Callahan WordWork

      I don't think that I've ever had a healthy relationship with social media. From the time that I first created a Twitter account straight up until now, it has dominated me to some degree (1 Cor. 6:12). I have been unable to control the amount of time I spend on it, the content I consume, and the needs that I look to it to meet. It has proven over and over again to be a means for me to sin in various ways. It is a provision for my flesh (Rom. 13:14). It is a hand and an eye that is causing me to sin (Matt. 5:29-30). Therefore, I must distance myself from it. I must gouge it out and cut it off if I am to follow Jesus. I am leaving social media with no intent to return. That's the short version. If you're interested in some more of my thoughts, keep reading. I'd like to share my plan, clarify what I don't mean and what I do mean, and pose a few questions to help you discern whether you should follow me in this transition or live with me as with a weaker brothe...

In the simple, easily pleased eyes of a seven-year-old Minnesotan boy, there are no pleasures comparable to an easy afternoon playing in the snow. In a large pile of snow, his imagination runs freely, turning him into a master architect, world-class bobsledder, fugitive bank robber, tactical war general, fierce warrior, or just about any alter ego that seems to be attainable in the future. Indeed, a large pile of plowed up, semi-packed snow—as existed near my childhood home—is nothing short of infinite. For the entirety of my growing up years, I lived across the street from my town’s public high school and less than a quarter of a mile from the primary school. Our location had a plethora of benefits including a short commute and quick access to sporting events. An additional bonus was that each winter, after each Minnesotan snow storm, the staff parking lot would be plowed into a large snow-storage pile that rested a stone’s throw—even that of a young boy—from my front door.  ...

 A heavy blanket of fog is not characteristic of January 2nd in Minnesota, but January 2nd of 2021 didn’t much care what was characteristic. It knew itself to be a day of mystery and exception, so it arrived shrouded in an impenetrable white fog that shone as if infused with the invisible morning light. Unlike your run-of-the-mill standard-type summer fog, that which January 2nd used to clothe itself was intensely likeable. Summer fog introduces an unpleasant clamminess to the air, this fog seemed to rob Minnesota winter of its bite and leave behind an undefinable but unmistakable sense of tranquility. Summer fog fills the air with scent of over-moist mulch, but the air of January 2nd was notably clean: almost purified. Likeable indeed. But, as I drove the empty two-lane highways between my childhood home and the church, it was not the tranquil aura nor the clean air that left the mouth of my heart slack-jawed in awe. It was the trees. The fog that accompanied January 2nd seemed ...