Several years ago, I made friends with a guy who volunteered at the same organization as me. He seemed like he wanted to be good friends, but he didn’t act like much of one.
This year marked a decade of marriage for my wife and me, and after our handful of years together, we still have a long way to go.
This Christmas, let’s look for the blessing in the momentary burdens.
“Honey, I’m not feeling well,” I said as my stomach began churning after Christmas Eve dinner at my sister’s house.
Mr. President, I’m writing to tell you that I watched the eulogy you gave your dad this week, and it hit me hard.
It was Christmas of 1984, and my mother crammed my three older siblings and me into a compact car and took us to Arkansas to celebrate the holiday. I vaguely remember it – my mother, on the other hand, remembers it quite clearly. Apparently, it was pretty rough.
Every day in third grade, I cringed when it came time to pay for my lunch – Mom didn’t have enough money for us to pay for it.
The more I let my imagination run wild, the more my life felt out of control. So I found myself trying to get control over everything in the room — my toddlers, my wife, the counter space, the air conditioning – you name it.
One time, I met a D.C. traffic-directing cop in the line at the mall and I remarked how dangerous her job was.
At the time Raquel said her wedding vows, she didn’t realize just how much she was signing up for when she promised to stay with me “in sickness and in health.”