Dear Churchgoers

note: this post originally appeared on Ministry Matters. Please head over to their site to see all the other great resources and articles. (

This may make me sound like I’m either complaining or not good at my job. Neither is the case, though the latter can be debated. The truth is, I’m not a mind reader. Now I bet some of my colleagues have such a Bat-phone line connection with God that with one look at your face they know your niece’s goldfish died. I don’t have such an in with God. I wish I did.

It may be that I’m just not as holy as some of the pastors you see on television who can tell you what God’s will is for your life (for a nominal fee.) I have to rely on a different source. You. Now I understand you might think I should know all the things that are happening with you. I really do want to. Most of my fellow pastors would agree. We love to know the things that are going on in your life. We want to hear all about it. But there’s a good chance that we won’t know if you never tell us.

I’m a lot duller than I’m given credit for. I’d be one of the disciples Jesus would look at incredulously and ask, “Are you so dull?” Because you see, I’m a bit slow. Dense even. I definitely live up to the title associated with my moniker: I’m a dreamer. Now this has its upside—it makes me optimistic. It helps me come up with great ideas. But it also has a terrible downside in that it keeps me inside my own head. When you add my severe introvertedness on top of that — I just need help. From you.

If you don’t tell me that your closest third cousin who lives on the other side of the country passed away, there’s a chance that I won’t know until it works its way through the grapevine of the church. Or if you’re in the hospital for a minor procedure and didn’t tell a soul, and you’re upset with me for not checking up on you, it’s probably because I just didn’t know. I know this sounds like an excuse (it is) but there are other people in the church that, God bless their soul, need me for something. You may be thinking, “Why does my pastor spend so much time with them and not much with me?” Well, there’s a small chance it’s because I don’t like you. ( I know, I know. Horrible. But pastors are people too, and like all people, we’re broken.) But the more likely answer is that it’s because the other folks are probably letting me know when they need to see me.

Contrary to popular belief, there’s a lot a pastor needs to do throughout the week. We can’t always go through the directory to call folks one by one to see how they’re doing. We’d like to be able to do this, but things sometimes happen that take us away from the desk. Like the bathroom flooding. Again.

You’re not bothering me if you’re at the hospital and want a visit. Call me. Don’t think you’re being a burden if you’re struggling and need to talk. Call. I want to have conversations about your faith, God, and your life’s journey. Believe me, I would rather do that than answer emails from the District Superintendent.

Sharing life is one of the best things about ministry, and something I feel honored and privileged to do. But sometimes, I need your help to let me know what’s going on in your life. Don’t give me too much credit and assume that I know everything. I don’t. So let me know. I’ll be grateful that you called to share what’s going on. And I’ll definitely make my way to visit you soon.

In Finding My Routine

Hi. I'm back! For the most part. Sort of.

It's been an overwhelming (in a good way) past month. Most of my mental cap space was used on finishing my bible study for the Converge Bible Study series and getting used to life with our Little Dude.

There's a lot of adjustments that I had to make — like getting up earlier than I am accustomed to.

Some of the adjustments have been fairly difficult to get used to. I realized how long it takes me to get rolling on productive stuff. I mean, I kinda knew that it before, but I never have been confronted with the slow rolling start until recently. I have to check emails first. Read a couple of blogs. Browse through Twitter and Facebook feeds. Catch up on Words with Friends. Then I start my work. I do not have that much freedom and time to dilly dally anymore. And that's okay. This will be better for me in the long run. I just have to be absolutely diligent with the time I have. No more goofing around. No more procrastinating. I have to really be disciplined in getting actual, productive work done during work time so that when I come home, I don't have stuff hanging over me like a dark rain cloud.

Another huge thing I had to get accustomed to was changing diapers. I'm not going to lie, a little part of me is relieved when he goes twosies on my wife's watch. This is what the Little Dude has been looking at when his twosies diaper is being changed:

I have no shame in admitting I change diapers like that. You can judge all you want.

Now that the Bible study is done and in the hands of someone else to look over and edit — I have mental cap space to think about blogging again. I probably missed it more than y'all missed me. But that's okay.

I'll be back some time next week with a deeper post. Until then, feel free to laugh at me dressed as a bank robber to change a poopy diaper.


Nate Dogg to My Warren G

Now they droppin’ and yellin’ it’s a tad bit late Nate Dogg and Warren G had to regulate

Remember how I shared with y’all that we were certified as foster parents?
Well, as of Thursday, we had a child placed with us, so therefore, we’re officially foster parents!

I can’t really share his name nor his pictures due to confidentiality reasons, so I decided to refer to him as Nate Dogg on this blog because growing up, Nate Dogg and Warren G’s Regulate was one of my favorite songs, and because I’ll probably mention him here and there while he’s with us (and the name might change. But for now, he’s Nate Dogg).

As I’m writing this, Nate Dogg is snoring away in his room.
We’ve had a long day.
It started out with the county foster home being on lockdown because someone came on campus with a weapon.
We were then stuck in Ventura for hours trying to get medical things that he needed.
We met the little dude a little before noon. We didn’t get home until after 4p. But we’re home. He’s getting used to this place.
He’s going to be with us for as little as a month or maybe over a year. Who knows. We’ll make the best of the time we have together.

The kid is cute.
He practically never stopped smiling from the moment he got into our car until he went to sleep in his new bed. And that smile could melt the hardest of hearts.

It’s been a day of all sorts of emotions ranging from joy (when the kid smiles) to heartbreak (when I woke him up to get him out of the car and inside our home, the first thing he asked for was his mom). But mostly, we’re all tired from the long day that we had.

There’s going to be a lot adventures to be had and a steep learning curve for us — especially for me, because my wife has to head out of town for the weekend for a Conference meeting. So it’s just the two of us until Saturday evening.
This could get interesting.

We are nervous and excited for the road ahead of us.
But for now, it’s bed time.

Oh. Just in case you’re wondering — that picture? It’s not a picture of me and the kid. Hmmm… maybe that’s should be his nickname.
(I currently think that is a hilarious joke. I might rethink that when this post goes live tomorrow morning)

The Blinking Cursor

I'm half way done writing a bible study on Encountering Grace for the Converge Bible Study series.

I don't think I've ever experienced a bigger writer's block than what I've been experiencing for the past two weeks.

I don't know what it is. I just can't put thought to paper (or screen.)

I have reacted by consuming a lot (a lot) of caffeine, often going to the local coffee shop twice a day. Then being so wired at night, that I'm just lying in bed thinking about how I can't think of anything to write.

I also have other pressing issues offline (aka the real world) that have demanded my attention. And being a pastor, there's always small fires to tend to here and there.

I've been neglecting this blog, because most of my “creative” thinking has been wrapped around the concept of encountering grace.

And I don't like it when I can't update the blog once a week — because it is a discipline for me.

It is during this writer's block that I've discovered one of the most taunting images:

That's right: the blinking cursor on your word processor (though it's not really blinking in this picture…).

It just blinks. And blinks. And blinks. Asking you — taunting you — to write something. Anything.

And it blinks in laughter because you have nothing.

That's when the insecurities start pouring in.

Why the hell am I writing this?

Who am I to write this?

What if everything is just butt awful and I just wasted everyone's time?

Why such a big topic?

Why would anyone care about anything I write?





Accompanied by overcompensating on caffeine intake. Which adds gasoline to the flame of the insecurities which makes me want to consume more coffee which only leads to staring at the ceiling at night, alone in my thoughts — where no one really wants to be. The mind travels to all sorts of places in the middle of the night. I end up cursing my decision to drink so much coffee in the day.

But when the alarm jars me awake — I basically rinse and repeat the very thing I cursed myself for doing.

However, even in the midst of my frustrating insecurities, I am able to remind myself that this is a blessing. This opportunity; the fact that I can bore you with my crazy thoughts on this blog; being able to preach every week — it's all a blessing.

So I update not to complain, but I update for the sake of updating and holding on to this discipline of managing this blog and writing.

I apologize for the lack of updates, and I'll try harder to update at least once a week. I don't know how some of these non-professional bloggers update 3-5 times a week. Bless their souls…

Thank you, always, for actually reading this blog of mine.

It'll probably be a month before all the caffeine I've ingested in the past few weeks completely leave my system…


So Begins a Whole New Journey

We are officially certified to be foster parents!

I have no idea what's in store for us.

And in no way are we thinking that everything will be easy — over simplifying everything. We're not tricking ourself thinking that all will be well and everything will be a breeze in the park. Besides, nothing worthwhile will ever be easy.

We both go forward with the certainty that God has opened our hearts to this process and this journey.

And we know that we will be immersed in God's grace every single step that we take together.

20 Days

Today, my dad embarks on his final journey of fasting with a 20 day fast.

I just ask that you keep him in prayer during these next 20 days.

I had a whole bunch of words that I typed documenting my thoughts and feelings and all sorts of things. But call it a writer's block or my small mind filled beyond its capacity, I couldn't make write something that I was proud of or that really caught my feelings.

So instead, I searched my blog for the other times I wrote about my dad fasting, and here you are:

Hunger Games

Things My Dad Taught Me

“I miss you saying Merry Christmas.” – Jesus

Someone had posted a picture of that billboard on their Facebook.
First off, let’s get real. Jesus’ real birthday wasn’t December 25. 

Secondly, I think, more than we not being able to say “Merry Christmas” or having a nativity scene or whatever war we think culture is waging on Christmas– the fact that we, Christians (along with everyone else), have made this day more about us and what we get and how much we get and spending money, going into debt (or spending a bundle of money to put up a silly billboard to Jesus-juke everyone) and that Christmas and Consumerism has become synonymous, that may be the bigger war on Christmas. 

Actions speak louder than words — and collectively, our actions have shown that we also have waged a “war” on Christmas with treating Christmas like it’s our birthday (…unless you were born on the 25th). 

With all that said, 
I really do hope that you have a very Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and a Outrageous Festivus. 

In all seriousness, may your Christmas be filled with love, joy, peace, and grace of God as you make lifelong memories with you and yours whilst celebrating one another and more importantly, celebrating the birth of Christ!



If You’re Gonna Lie, Put Some Effort Into It, Man

Okay. You shouldn't lie, because it's one of the Commandments.

But, all I am saying is, if you are going to go through the trouble of lying, put some effort into it so that I'll at least, even for a second, believe you.

Case in point:

My wife got me a BBQ grill for my birthday.

I read somewhere that a man needs to grill. I want to be a man. So, in my wife's attempt to make me one step closer to being a man's man, she bought me a grill.

And being the man's man that I am, I decided to have Home Depot (where she bought the grill) to go ahead and assemble the grill — because they were going to do it for free.

Well. Almost a month passed and we had no idea what the deal with the grill was.

I finally called to check on the status (they were supposed to give us a call to pick it up) and they had no record of the grill being in their possession.


So, I told them that we'd stop by the following day with the receipts and everything and figure out this deal in person.

And so we went to Home Depot the following day.

The supervisor said that she thought she saw a grill in the back, and was pretty sure that it was ours. She sent one of the worker's to go check on it.

When he came back, he said that our grill was back there, but it was missing a few screws.

Why would it be missing a few screws? I mean, we bought it brand new. But, now the manager came and assured us that it's not too terrible of a deal and that the screws can and will be found.

My wife said, “You're not giving us the display model are you?”

To which the manager replied, “No, no. We wouldn't give you the display model!”

He told us to hang tight and that they'll bring it out to us.

I took a look around the grill section and found it very, very, odd — extremely, suspiciously odd — that out of all the grills that were displayed, our model was missing from the display of the grill. It's model number, features, and price were still displayed, but the grill was gone.


After what felt like an eternity (probably half an hour) the grill finally came rolling out.

You'd have to be BLIND to not see that it was the display.

The wheels were CAKED with a year's worth of dust and dirt.

There were dings and scratches.

The stickers were peeling off.

The warning label was a tad bit faded.

And here's the kicker: They left the plastic tag holder on the grill. You know, the thing that tells you the features and price of the grill. I mean, they took the effort to take out the paper in the plastic tag holder, but left the holder on the grill.

Now tell me: Why on EARTH would a new grill — straight from the box — have the plastic tag holder affixed to it that ALL the other display models had?

I mean, with the adamant declaration from the manager that he would never give me a display — at least put effort into that lie. At the least, take off the damn price tag holder!

I can't tell you if I was more offended by their lack of customer service or that they thought I was dumb.

Anyway, you shouldn't lie. But if you choose to lie, put some effort into it.

I'll find other ways to continue to earn man cards on my way to a fully realized manhood.

Until then, in the words of Britney Spears, “I'm not a girl, Not yet a woman.”


The Benefits of Positive Reinforcement: The Wonderful Story of Billy and His Son

Billy had a son who was in kindergarten. Billy had been widowed since his son was about 2.

Billy was a good man, and he was a good father. So it troubled him when his son's kindergarten teacher told him that the boy was struggling in school and might be beneficial for him to redo kindergarten.

Billy sat with his son and decided to encourage him with rewards.

“Son, I tell you what. If you do very well the last 4 months of kindergarten, then I'll buy you anything you want when the year is over. Deal?”

“Deal,” said the son. They shook on it and went to the park to play.

At the end of the kindergarten year, Billy met with his son's teacher and she was ecstatic about the vast improvements that the son had made. Billy was so proud of his son.

“Hey! I'm so proud of you! Since you kept the end of your bargain, it's my turn. What do you want me to buy you?”

“Daddy, I think I want 2 pink ping pong balls.”

Billy was confused by his son's request.

“Son, maybe you don't understand. I'll take you to the toy store and buy you anything you want! What would you like?”

“I just want 2 pink ping pong balls.”

Billy didn't think much more about it. His son wanted 2 pink ping pong balls and he saves a little cash. Everyone wins.

Billy was so pleased with the results that he decided to make the same arrangements for 1st grade.

With every report card that came with the highest markings, Billy offered to reward his son with any toy. Each time that offer was made, Billy's son requested 2 pink ping pong balls.

Billy tried to explain to his son that he could get anything, but the young boy was insistent on the 2 pink ping pong balls. After about the 3rd quarter, Billy stopped trying to argue and/or convince his son otherwise. His mind was made. He was stubborn, like his late wife. And that made Billy smile.

The Son finished 1st grade with all the highest marks.

Second grade rolled along, and Billy made the same deal. For every report card that had only the highest marks, the two would go to a toy store to buy anything the Son wanted. At the end of the 1st quarter, the Boy came home with all high marks. Billy was so immensely proud. But he knew the pattern now.

“Let me guess… 2 pink ping balls?”

“YES!” the Son would gleefully exclaim.

2nd grade: 4 report cards, 8 pink ping balls.

Billy was proud of his son. His son was ecstatic with the pink pong balls.

It did bother him a little bit, that all his son wanted was pink ping pong balls. He was wondering if he should be worried, but the Boy was normal in all aspects.

3rd grade: 4 report cards, All straight A's — 2 pink pong balls requested for each report card.

Not only was Billy's son doing well in his classes, but he was also very intelligent for his age.

Billy was no longer worried about his son's obsession (?) with ping pong balls. But curiosity replaced his worry. He had no idea what his son did with the ping pong balls. And why pink? That's not even the normal color of ping pong balls. White is the most common. And maybe orange. But pink? The local sports store owner knew to stock at least 8 pink ping pong balls for Billy and his son.

4th grade rolled around and Father and Son kept the tradition of the reward system. It was no longer needed, as the boy was a bit more advanced than his classmates. But it became tradition. Billy no longer asked what the boy wanted, with every report card with straight A's, he'd have 2 pink ping pong balls ready for him.

5th grade rolled around and for a brief moment when Billy looked over the 1st quarter's report card, he thought that this phase of ping pong balls had passed.

“Do you want a new video game system, Son?”

“Eventually. But for my grades, I'd like my usual, please.”

6th grade was long gone. The Son had finished each quarter with straight A's that earned him 8 more pink ping pong balls.

When his son went to summer camp, Billy's curiosity took over and Billy began to search the boy's room for any sign of ping pong balls. It was odd to Billy that he'd never see the ping pong balls after they were given to his son.

What did he do with them?

Where did he hide them?

Why ping pong balls?

He fanatically searched the entire house, but not a single trace of ping pong balls could be found.

On the first day of 7th grade, Billy's son asked, “Dad? Are we still on for the report card deal?”

“You betcha. Now remember, son. Anything you want. Go make me even more proud!”

7th grade: straight A's all 4 quarters. 8 pink ping pong balls.

Throughout the course of 8th grade, Billy bought 8 pink ping pong balls for his son.

He was now a teenager and it was painfully obvious this was not phase.

But more than worried, Billy was curious. He even try to talk about the pink ping balls with his son, but never really got any answer. Just a smile.

9th grade. Straight A's. 2 pink ping balls per quarter = 8 pink ping balls, total.

10th grade: Straight A's all throughout the year. 8 pink pong balls, total.

11th grade: Straight A's. Tested very well on SATs. Billy asked his son if he wanted anything for a good job well done for SATs. The response? 2 pink ping balls. A total of 10 pink ping balls given for Billy's son's junior year.

12th grade: Billy was valedictorian. He received a full ride to Harvard. After his speech and ceremony, his dad approached and gave him a near suffocating bear hug.

“Son. Oh my. Your mom would be so proud of you. And, I… well, dammit son, I'm so lucky to have a son like you.”

Billy had 2 pink ping pong balls in his pocket, but he thought he'd tried to convince his son of requesting something bigger, after all, he deserved it!

“Hey son! What about a car? We can get you a new car!”

“Nah, Dad. I'm okay without a car.”

“Well, how about a new laptop or computer, you know, for college and stuff?”

“I'm okay with the one I have. Dad, do I really have to say what I really want?”

“Of course not, Son” and Billy handed his son the 2 pink ping pong balls.

“Awesome! Thanks, Dad!” The same response his son gave each and every single time.

As Billy watched his son run off to greet his friends, Billy wondered about the possibilities with all those ping pong balls.

Did he store him?

Is he building something? If so, what?

Is cutting them up for some reason? Why?

And why pink? It's not the color, per se, that bothered him. But the fact that it's not the usual color for ping pong balls.

At the end of each semester of college, Billy sent his son 2 pink ping pong balls, because Billy would finish each semester with straight A's. And it was tradition.

It made Billy smile knowing that his son would still want 2 pink ping pong balls. And he knew that his son would smile in receiving them.

Billy wondered what his son did with the ping pong balls there. If he started a new collection, or if he somehow took all his collection from home with him. Which would be odd, because Billy could never find them anywhere in the house, no matter how much and how hard he looked.

12 pink ping pong balls into Billy's son's college career, Billy received a dreadful phone call — the kind that no parent wants to receive.

His son was in a terrible accident and requested Billy's presence. Harvard was about 4 hours away, so Billy got into the car and drove, praying that his son would be alright.

When Billy arrived to the hospital, he was met by the doctor with a solemn face.

“Sir, I'm sorry. We've tried everything, but we don't think he's going to make it. However, miraculously, he still has consciousness. Go sit next to him. Talk to him. Say your goodbyes.”

Billy couldn't believe what he was hearing. He didn't know that his heart could break the way it was breaking. Losing his wife was a horrific pain, but this — this was worse.

He walked into his son's room and the sight of his son in tubes and bandages broke his already broken heart even more.


“…Dad? Is that you?”

“Yea. It's me… Son, I love you.”

“I know,” his son tried to smile. “I love you, too.”

Billy held his son's hand treasuring every breath that his son took.

They had little conversations here and there about nothing and everything.

Billy could tell that the life was fading out of him. And Billy — though he didn't want to — just had to ask.


“Yea, Dad?”

“I love you. You know that.”

“Of course. And, I love you too.”

“You… you make me so proud. You are the best son anyone could ever ask for,” Billy tried to stop the tears that were coming. “But Son. I do have something I want to ask you.”

“Sure, Dad. What is it?”

“Well, you know… since kindergarten, all you ever wanted after each report card was 2 pink ping pong balls. I… I just want to know… why? Why did you want the pink ping pong balls? What did you do with them? Where are they? I mean over the years, I searched high and low for any sign of a pink ping ball but didn't find any of them. Not. A. Single. Trace.”

Billy's son was smiling at this point.

“Son. Help this old man. Why did you want 2 pink ping pong balls, and what did you do with them?”

Billy son looked his dad in the eye and gently smiled.

“Dad… I knew you'd be curious. It was nothing really. I know I must've freaked you out here and there with my requests. And I always appreciated that you wouldn't pry too much and still got me the pink ping balls.” Billy's son's words were interrupted by a coughing fit.

After the coughing subsided, Billy's son took a deep breath that made Billy take a deep breath.

Billy's near 17 year curiosity was going to be answered. The thoughts and possibilities were running wild in Billy's head.

“Dad… the reason why I wanted those pink ping balls…”

“Yea, Son? Why?”

“Dad, the reason why I asked for 2 pink ping pong balls each time was…”

And in that tragic moment, Billy's son died in that hospital bed with Billy by his side.





Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

The Man With the Big Orange Head

There was a gentleman who was in town on business.

After dinner, he decided to skip the hotel bar and instead, head to the nearest bar from his hotel. Fortunately, he found a bar about 2 blocks from the hotel. He walked in and proceeded straight to the bar.

He was greeted warmly by the bartender and ordered himself a nice tall glass of beer. As he slowly sipped his beer, he looked around the bar to gauge the clientele.

The bar was fairly empty but something caught his eye.

In the corner of the bar was a man drinking by himself. What caught his eye wasn't the fact that this man was also drinking by himself, but that this man had a big orange head.

He turned to the bartender and asked, “Hey. What's the story on that guy?”

“What guy?” the bartender asked.

“You know. The guy in the corner… the one you know.. the one with .. *ahem* the big orange head?”

“Oh that guy. Yea. He has an interesting story. Maybe if you buy him a drink, he'll tell you.”

So the Traveler made his way to the corner of the bar, and trying not to directly stare at the big orange head, he asked, “Hey, can I buy the next round for you?”

The Man in the Corner responded, “Sure. Come have a seat.”

The bartender delivered the men their drinks.

As the man in the corner began taking a sip, he asked, “You're probably wondering about my head.”

“Well. I mean, yea. Of course. But, if you don't want to talk about it, I perfectly understand.”

“No I don't mind. Would you like to hear the story?”

“Yes! Please!”

“Well. The story begins when I was vacationing on an island somewhere in the Pacific. I was just taking a nice stroll on the beach taking in the beautiful, beautiful sight. The sky was blue as the water, and you couldn't see where the water ended and the sky began,” he sighed and took another sip of his beer, taking in the beauty of this memory along with his beer. “Yea. And. The women. Wow. Beautiful place. Anyway, you don't care about that. So, I was walking not really paying attention to my surroundings, when I stubbed my toe on something hard. After the pain and the cursing that accompanied the pain waned, I looked down to see what on earth caught my toe. I was fully expecting to see a rock, but instead, it was… gold. I dug it out of the sand to see what on earth it was. It looked like a gravy boat or something. As I was dusting and brushing the sand off this thing, it started to shake violently. Scared, I dropped it not knowing what the heck was happening. Then, I kid you not, appeared this big genie. 'You've released me from my 10,000 year captivity. For this, I will grant you 3 wishes.”

The Man in the Corner paused and gently shook his head, as if he could not believe what he was saying.

“So, I figured, why the heck not? Let me see if this is real. So, for my first wish, I wished for what most people would wish for. I wished to be a wealthy man. Instantly, my wallet felt heavy and my pockets were filling up with, what I guess was money. My clothes begin to change. I don't know what material I was wearing, but I knew it was something I could not previously afford. It was softer than silk. It felt great. Then I saw this rolex watch just instantly appear on my wrist. I reached into my pocket to see what was filling up in there. I pulled out a couple of sheets of paper. One was a deed to a mansion near Malibu, CA. The rest of the paperwork were bank statements of accounts in various foreign places. I was now a multi-multi millionaire. I couldn't believe it! I couldn't wait to head to Malibu to see my new mansion. 'You now have 2 wishes remaining' the Genie says to me. So, without thinking, I wished for a beautiful woman to be my wife. As soon as those words left my mouth came a gush of wind. The ocean started to part, and out walks this gorgeous, and I mean gorgeous woman who started making her way towards me. She gave me a smile that literally made me weak in my knees. I buckled and who I thought was the genie caught me. Except it wasn't him. It was a man dressed as a priest. When she came next to me, he married us. And *boom* here I was married to the most beautiful woman in the world. I couldn't believe my luck; my fortune!”

He stopped, shaking his head again, as if the story was still too good to be true. He took a deep sigh.

“So, what happened next?” asked the Traveler. “I mean, your first 2 wishes worked out great! What led to … you know… your … situation?”

“Yea. I was now a wealthy man. And a husband of a beautiful wife. But, now, listen. I think this is where I went wrong.” He paused, maybe to build up anticipation. Maybe to take another sip. But the anticipation felt like it was going to explode the heart of the Traveler. However the Man in the Corner took his sweet time, as if he was carefully crafting the words he was going to say next.

“As I was saying, I think this is where everything went wrong. For my third wish….” the man's voice trailed off. He looked away as his eyes began to moistened. He cleared his throat and took another sip of his beer.

“Yea? Your third wish?” asked the Traveler.

“Yea. Sorry. As I was saying, I think this is where I screwed up. For my 3rd wish, I wished for a big orange head.”


The End.

I wish I could see the hate and annoyance that is written all over your face. But please don't hold it against me.

Have a blessed day.