Christian Porn Stars Wanted

UPDATE 11/10: The site Sweet Christians site is no longer up. I like to think I had something to do with that.

60-minutes was on. Harper, our daughter, was upstairs drifting to sleep to Kenny Loggins. Annie was paying bills at the kitchen table. I was looking for Christian porn.

“Annie (my wife)! Annie!” I was giddy. “You’ve got to see this! It’s a Christian porn site!”

Annie has this immense capacity to put up with me. It’s basically her superpower. “What are you doing?” She calmly asked.

I told her that in my efforts to find a funny name for an imaginary Christian Porn magazine for Monday’s post, I stumbled upon Sweet Christians:

“The #1 Christian Porn Site: Where the girls…

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$10 for Tuesday: Update

I need to do a master page for the $10 for Tuesday project showing whom I’ve given to and more information explaining the project.

It’s been a pretty amazing experience for me so far. Everyday I get an email or a post from someone asking for $10 or from someone who his giving in their own way. A couple of days ago I received this note from Hannah Ford.

My husband and I do not have a lot of money but every Sunday we pick at least 5 different children in our churches (my husband is the organist for two churches)..from 1-5 dollars each..someday we will be able to do more..we set aside 20 dollars each week for what you are during.

We can all do a little more. Thanks for…

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$10 for Tuesday: Spirit of Soccer

Every Tuesday I give $10 to an individual or group as part of the $10 for Tuesday (#ten4tues) project. If you have any suggestions please leave them in the comments or email me at


For a few weeks I actually gave a crap about soccer.

I think every game I watched had a goal that should have been allowed and wasn’t or was allowed and shouldn’t have been. At times it seemed a little like WWE wrestling. Still, the beauty of soccer is its simplicity.

I once played soccer on a sandbar in a remote village in Honduras (listen to my piece on the World Vision Report). Our goals were marked by wood shavings from a recently carved…

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“I Slept with the Prophetess” and other ways not to start a query

I’m hoping to develop a longer version of my Faith in the Poor post for a magazine. So, I pitched a hip Christian magazine that likes to challenge their readers. I began with this…

I slept with the Prophetess. How many folks can say that?

Yep, probably not the best way to begin a query.

Needless to say, I probably won’t be hearing from them. If they made it through the whole sleeping with the Prophetess bit, they were probably put off by the question that followed. Sleeping with the Prophetess is bad enough, but bragging about it…

It was one of those pitches that I sent out between a bologna sandwich and a diaper change. Somewhere post-diaper change I realized that they might think that I, in fact,…

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Because I’m up to my ears in an audio project and being a dad and because I wish I was underwater…

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How I learned (the hard way) not to give your father the finger

(This is an excerpt from a column I wrote 5 years ago.)

I was five when my dad presented me with the throne.

It was made of plywood and 2×4’s; most people would have called it an ugly chair, but to a seven-year-old it was a throne.

My father built me the chair to preserve his own sanity. For some reason the swiveling roller chair, which I had previously occupied at the dinner table, annoyed my father. After a hard day’s work, watching me execute 360’s and figure eights, while I skillfully filled my mouth with Mac ‘n Cheese, was not his preferred method of winding down.

The wood throne was stiff and unmovable. If much wiggling took place splinters…

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Big Butter Jesus is Toast

I’m not one to laugh about flaming religious icons, but there’s just something about a flaming Big Butter Jesus that cracks me up.

I try to justify it by thinking how tacky and wasteful a 60-foot, $500,000 Styrofoam Jesus is, but I still feel somewhat guilty about it. Look, every religion has their excessive spending – Buddha statues, the Taj Mahal, the Vatican. So who am I to wisecrack about Big Butter? I defer to Heywood Banks on the issue.

In the lyrics of his song Big Butter Jesus, Banks sings, “‘No graven images’ that’s one of the commandments…”

That makes me feel a little better. I don’t think it was invented back then, but I’m pretty sure that by “graven” Jesus meant Styrofoam. Still, I feel that it’s always…

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$10 for Tuesday: Suicide- The Ultimate Crisis

The man across from me could’ve been any man.

He served me tea. We small talked and then he told me about how is son killed himself by jumping off the bridge in Limerick into the River Shannon. He recounted the days spent on the river searching for his son. He talked about the man who found his son and how he came to the funeral.

“And that’s not the end of it,” he said.

Three months after his son jumped in the river to his death, his wife did the same thing, leaving the man with five kids to raise.

We sat in the Limerick office of the Samaritans and talked for nearly two hours. The Samaritans operate in England and Ireland. “Samaritans provides confidential non-judgemental emotional support, 24…

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Big Butter Jesus Destroyed by Fire

Okay, before you read this you need to start the video below.


I bet Heywood Banks, the comedian singing the uber-catchy melody that should be playing right now, has a full inbox this morning because Big Butter Jesus was struck by lightning last night.  This is all that remains…

One of my Facebook friends described it as a praying mantis.

I’ve driven by BBJ, located just off I-75 between Dayton and Cincinnati, many times. I will miss him, not as one who misses a religious monument, but as one who misses the world’s largest piece of fruit located in your home town.  It was a roadside attraction.  There’s not much left to say that Banks hasn’t sung already, so I’ll just wrap…

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My heart of stone

There’s a pebble in my pocket.

The pebble is polished from countless times checking to see that it was still there. On a deforested hillside swinging a pick next hardworking day laborers, tearing up stumps in Ethiopia, I checked for the pebble. Spending the night on a small couch in the Mathare slums of Nairobi, I checked for the pebble before attempting to close my eyes. In Uganda while talking with a single mother with AIDS about the future of her children, I checked for the pebble. In Ireland, while sitting across from a man who lost his son and wife by suicide within three months of one another, I checked for the pebble.

The pebble was always there. I’d find it in the deep…

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