It was past midnight. I was with the guy I had liked for more than a year. We had just left a gay bar and, for some reason, started to talk about Christianity and homosexuality. We were both Christians, but he and I held different views on this matter.
The week before Valentine’s Day, my students taught me a new word, “ship”. According to them, to “ship” means to support or be in favor of two people getting together.
As a “new husband” trying to score brownie points with my wife (and also because I wanted to get our first Valentine’s Day together right), I had been thinking of ways to “die” for my wife (Ephesians 5:25).
I had a difficult conversation with a friend about her upcoming wedding not too long ago. Defending her love for her fiancée, she asserted, “He deserves a second chance. He deserves to be happy and have a happy ending.”
With my Facebook newsfeed dominated by status updates of engagements, weddings, and babies, I thought it was best I got my act together or risk growing old alone.
I blame it on the two cups of tea and one cup of coffee I had earlier that day. Though it was almost 2am, my mind was still active and raring to go.
Six months ago, I would have scoffed at the idea that the most wanted toy for the Christmas season was a toy egg.