my LGBT brothers and sisters, I said, and it seemed there was no room for someone like me in the Evangelical movement.   I said things I shouldn’t have said, and I was held to account for my words.   It turned out to be kind of an ordeal, and I got through it only be clinging to Jesus and telling the truth.  But whatever flack I took for losing it online was nothing in light of the losses to World Vision and the pain suffered by gay Christians.

And here I am a year later thinking, “No wonder so many outside the church think Indiana’s new law is targeting gays.” I remember last year, I remember the clear priority of so many people who call themselves Christians, and I want to mourn.  If the world sees the church as anti-gay even more than pro-Jesus, well, who is to blame for that?

I am still an Evangelical in the best sense of the word, but I’m afraid that the best sense has been swallowed up by politics and hostility and fence building.  If it seems crazy or paranoid to you that gay people in Indiana are afraid that Christians will oppress and ostracize them if given the chance, just remember this time last year.  There were 10,000 votes sending that very message.

Posted in Christianity, homosexuality, politics, spirituality | Tagged , , , , , | 5 Comments

More of This, Less of That, 2015

In no particular order:

this american life

More of this.

More reading quality fiction…..Less scouring the internet for things about which to be outraged.

More cleaning my house…..Less wondering why no one is cleaning my house.

More open, honest conversations with open, honest people…..Less beating my head against conversational brick walls.

Call the Midwife

More of this.

More listening to NPR and discovering new (to me) music…..Less Pitbull.

More watching good movies and catching up on TV shows I’ve missed (for instance, currently, “Call the Midwife”)…..Less flopping down on my bed and watching reruns of “The Big Bang Theory”.

More going on dates with my husband, playing games with my children, cuddling with my dog and hanging out with friends who love me…..less trying to impress a world full of people who really couldn’t care less what I  think, wear, do or say.


Less of this.

More writing because I love writing…..Less writing because I feel like I have to weigh in on every hot topic.

More running and strength training…..Less griping about my out of shape body.

More fruits and veggies…..Less eating junk food like I’m an immortal.


More time loving and being loved by Jesus (consciously, deliberately)…..Less time defending him.  He does alright for himself.

I will be 50 two months from today.  I plan to make this a banner year.


Posted in aging, resolutions | 3 Comments