One Easter ago I wrote this. I wasn’t always a Jesus girl. Sometimes, like Peter, I find myself following at a distance until that damned rooster crows to remind me that I am undone, again. And again. And again. Easter is Jesus knowing and doing it anyway.
-Jenna (aka TroubleFace Mom)
“I have a question.”
I had come armed to youth group that night. My questions were a shield, a defense against the clarity of truth that I was earnestly trying to deflect. I’d been reading the Bible in an attempt to find a reason not believe in all the crazy things the Christians (aka freaky Jesus people) believed about Jesus. I was 17. I was angry. I didn’t want a God that called himself Father because if that was the case, then where the hell was He, I wondered? And what could Jesus really have to do with anything? I was walking the line with God and what a maddening, intoxicating time that was. Because I believed in something. I just wasn’t sure what I was going to do if it turned out to be this.
It was my little sister who started it. She went by a…
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