Another high-profile Hollywood marriage has ended and I have to admit I am disappointed and even a bit saddened by the news. Anna Faris and Chris Pratt, two seemingly likable, even dare I say, humble celebrity “hotties” have unfortunately called it quits. I say unfortunately because over the last eight years I’ve found myself undeniably enchanted by their goofy, lovey-dovey antics on the red carpets of tinsel town. One might even call their out-in-the-open flirting and chemistry swoon-worthy—as they could probably draw sighs from even the most jaded of souls. I have pored over media accounts of their fairytale-like romance with the same intensity as a zoologist who marvels and delights in the birth of an albino gorilla. (Look it up. They exist and are so dang cute.) For as long as I can remember, I have been hooked by the breathtaking love affairs portrayed in the bright lights of the entertainment industry. As wary as I am of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt’s politics, I was bummed out by the couple’s demise. What went wrong? In fact, I scoured countless “reputable” media outlets trying to extract a hint at what caused their shocking split. It’s embarrassing to admit how much time I pored over articles about Ben Affleck’s affair with the nanny. Why, Ben? Why? And more importantly, why is a celebrity marriage that survives more than 5 years the stuff of unicorns, mermaids, and leprechauns? Continue reading “Of Hollywood Unicorns & the Sanctity of Marriage”
How many times in our lives have we been in a social situation where the person with whom we’re conversing over dinner or lunch has something green stuck in their teeth? There comes a point when you no longer actually hear what they are saying and you become fixated with that hideous thing lodged unceremoniously between their incisor and first molar. In those situations, my brain usually begins to race… how do I let them know? Where do I even look? Do I make a discreet hand gesture, pointing to the afflicted area? Do I just casually say, “Um, there’s something in
I’m still grappling with the heartbreaking news that little Charlie Gard was removed from life support and died while his grieving parents kept vigil. It was a couple weeks ago that I first saw a headline about the gravely ill British baby. My breath caught as I read the caption, “Court rules. No hope for Charlie Gard.” As I read on, the compelling story reached out and grabbed me by the windpipe. My son’s name is Charlie Gerd. Gard-Gerd. Separated by a measly vowel, a mere letter. And yet these Charlie’s are more than worlds apart. 
How do I know God is a gentleman? He proved it a couple years ago. I am reminded of it every time I’m irked for not getting the proper credit for a selfless act… during my Mother Teresa-like life of service. This is where I would add one of those annoying wink emoji’s. Those of you who know me right now are rolling your eyes and settling in for a good yarn to be spun. I promise I won’t disappoint.
LATE FOR CHURCH 