Showing posts from 2019

The Pajama Package

We accidentally sent a package to our old house. It contained Christmas pajamas for the kids. These pajamas were critical to operations in the Hannon household. See, we needed them for a cute Christmas picture. Our first attempts at obtaining this sacred package involved a call to the store. After minutes on hold and a merry-go-round conversation (the type of discussion that is verbose without accomplishing anything at all), we were told to call FedEx. The discussion with FedEx was more fruitful, but it left us with the option of canceling the delivery and thus the order and thus the sweet deal Kate worked out for the beloved pajamas OR retrieve the package from our old house. I voted to cancel the order. Kate voted for me to get the package from our old house. Guess who won? I called our realtor and asked if she would reach out to the new owner of the old house to warn them of the ever-so-important delivery. She did and we worked out an arrangement for me to pick


It’s 2:15 in the morning and my son is thrashing in his bed. He’s hurting. He has a fever. It hurts to lay still; it hurts to move. He had surgery about a week ago and his recovery was going well, until it wasn’t. The ER doctors sent us home around 10:30PM. We see the surgeon again tomorrow AM. Tonight, we wait. Tonight, he thrashes. Tonight, he cries. Tonight, I cry too. I cry, but I’m not sad. I’m angry. I’m agitated. I’m frustrated. I’m feeling sorry for my son. And, in my worst moments, I’m feeling sorry for myself ( seriously, Scott, get over yourself ). I try to sooth and reassure him, but sometimes I break. I whisper calming things to him, but sometimes my voice gets louder and shakier. I pray . I lament to God, how can you let him suffer like this? Help him. Please. My son groans; I groan. I wonder, does God groan? His crying wakes up his brother who starts crying too. Then, his crying wakes up his mother who starts crying too. Now, we’re all crying a

Awkward, Again.

So, I’m by myself in Sheboygan, Wisconsin at a bar that is waaaaaaaayyy too hip for me (and, quite frankly, I cannot believe there are places in Sheboygan that are too hip for me). Ten minutes ago, I asked the receptionist in the hotel lobby where the “cool kids” grab dinner (I, by the way, did not sound like a “cool kid” when I asked that question). She sent me here.   I’m desperately trying to fit in. The only problem is it is awkward. No, actually, I’m awkward. I want to order a beer but based on the tap handles it looks like my options are clown juice, buffalo something, or Budweiser (and I’m not ordering Budweiser).  I say, “Can I just have a pale ale?” The bartender asks if I want  circus-something  or  bison-whatever . “Whatever most people like,” I say. He asks if I want a pint or a mug. I say, “Whichever is bigger.” A moment later he approaches with a beer in the biggest mug I have ever seen. As I take my first sip, I look like a toddler trying to drink milk from a


They didn’t teach me this in seminary , was the only thing I could think while standing in a flooded kitchen at church with water pouring in from the drains in the floor. (Yes, you read that correctly. Water was pouring IN from the drains that are supposed to let water OUT.) I was overwhelmed, at a loss, and quite literally up a particular creek without a paddle. I didn’t know what to do or where to start. I felt inadequate and resented the world around me.   I’ve thought that a lot lately:  they didn’t teach me this in seminary . I’m nine years into my call at the church I serve and by now I expected to have things figured out. Unfortunately, with every passing day, week, and year I have found myself confronted more and more with situations that are beyond my control and questions for which I do not have the answer.  And I know a lot of people who are not in professional ministry who feel that way too.  There are many times in life when we find ourselves feeling like we missed