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This week's editor's choice: Blest Atheist

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  This week editor's choice:   Blest Atheist by Elizabeth Mahlou Book Description: As a young child, outraged by the hypocrisy she finds in a church that does nothing to alleviate the physical and sexual abuse she experiences on a regular basis, Beth delivers an accusatory youth sermon and gets her family expelled from the church. Having locked the door on God, Beth goes on to raise a family of seven children, learn 17 languages, and enjoy a career that takes her to NASA, Washington, and 24 countries. All the time, however, God keeps knocking at the door, protecting and blessing her, which she realizes only decades later. Ultimately, Beth finds God in a very simple yet most unusual way. A very human story, Blest Atheist encompasses the greatest literary themes of all time – alienation, redemption, and even the miraculous. The author’s life experiences, both tragic and tremendous, result in a spiritual journey containing significant ups and downs that ultimately yield gr...

Morning Prayer: We are the sheep of his flock (Psalm 51)

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  Hm...Aren't sheep wimps? The short answer: no. The psalmist would not have heard “sheep” as weak, passive, or foolish. In the ancient Near Eastern world, “sheep” carried an entirely different emotional weight—one that is sturdy, earthy, and deeply relational. 🐑 What “sheep” meant to the psalmist 1. Sheep were valuable, not contemptible A family’s wealth was measured in flocks. Sheep were food, clothing, sacrifice, and livelihood. To call someone “sheep” was to say: You are treasured. You are the livelihood of the Shepherd. There is no insult in that. 2. Sheep were vulnerable, but not pathetic In the biblical imagination, vulnerability is not shameful—it is simply true . Sheep need guidance because the world is dangerous: cliffs, predators, drought, thieves. To be a sheep is to be a creature who cannot survive without the shepherd’s presence. That is not wimpy; it is honest. 3. Sheep were responsive, not mindless Ancient shepherding was not cattle-driving. Sheep were led by voi...

Precerpt from Grandma Ninja's Training Diary: Bones, Pride, and Proton Pumps

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I used to think bone loss was something that happened to other people — the ones who didn’t train, who sat too long, who gave up on movement. Then one day my dentist looked at an X‑ray and said, “You’ve lost a tooth because the bone dissolved.” That got my attention. Turns out my bones weren’t just aging; they were reacting to my medication. Omeprazole — the little pill that keeps my reflux quiet — was quietly stealing calcium from my skeleton. The irony was rich: I could eat without pain, but my bones were paying the price. I started out with the standard dose: 40 mg twice a day. For months, it worked beautifully for my stomach and apparently terribly for my jaw. When the dentist finally connected the dots, my GI doctor cut it down to 20 mg once a day — a maintenance dose. I added discipline, timing, and gravity to the mix: no food after sundown, no lying flat after meals, and plenty of calisthenics early in the day (a good time to get over any bed behavior before sundown and accounta...