Why I started a blog and I grew up in Paris.

It all started when I gave Jesus a ride to work the other day (see December 9 blog). What I learned about my own shortcomings through this man was something I needed to share and it needed to be a little longer than 140 characters. Once it was written down I realized how much I missed the creative writing process. You see, this was probably the first time I had written creatively in 25 years, which is too bad since my English professors consistently marked my essays “C- ” and “Shows minimal potential.”

One of the things Jesus asked me in car was, “What do you do for fun?” I hate that question because to answer it honestly I’d have to say “I creep on people on facebook,” or “I watch Criminal Minds.” So maybe one reason I started a blog was to have a better answer the next time. Anyhow, here’s my list . . .

(1) I write a blog because it is productive method of procrastination.
(2) I write a blog because I believe in the power of the story.
(2) I write a blog because writing helps me to not take myself and/or the daily problems of middle class America too seriously.
(3) I write a blog because writing helps me take important things (love the reality of God and His love for each of us) more seriously.
(5) I write a blog because, as I tell my wife, “there are a lot of stories in my head.”

Because most of what I write will contain elements of true stories with real people, at times I will change names to protect the anonymity of others. For example, when I write about my wife, I will call her “Peppermint Patty,” “the delight of my eye,” or “Princess Bride” — all depending on the context of the story. My daughters will be referred to as Fair Maiden #1 and Fair Maiden #2. If a story demands I use the actual names of my brothers, I will refer to them as Huey, Duey and Spartacus; or, “the brother who was married to Margaret Thatcher.” Instead of saying I grew up in South Dakota or lived in Wisconsin, I might change the location to Paris to protect the privacy of the townspeople.

To the best of my knowledge, each story I share really happened. It should be assumed that I can’t remember every word from every conversation 30 or more years ago (I barely remember what I did yesterday). And, I can guarantee that if my brothers and I weren’t stabbing each other with Baby Jesus on Christmas Eve, we were beating each other with whatever else we could get our hands on.

Finally, if you are a former student of mine and you discover a typo I probably left it there on purpose just so we could reconnect after all these years. Thanks!

Calvin G. Roso © December 2013

Published by Calvin G. Roso

Christ-follower, husband, father, educator, and story-teller.

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