If a writer specifically references publicly available material without a citation, the audience is left to wonder what he might be hiding.

The first thing Orison said to me today:

I made a video of a fun, clappin’ song, daddy.

You can post it.

I generally prefer the prodigal to his sibling.

Apparently, a slovenly lech is more likable than a character that strikingly resembles me.

If the dust-up surrounding Enns’s suspension from WTS motivated me to buy his book, his Amazon sales must be through the roof.

[Asking an author] “What did you mean by this book?” is to invite bafflement: the book itself is what the writer means.

Dorothy Sayers, The Mind of the Maker, 45

Liberman on “correct grammar”:

Many people believe that stipulation of shared linguistic norms is essential to communication…. [T]his idea is transparent nonsense.

It’s time Bufalo Chipotle Sauce received blogospheric accolades.

It really is the best.

Look for it wherever fine Mexican sauces are sold.

Any thoughts on the Holman Christian Standard Bible (a “contemporary English” version)?

(Jollyblogger recommends an interview about the HCSB’s modernization of English.)

For me, the rare joy of exquisite songs arriving unexpectedly outweighs the more predictable pleasure of simply pressing play whenever I want.

To revise and correct [yourself, and] to forsake an unjust argument in the…heat of dispute, are rare, great, and philosophical qualities.

Montaigne, “Of the Education of Children“

Technical language is fine.

Just beware of this likely reaction: “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I’m not curious.”

Update: This video proves my point:

I have no idea if it’s a joke. I hope so. Although, it’s funnier if it’s not.

(via CommonCraft)

Never mind that cell phones are beyond ubiquitous—recently I almost got caller-ID…

…but neither of our home-phones have has a digital display.

(Thanks, of course, to my mom for the grammatical correction.)

My wife is writing a series of posts on how to care for a grieving friend.

I guarantee it will be helpful.

Orison: It’s consterant.
Me: “Consterant”?
Orison: That’s when things’re neat.

Have your kids invented any words that are now in your vocabulary?

God used Deborah when Barak wouldn’t step up.

Couldn’t this also (sometimes) be God’s way of matching faint-hearted fellows with gutsy girls?

There’s nothing “big” about admitting when we’re wrong. All it shows is that we have at least a rudimentary connection with reality.

Should we interpret worship songs according to the Bible passages the songs are based on or according to what the songwriters meant?

We sat near some encouragingly awful singers at church yesterday—vociferous and atonal, contentedly disregarding everybody but the One they were serenading.

Orison: What are knots?

Me: Strings that are tied up.

Orison, holding a shoestring: Here’s another knot.

Me: Nope, that’s an aglet.

Sometimes I confuse grace with subtlety, gentleness, and conciliation, but isn’t God’s grace just as often blatant, aggressive, and even flat-out inflammatory?

We made a playdough tomb last year. Yesterday, Jesus-the-stick-figure was inside it. Today, it’s empty. Orison is enthralled by this.

Me too.

God saved us from sin…

…with our sin.

…with our worst sin.

…with our worst possible sin.

…with the worst possible sin.

(From a post I wrote for last holy week.)

Empty hangers, empty closet, empty clothes.
Empty crib, empty bath.
Empty bottles, empty breasts.
Empty lungs, empty blood, empty heart.
Empty grave.

It’s been 6 months, and every day Felicity’s picture looks less like death and more like the life that could have been.