Then Moses spoke to the LORD, saying, "May the LORD, the God of the spirits of all flesh, appoint a man over the congregation, who will go out and come in before them, and who will lead them out and bring them in, so that the congregation of the LORD will not be like sheep which have no shepherd." ~ Numbers 27:15-17
The bottom line with the current situation at our church seems to be this: we tried to make a pastor out of a person who never once seemed to be a pastor, and God took action (in the way He so often does) by drying up some pocketbooks.
Things that went wrong:
* The congregation had no prior knowledge of the pseudo-pastor, in terms of truly knowing him or his calling.
* The pseudo-pastor's role was never made clear to the congregation, which led to confusion.
* The pseudo-pastor's calling was openly questioned by members of the church.
* The pseudo-pastor demonstrated no ability to speak with authority or insight into people's lives, no experiential knowledge of the Word of God, no capacity for leadership, and no wisdom or originality when faced with conflicts and problems. Yet he was not immediately removed.
The situation placed stress on the lead pastor, who felt responsible for turning the pseudo-pastor into the real thing; on the wannabe, who really wanted to be a pastor and was having to front like Cinderella's gangly stepsisters when the glass slipper was presented and proved to be eight sizes too small; and on the people who had to suffer through the mess for two years plus.
Okay. So, if the real pastor is called to be an overseer and walk in some other ministry that is outside our local body, then the church needs "a man over the congregation."
No obvious candidate comes to mind. This time around, we need no assumptions or good ideas. We need to be praying, as Moses did, that God will make His choice plain to us.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Early this morning I was lying on the living room floor, just sort of relaxing and praying, when into my head popped a memory of the first time the Word of God was opened to me in a way that stirred my heart. I was raised in church and heard my parents preach countless times, but when I was fourteen or fifteen my mother took me to a meeting in the D.C. area where a man named Wade Taylor was to speak. Brother Taylor is still alive, still fulfilling his work in the Lord.
Vividly I remember his message from the third chapter of Exodus, this portion in particular:
So Moses said, “I must turn aside now and see this marvelous sight, why the bush is not burned up.” When the LORD saw that he turned aside to look, God called to him from the midst of the bush and said, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.”
Taylor’s preaching that night revolved around the idea that God responded to Moses’ turning aside–“When the LORD saw that he turned aside to look, God called to him...” The Lord waited until He had Moses’ full attention, and then the revelation unfolded. The Lord watched for a response. Taylor intimated that we too have the opportunity to “turn aside” to God, to hear His voice and enter into active participation in His purposes. But without that focus, without turning to gaze, the opportunity may be missed.
Brother Taylor is very soft-spoken, monotone even, and he speaks slowly. He doesn’t tell clever stories or jokes or raise his voice or make wild gestures. By the world’s standard of speaking, he is probably not a good public speaker. But the mystery of the thing is that as he spoke, something was extremely excited within me. It was as if every word he was saying was completely new and fresh: I’d heard the story of the burning bush many times, but I’d never heard such real-life application made as to the meaning of the story to my life. I’d never heard preaching like that.
When I went home that night, I was changed. My view of the Bible had changed. I told my father how “no man spoke as this man spoke,” and he smiled as I related all the revelation I had heard, of “all these deep and insightful things.” (My father was a graduate of Pinecrest Bible Training Center, the school Taylor founded in the late ‘60s.) I prayed to God, "Lord, open Your Word to me the way You do for Wade Taylor. Make it as real to me as it is to him."
In short, that night was a definitive moment, a memorial-place. I can trace the beginnings of my own love of God’s Word, and the style of applicatory, expository teaching that I love, to that one night when I sat under the teaching of Wade Taylor for an hour or two, saw a "burning bush" in my own spirit, and turned aside in my heart to “see this marvelous sight.” And now it has become my prayer that God might use me in the same way.
...and my message and my preaching were not in persuasive words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith would not rest on the wisdom of men, but on the power of God. ~ 1 Corinthians 2:4, 5
The remembrance of these things brought a smile to my face.
Vividly I remember his message from the third chapter of Exodus, this portion in particular:
So Moses said, “I must turn aside now and see this marvelous sight, why the bush is not burned up.” When the LORD saw that he turned aside to look, God called to him from the midst of the bush and said, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.”
Taylor’s preaching that night revolved around the idea that God responded to Moses’ turning aside–“When the LORD saw that he turned aside to look, God called to him...” The Lord waited until He had Moses’ full attention, and then the revelation unfolded. The Lord watched for a response. Taylor intimated that we too have the opportunity to “turn aside” to God, to hear His voice and enter into active participation in His purposes. But without that focus, without turning to gaze, the opportunity may be missed.
Brother Taylor is very soft-spoken, monotone even, and he speaks slowly. He doesn’t tell clever stories or jokes or raise his voice or make wild gestures. By the world’s standard of speaking, he is probably not a good public speaker. But the mystery of the thing is that as he spoke, something was extremely excited within me. It was as if every word he was saying was completely new and fresh: I’d heard the story of the burning bush many times, but I’d never heard such real-life application made as to the meaning of the story to my life. I’d never heard preaching like that.
When I went home that night, I was changed. My view of the Bible had changed. I told my father how “no man spoke as this man spoke,” and he smiled as I related all the revelation I had heard, of “all these deep and insightful things.” (My father was a graduate of Pinecrest Bible Training Center, the school Taylor founded in the late ‘60s.) I prayed to God, "Lord, open Your Word to me the way You do for Wade Taylor. Make it as real to me as it is to him."
In short, that night was a definitive moment, a memorial-place. I can trace the beginnings of my own love of God’s Word, and the style of applicatory, expository teaching that I love, to that one night when I sat under the teaching of Wade Taylor for an hour or two, saw a "burning bush" in my own spirit, and turned aside in my heart to “see this marvelous sight.” And now it has become my prayer that God might use me in the same way.
...and my message and my preaching were not in persuasive words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith would not rest on the wisdom of men, but on the power of God. ~ 1 Corinthians 2:4, 5
The remembrance of these things brought a smile to my face.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Three Famines
There are three famines recorded in Genesis: one during the life of Abraham, one during the life of Isaac, and one during the life of Jacob. Each was integral to the unfolding purpose of God in the lives of the fathers.
In Abraham’s case, he went to Egypt to find food (Gen. 12). There is nothing in the text that says God directed him to Egypt: he just went. While in Egypt, Sarah was taken into Pharaoh’s harem and Abraham’s tendency to lie and cover his ass got everyone into trouble. When they finally went back where they belonged, the family had procured an Egyptian bondwoman named Hagar, who would be the mother of Ishmael and cause a lot of problems.
In Isaac’s time (Gen. 26), he demonstrated that he was Abraham’s offspring by lying about HIS wife Rebekah while in the land of the Philistines. (Chivalrous dudes, here.) And this after God had said, “Don’t go to Egypt, now, like your Daddy did. You stay in the land I’ve promised.” In other words, he was afraid of being killed even after God promised to keep him and bless him.
And lastly we have Jacob, who had to practically be kicked into the land of Egypt. He was unwilling to leave the promised land, choosing to send his sons there and back again to buy grain. God appeared to him at Beersheba (46:2-4) to assure him that everything was going to be fine, and that He would surely bring Jacob back to the land of promise.
Three famines, three generations, three different responses, same God working all things for good to those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose.
Jacob’s hesitancy to leave the land is, I think, one example of why God loved him and disliked Esau. For all his faults, Jacob was a man with an eye to the promises of God: he believed what God said. Jacob was willing to deceive his father to receive his blessing. Jacob wanted to wrestle, to contend his way into the eternal blessing. From birth his life was marked by a struggle to become something more than what he was. He honored his parents by not fooling around with the Canaanite women. He refused to be buried in Egypt.
Esau, on the other hand, was carnally minded. He sold his birthright for a bowl of beans. He grieved his parents by marrying the daughters of Canaan and Ishmael. He had no vision, no godly passion, no eye to the future, no treasure of God’s heritage.
Jacob, the rapscallion, was precious to God because he had a heart for something more than just the here-and-now. And God wasn’t ashamed of him or of his dysfunctional fathers.
“I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” ~ Exodus 3:6
In Abraham’s case, he went to Egypt to find food (Gen. 12). There is nothing in the text that says God directed him to Egypt: he just went. While in Egypt, Sarah was taken into Pharaoh’s harem and Abraham’s tendency to lie and cover his ass got everyone into trouble. When they finally went back where they belonged, the family had procured an Egyptian bondwoman named Hagar, who would be the mother of Ishmael and cause a lot of problems.
In Isaac’s time (Gen. 26), he demonstrated that he was Abraham’s offspring by lying about HIS wife Rebekah while in the land of the Philistines. (Chivalrous dudes, here.) And this after God had said, “Don’t go to Egypt, now, like your Daddy did. You stay in the land I’ve promised.” In other words, he was afraid of being killed even after God promised to keep him and bless him.
And lastly we have Jacob, who had to practically be kicked into the land of Egypt. He was unwilling to leave the promised land, choosing to send his sons there and back again to buy grain. God appeared to him at Beersheba (46:2-4) to assure him that everything was going to be fine, and that He would surely bring Jacob back to the land of promise.
Three famines, three generations, three different responses, same God working all things for good to those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose.
Jacob’s hesitancy to leave the land is, I think, one example of why God loved him and disliked Esau. For all his faults, Jacob was a man with an eye to the promises of God: he believed what God said. Jacob was willing to deceive his father to receive his blessing. Jacob wanted to wrestle, to contend his way into the eternal blessing. From birth his life was marked by a struggle to become something more than what he was. He honored his parents by not fooling around with the Canaanite women. He refused to be buried in Egypt.
Esau, on the other hand, was carnally minded. He sold his birthright for a bowl of beans. He grieved his parents by marrying the daughters of Canaan and Ishmael. He had no vision, no godly passion, no eye to the future, no treasure of God’s heritage.
Jacob, the rapscallion, was precious to God because he had a heart for something more than just the here-and-now. And God wasn’t ashamed of him or of his dysfunctional fathers.
“I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” ~ Exodus 3:6
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Fly, Free Bird
Then the LORD spoke to Moses, saying, "This shall be the law of the leper in the day of his cleansing. Now he shall be brought to the priest, and the priest shall go out to the outside of the camp. Thus the priest shall look, and if the infection of leprosy has been healed in the leper, then the priest shall give orders to take two live clean birds and cedar wood and a scarlet string and hyssop for the one who is to be cleansed. The priest shall also give orders to slay the one bird in an earthenware vessel over running water. As for the live bird, he shall take it together with the cedar wood and the scarlet string and the hyssop, and shall dip them and the live bird in the blood of the bird that was slain over the running water. He shall then sprinkle seven times the one who is to be cleansed from the leprosy and shall pronounce him clean, and shall let the live bird go free over the open field.” ~ Leviticus 14:1-7
It’s my habit to read in the Scriptures nearly every morning (and some evenings), so I intend to use this journal to jot down notes from my readings, but I’ve gotten so far behind in my notes I don’t know what to do. For one thing, I can’t read the Bible if a laptop is humming and shining at me from across the table: it’s too distracting and I want to punch its cycloptic face in. So I’ve been putting notes in a composition book thinking I’ll type them out later, but then I never seem to have time. I suck.
Anyway, it’s Saturday morning and I’m currently in that penultimate page-turner, Leviticus, the third book of the Torah. And like all of God’s Word, it is alive, it is fire, it is food for the hungry. The above text jumped out at me as such an evocative picture of God’s mysterious plan of redemption.
The priest is God’s agent in this affair, he symbolically represents the Lord. He goes outside the camp (condescending, as it were, to the sinner’s level, reaching out to the afflicted in the place of rejection and destitution), toting the sacrifice consisting of two birds, some cedar wood, a scarlet string, and a branch of hyssop.
The scarlet string is a symbol of the blood of Christ. It was a scarlet cord that Rahab the prostitute hung outside her window when Jericho was taken, so that she and her household were saved when God overthrew the city.
God directed the Hebrews to use hyssop branches to smear sacrificial blood on the posts of their doors before the Lord’s Passover. When the Lord killed the firstborn in Egypt, He passed over any house where He saw the blood of a perfect, spotless lamb. After his sin with Bathsheba, David prays, “Purify me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.” (Ps. 51:7)
Wood is always present at a sacrifice, though this is an unusual sacrifice. Wood is necessary for burning. When Abraham offered Isaac, Isaac carried the wood. When Christ offered Himself, He carried the wood (the cross).
In other kinds of ritual sacrifices involving birds, both birds were slain. But this offering differs because only one of the birds was killed; the text says it was slain “in an earthenware vessel over running [Hebrew: living] water.” In other words, the blood of the sacrifice was to be mixed with moving water in a clay vessel. In John 7:38 Jesus says:
He who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, “From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.”
And Paul writes in his second letter to the Corinthians (4:7-12):
But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body. For we who live are constantly being delivered over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death works in us, but life in you.
The offering in Leviticus is a shadow of the work God would perform through the death of Messiah. The death of one bird was only half of the sacrifice, because the other was dipped in the blood and water and then set free. The death of the one made possible the freedom of the other, and the two parts of the sacrifice together paved the way for an unclean man or woman to be reunited with God and His people.
Jesus shed His blood, and we are now the living sacrifice. We are the bird set free.
I urge you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship. ~ Romans 12:1
It’s my habit to read in the Scriptures nearly every morning (and some evenings), so I intend to use this journal to jot down notes from my readings, but I’ve gotten so far behind in my notes I don’t know what to do. For one thing, I can’t read the Bible if a laptop is humming and shining at me from across the table: it’s too distracting and I want to punch its cycloptic face in. So I’ve been putting notes in a composition book thinking I’ll type them out later, but then I never seem to have time. I suck.
Anyway, it’s Saturday morning and I’m currently in that penultimate page-turner, Leviticus, the third book of the Torah. And like all of God’s Word, it is alive, it is fire, it is food for the hungry. The above text jumped out at me as such an evocative picture of God’s mysterious plan of redemption.
The priest is God’s agent in this affair, he symbolically represents the Lord. He goes outside the camp (condescending, as it were, to the sinner’s level, reaching out to the afflicted in the place of rejection and destitution), toting the sacrifice consisting of two birds, some cedar wood, a scarlet string, and a branch of hyssop.
The scarlet string is a symbol of the blood of Christ. It was a scarlet cord that Rahab the prostitute hung outside her window when Jericho was taken, so that she and her household were saved when God overthrew the city.
God directed the Hebrews to use hyssop branches to smear sacrificial blood on the posts of their doors before the Lord’s Passover. When the Lord killed the firstborn in Egypt, He passed over any house where He saw the blood of a perfect, spotless lamb. After his sin with Bathsheba, David prays, “Purify me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.” (Ps. 51:7)
Wood is always present at a sacrifice, though this is an unusual sacrifice. Wood is necessary for burning. When Abraham offered Isaac, Isaac carried the wood. When Christ offered Himself, He carried the wood (the cross).
In other kinds of ritual sacrifices involving birds, both birds were slain. But this offering differs because only one of the birds was killed; the text says it was slain “in an earthenware vessel over running [Hebrew: living] water.” In other words, the blood of the sacrifice was to be mixed with moving water in a clay vessel. In John 7:38 Jesus says:
He who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, “From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.”
And Paul writes in his second letter to the Corinthians (4:7-12):
But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body. For we who live are constantly being delivered over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death works in us, but life in you.
The offering in Leviticus is a shadow of the work God would perform through the death of Messiah. The death of one bird was only half of the sacrifice, because the other was dipped in the blood and water and then set free. The death of the one made possible the freedom of the other, and the two parts of the sacrifice together paved the way for an unclean man or woman to be reunited with God and His people.
Jesus shed His blood, and we are now the living sacrifice. We are the bird set free.
I urge you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship. ~ Romans 12:1
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Jacob Have I Loved
Years ago when I first started reading the Scriptures, I held a primarily Armenian philosophy when it came to man’s salvation. That is, I believed it was up to people to make a choice between God’s ways and their own ways, and that their salvation depended upon that choice.
But the more I read in the Word, the more Calvinist I become. I’ve done recent readings of how God “hardened” the heart of Pharaoh for His purpose (to reveal Himself both to His people and to the rest of the world), how He gave Joseph a vision of the future which caused him considerable trouble and which he did not ask for, and how Jacob the deceiver was preferred in God’s eyes over Esau (Romans 9:13).
These things can’t be explained away by modern Pentecostal/Charismatic theologians, who have a (good-intentioned) desire to keep the focus on people’s choice and personal responsibility.
Could Pharaoh have let the Hebrews go at the first request? Could Esau, the firstborn, have received Isaac’s blessing? Could Reuben, not Joseph, have been the rightful leader of his family? Did any of these people have a choice?
I’m not sure we do, either.
What inner passion compels us to seek God’s friendship and mourn hurting Him? What drives us to seek His face even when He seems contradictory or doesn’t meet our expectations in some way? Is it something of ourselves?
Absolutely not. The choice is not mine, but His. The desires, the prayers, the longings, the deep sighs for God, for reality...these emanate from God Himself within me.
“You did not choose Me but I chose you, and appointed you that you would go and bear fruit, and that your fruit would remain, so that whatever you ask of the Father in My name He may give to you.” - John 15:16
“...just as He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we would be holy and blameless before Him. In love He predestined us to adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the kind intention of His will, to the praise of the glory of His grace, which He freely bestowed on us in the Beloved. In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace which He lavished on us. In all wisdom and insight He made known to us the mystery of His will, according to His kind intention which He purposed in Him with a view to an administration suitable to the fullness of the times, that is, the summing up of all things in Christ, things in the heavens and things on the earth. In Him also we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to His purpose who works all things after the counsel of His will.” - Ephesians 1:4-11
But the more I read in the Word, the more Calvinist I become. I’ve done recent readings of how God “hardened” the heart of Pharaoh for His purpose (to reveal Himself both to His people and to the rest of the world), how He gave Joseph a vision of the future which caused him considerable trouble and which he did not ask for, and how Jacob the deceiver was preferred in God’s eyes over Esau (Romans 9:13).
These things can’t be explained away by modern Pentecostal/Charismatic theologians, who have a (good-intentioned) desire to keep the focus on people’s choice and personal responsibility.
Could Pharaoh have let the Hebrews go at the first request? Could Esau, the firstborn, have received Isaac’s blessing? Could Reuben, not Joseph, have been the rightful leader of his family? Did any of these people have a choice?
I’m not sure we do, either.
What inner passion compels us to seek God’s friendship and mourn hurting Him? What drives us to seek His face even when He seems contradictory or doesn’t meet our expectations in some way? Is it something of ourselves?
Absolutely not. The choice is not mine, but His. The desires, the prayers, the longings, the deep sighs for God, for reality...these emanate from God Himself within me.
“You did not choose Me but I chose you, and appointed you that you would go and bear fruit, and that your fruit would remain, so that whatever you ask of the Father in My name He may give to you.” - John 15:16
“...just as He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we would be holy and blameless before Him. In love He predestined us to adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the kind intention of His will, to the praise of the glory of His grace, which He freely bestowed on us in the Beloved. In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace which He lavished on us. In all wisdom and insight He made known to us the mystery of His will, according to His kind intention which He purposed in Him with a view to an administration suitable to the fullness of the times, that is, the summing up of all things in Christ, things in the heavens and things on the earth. In Him also we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to His purpose who works all things after the counsel of His will.” - Ephesians 1:4-11
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Children's Church
This is just a quick note to myself, because I’m prone to forget why I do things I do. I’m stupid that way, or maybe I just get busy and move on to the next thing in my head.
Anyway, last week during the church service I finally made the decision that I would not have my children going to “children’s church” anymore. It’s something that’s always bothered me, but because they often seem to enjoy the experience I was hesitant to keep them from it. Rebekah especially likes going to children’s church, mostly because of the social aspect of hanging out with other girls.
Here’s the problem. I don’t buy into this idea of telling kids how important they are to the church and then carting them off to a separate room. This is exactly what happened last Sunday morning.
I see no Biblical foundation for the idea of children’s church. Every instance in Scripture, from the tent of meeting in the Torah, to the disciples shooing the little children away and Jesus telling them to knock it off, kids are observed with their parents, hearing the Word of God, seeing the worship, and learning the ways of God, not at some dumbed-down kid’s level, but at the same level as everyone else.
A child’s spiritual tutor from Genesis to Revelation, as prescribed by God, is not a youth minister or children’s church leader. It’s Dad. And Mom too, of course. But Dad is supposed to be leading his family into the worship of God and remembrance of His Word.
“These words, which I am commanding you today, shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your sons and shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up.” (Deuteronomy 6:6,7)
In other words, the place kids get their spiritual direction isn’t from a weekly hour of watered-down milktoast spew parroted from the lips of a stranger, but from day-to-day life with Dad and Mom.
The American church’s love of “children’s ministry” has grown from the factual necessity that fathers aren’t there.
Bottom line, my kids belong with me and Jessica. Pursuing God as a family is a goal of mine; I’m not into concepts that bring greater separation.
And the second problem is that the pseudo-pastor’s daughter is a snotty, spoiled little priss of a thing and she fosters a clique-y, nasty atmosphere in the place. And I don’t want my daughters learning that behavior or thinking it’s cool.
Anyway, last week during the church service I finally made the decision that I would not have my children going to “children’s church” anymore. It’s something that’s always bothered me, but because they often seem to enjoy the experience I was hesitant to keep them from it. Rebekah especially likes going to children’s church, mostly because of the social aspect of hanging out with other girls.
Here’s the problem. I don’t buy into this idea of telling kids how important they are to the church and then carting them off to a separate room. This is exactly what happened last Sunday morning.
I see no Biblical foundation for the idea of children’s church. Every instance in Scripture, from the tent of meeting in the Torah, to the disciples shooing the little children away and Jesus telling them to knock it off, kids are observed with their parents, hearing the Word of God, seeing the worship, and learning the ways of God, not at some dumbed-down kid’s level, but at the same level as everyone else.
A child’s spiritual tutor from Genesis to Revelation, as prescribed by God, is not a youth minister or children’s church leader. It’s Dad. And Mom too, of course. But Dad is supposed to be leading his family into the worship of God and remembrance of His Word.
“These words, which I am commanding you today, shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your sons and shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up.” (Deuteronomy 6:6,7)
In other words, the place kids get their spiritual direction isn’t from a weekly hour of watered-down milktoast spew parroted from the lips of a stranger, but from day-to-day life with Dad and Mom.
The American church’s love of “children’s ministry” has grown from the factual necessity that fathers aren’t there.
Bottom line, my kids belong with me and Jessica. Pursuing God as a family is a goal of mine; I’m not into concepts that bring greater separation.
And the second problem is that the pseudo-pastor’s daughter is a snotty, spoiled little priss of a thing and she fosters a clique-y, nasty atmosphere in the place. And I don’t want my daughters learning that behavior or thinking it’s cool.
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