If you’ve read my book or this blog for any amount of time, then you know that my dad is an alcoholic. He says he drank three quarts of beer a day for fourteen years. It’s important for me to follow that sentence with this one: he has been sober for over twenty years, loves Jesus, and has good sense. But the use and abuse of alcohol is part of our family history, for better or worse. It seems to me the people most qualified to talk about hope are the ones who have been hopeless and lived to tell about it. Dad knows hopeless. Yet, he lives. And now he’s telling about it.

scary hope | chatting at the sky

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