And Then There Were Nones
How Identity Politics is a Poor Substitute for Knowing Jesus
Well, it’s my birthday. I’m 47—practically still a babe in arms, if I go by how I’m feeling and the color of my well-dyed hair. Ten years ago, I imagined it would be a terrible thing to arrive on this day. How old, I thought, must one be to get to be almost fifty? But, honestly, I couldn’t be more delighted.
Why, you ask…
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