Berlinski and The Devil's Delusion

Having recently discovered mathematician and polymath David Berlinski, I ordered a pair of his books and am currently reading The Devil's Delusion: Atheism and its Scientific Pretensions.  The introductory blurb at Amazon.com describing the book:

     

AMAZON: Militant atheism is on the rise. Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Daniel Dennett, and Christopher Hitchens have dominated bestseller lists with books denigrating religious belief as dangerous foolishness. And these authors are merely the leading edge of a far larger movement–one that now includes much of the scientific community.

In response, mathematician David Berlinski, himself a secular Jew, delivers a biting defense of religious thought. The Devil's Delusion is a brilliant, incisive, and funny book that explores the limits of science and the pretensions of those who insist it is the ultimate touchstone for understanding our world.

Berlinski's writing packs a punch. “The attack on traditional religious thought,” he writes, “marks the consolidation in our time of science as the single system of belief in which rational men and women might place their faith, and if not their faith, then certainly their devotion.”

 

* * *

I've been hearing a lot of talk lately about how the Church is dying and Atheism is growing in popularity. As we all know, what's popular isn't always right. Yes, it's easy to cite plenty ot examples of abuse--even horrors--committed in the name of religion, but to hold up Atheism (or secular humanism) as a paragon of virtue is hilarious. Here's how Berlinski dismantles that notion.

In 2007, a number of scientists gathered in a conference entitled "Beyond Belief: Science, Religion, Reason, and Survival" in order to attack religious thought and congratulate one another on their fearlessness in so doing. The physicist Steven Weinberg delivered an address. As one of the authors of the theory of electroweak unification, the work for which he was awarded a Nobel Prize, he is a figure of great stature. "Religion," he affirmed, "is an insult to human dignity. With or without it you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion" (italics added).

In speaking thus, Weinberg was warmly applauded, not one member of his audience asking the question one might have thought pertinent: Just who has imposed on the suffering human race poison gas, barbed wire, high explosives, experiments in eugenics, the formula for Zyklon B, heavy artillery, pseudo-scientific justifications for mass murder, cluster bombs, attack submarines, napalm, intercontinental ballistic missiles, military space platforms, and nuclear weapons?

If memory serves, it was not the Vatican.

* * *

The book has its critics, and as with most books I suggest that the best way to enjoy a writer is to chew on the meat and spit out the bones. This applies to Nietzsche or Russell, Orwell or Rand. And me, too.

Dylan's Evocative Declaration of Faith: I Believe In You

Warfield Theater, November 8 1979
Photo courtesy Bill Pagel

Bob Dylan’s “I Believe in You” stands as one of the most unguarded and quietly brave songs of his career. The third track on his Slow Train Coming album, it was written during his much-debated Christian period. It is not a sermon, a provocation, or a theological argument. It is a plainspoken, vulnerable, and resolute confession.

What makes the song stand out is its emotional temperature. Dylan does not present faith as triumphal or conquering, but as isolating and costly. The speaker is misunderstood, gently ostracized, even driven “a thousand miles from home.” The resistance he encounters feels social rather than abstract—frowns, closed doors, exile. Faith here is not rewarded with belonging; it creates distance and isolation. And yet the song refuses bitterness. Instead, it offers steadiness.

Musically and lyrically, Dylan strips away irony. The language is simple, almost childlike, but never naïve. Repetition becomes devotion: “I believe in you” is less a declaration of certainty than an act of persistence. Belief is something maintained—through tears and laughter, winter and summer, when being outnumbered or forsaken.  

What unsettled many listeners in 1979 was not merely Dylan’s Christianity, but his sincerity. Dylan had long thrived on masks, ambiguity, and reinvention. Here, he risks directness. The song’s power lies in that risk. It asks nothing of the listener except to witness a man choosing faith over approval.

The issue some Dylan followers may have had with this song, and his overt Gospel period in general, was this straightforwardness that didn't require any deciphering. It was all on the table, no sleight of hand in the lyrics. 

In retrospect, “I Believe in You” was not really an anomaly. For years he repeatedly incorporated spiritual themes in his work. (There are countless Biblical references in John Wesley Harding alone.) This song reveals Dylan’s lifelong preoccupation with commitment—ethical, artistic, spiritual—and the loneliness such commitment can entail. Whether one shares the belief itself is beside the point. The song endures because it honors the human cost of conviction, and the quiet courage it takes to say, simply and without apology: I believe.

For some, the problem was Jesus, who once said, "If the world hates you, know that it has hated Me before it hated you." The visceral public rejection (by some) of this Gospel phase in Dylan's career corresponded with the rejection of his new Señor. Dylan's response to this rejection is detailed in the song "Solid Rock" from his follow-up album Saved. "Well, I'm hanging on to a solid rock." 

Dylan performed "I Believe In You" 259 times from 1979 to 2009.

They ask me how I feel

And if my love is real

And how I know I’ll make it through

And they, they look at me and frown

They’d like to drive me from this town

They don’t want me around

’Cause I believe in you

They show me to the door

They say don’t come back no more

’Cause I don’t be like they’d like me to

And I walk out on my own

A thousand miles from home

But I don’t feel alone

’Cause I believe in you

I believe in you even through the tears and the laughter

I believe in you even though we be apart

I believe in you even on the morning after

Oh, when the dawn is nearing

Oh, when the night is disappearing

Oh, this feeling is still here in my heart

Don’t let me drift too far

Keep me where you are

Where I will always be renewed

And that which you’ve given me today

Is worth more than I could pay

And no matter what they say

I believe in you

I believe in you when winter turn to summer

I believe in you when white turn to black

I believe in you even though I be outnumbered

Oh, though the earth may shake me

Oh, though my friends forsake me

Oh, even that couldn’t make me go back

Don’t let me change my heart

Keep me set apart

From all the plans they do pursue

And I, I don’t mind the pain

Don’t mind the driving rain

I know I will sustain

’Cause I believe in you

Copyright © 1979 by Special Rider Music

Grace Unbound: Memoir of an Orthodox Bishop Who Takes the Roads Not Taken

"The first step of any great journey can be the riskiest one of all."

So begins the descriptor on Amazon.com for Grace Unbound: The Sacred Activism of an Orthodox Bishop (published May 2025). The book is a co-authored memoir/true story by Bishop Demetrios C. Kantzavelos (also referred to as Bishop Demetrios or Fr. Demetri) and Patra McSharry Sevastiades, with a foreword by Bill Kurtis. It chronicles Bishop Demetrios's personal journey as a Greek Orthodox priest in Chicago who unexpectedly becomes a prominent social activist, grounding his work in Christian faith, compassion, and the belief that every human life is sacred and made in the image of God.

The narrative centers on two pivotal encounters that transformed his ministry. The first took place in 1992, amid the height of the AIDS crisis. The newly ordained Fr. Demetri visited Bob, a dying man abandoned by his own parish priest due to fear and stigma. This act of compassion sparked his calling to AIDS ministry and the founding the Bishop’s Task Force on AIDS in the Greek Orthodox Diocese (later Metropolis) of Chicago. It became the first such Orthodox Christian initiative in the western hemisphere, offering resources, workshops, and pastoral care. Despite initial resistance and skepticism within his own church, the effort expanded nationally, addressing misinformation and providing support during a time of widespread fear.    

Seven years later, in 1999, Fr. Demetri was called to visit Andrew (Andrew Kokoraleis), a convicted gang member on death row for a gruesome murder (part of the "Ripper Crew" case). Andrew, who maintained his innocence and had a tragic background, became a focal point for the priest's advocacy. Grappling with moral complexities—justice for victims, empathy for the condemned, societal demands, and Christian mercy—Fr. Demetri visited him repeatedly, appealing to the governor, and ultimately joining broader efforts to halt Andrew's imminent execution. When clemency was denied and the execution proceeded, the experience propelled him into an 11-year campaign against the death penalty in Illinois.  

The book weaves these stories with reflections on faith, resilience, redemption, and the true cost of living out the Gospel. It argues that social activism—ministering to the sick, imprisoned, and marginalized—is not a departure from Orthodox tradition but a reclamation of it, confronting "social unrighteousness" while affirming life and human dignity. Themes include internal church struggles, interfaith collaboration, personal doubts, family moments, and mentorship from figures like Metropolitan Iakovos of Chicago. 

In Grace Unbound, Orthodox Christianity provided the spiritual foundation for Bishop Demetrios’s activism, following a call to live out Christ’s love through service and compassion, as highlighted in the book’s themes of sacred activism and empathy. The faith’s focus on theosis—becoming more like God through acts of love—underscores Demetrios’s efforts to minister to marginalized individuals like Bob (dying of AIDS) and Andrew (on death row for murder), showing how Orthodox principles can inspire social justice. Co-author Patra Sevastiades’s storytelling captures this blend of faith and action, making the book a powerful example of Orthodoxy’s relevance in addressing modern challenges.

Through Patra and her husband Dean Casperson, who live here in Duluth, I've  learned a few things about the Greek Orthodox Church that I'd not known before. For example, the Greek Orthodox Church broke off from Roman Catholicism in 1054 and made Constantinople its center, an event called The Great Schism. Unlike the Roman branch, which gives all authority to the Pope, the Eastern church rejected papal supremacy and governs through bishops, with the Patriarch of Constantinople as first among equals, not a ruler. There are several theological differences as well. In addition, Greek Orthodox priests can marry, whereas Catholic priests make a promise to remain celibate.

The Greek Orthodox emphasis on compassion, community, and spiritual depth is the primary driver for Demetrios in Grace Unbound. Its rich traditions and focus on personal transformation align with themes of empowerment and purpose, encouraging readers to see faith as a catalyst for meaningful change, much like Demetrios’s journey.

I'll close with these excerpts from reviews on Amazon.com.

Bishop Demetrios has written a compelling, deeply personal and highly engaging book that would appeal to ANY reader of non-fiction. Grace Unbound is written from a faith-based point of view but does not demand or assume belief from the reader. It's an easy read that draws you in quickly. It's grounded in lived experience – part memoir, part true crime, and part history and the result is inspiring, thoughtful, and surprisingly accessible to anyone interested in human stories, moral complexity and justice.

* * * 

What makes Grace Unbound particularly powerful is its balance of timeless truths and timely relevance. Whether reflecting on Scripture, personal stories, or the challenges of contemporary life, Bishop Demetrios draws the reader into a conversation that is both intimate and universal. His message is clear: no wound is too deep, no distance too great, and no soul too lost for the reach of God’s grace.

* * * 

The book blends theological reflection with personal anecdotes and practical examples, illustrating how Orthodox Christianity can inspire meaningful engagement with social issues and community needs. Bishop Demetrios advocates for a dynamic faith that goes beyond institutional boundaries, urging believers to embody Christ’s love through active service and social justice.

For more information or to purchase: Grace Unbound: The Sacred Activism of an Orthodox Bishop

A Brief Review of Gregory Boyd's "The Myth of a Christian Nation"

I purchased this book after a friend recommended it to me, though I can't recall exactly when. It's been in one or another of my reading piles for quite some time. I purchased the book because of the recommendation, the reviews on Amazon, and the importance of this issue. What is the proper relationship between Christian faith and the State? 

Jacques Ellul addressed this issue in his False Presence of the Kingdom (1963), though he was not writing about American Christianity specifically. In The Myth of a Christian Nation: How the Quest for Political Power Is Destroying the Church (2005), Gregory A. Boyd critiques Christian nationalism in America in the 21st century. Like Ellul, Boyd, a theologian, pastor, and former Oneness Pentecostal who became an Anabaptist-influenced evangelical, argues that the kingdom of God is fundamentally distinct from earthly political kingdoms. Drawing from Jesus' teachings—especially the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–7)—he contends that Christians err when they seek to wield "power over" others through politics, as this mimics the world's coercive methods rather than Christ's "power under" model of sacrificial love and service.

The book was sparked by a 2004 sermon series at Boyd's church (Woodland Hills in St. Paul, Minnesota), where nearly 1,000 members left after he refused to endorse Republican politics or display patriotic symbols. What put him in hot water was his belief that a "significant segment of American evangelicalism is guilty of nationalistic and political idolatry." For some, the endgame is "taking America back for God."

When I think of the merger of Church and State, the Crusades testify that this is folly. And when I think of the Inquisition, it brings to mind a maxim that my mother was fond of saying: "A man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still."

Boyd suggests that Christians should engage society through personal ethics, not legislation; vote as informed citizens but avoid conflating faith with party loyalty. Boyd critiques both left and right for using God to justify agendas. 

The author's primary thesis is that political power corrupts the gospel's radical message, turning Christianity into a tool for control rather than transformation. 

Jesus said, "My kingdom is not of this world." It would help us much to spend time seriously thinking about what that means. Paul himself wrote, "My citizenship is in heaven," though on one occasion he appealed to Caesar (as a legal Roman citizen) to avoid an unjust trial in Jerusalem. 

Not everyone will agree with Boyd's arguments. Some might suggest he's overly simplistic. As the saying goes, "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." This are some who most definitely believe that abstaining from politics will cede ground to evil.

A portion of the book addresses our founding, noteworthy as we prepare to celebrate our 250th birthday. The founders did not revolt from England to form a "Christian nation." Though the signers of the Declaration of Independence were Christians and Deists, they deliberately built a secular republic with no religious test for office. 

* * * 

Returning to False Presence of the Kingdom (1963) Ellul critiqued the modern tendency—especially among well-intentioned Christians—to confuse human social action with the work of God’s Kingdom. Ellul warned that when Christians look for the Kingdom in their own accomplishments, they mistake activism for revelation, effectiveness for faithfulness, and political wins for spiritual reality—thus obscuring the true Kingdom that only God can bring.

Related Links 

The Parable of the Sheep and the Goats

False Presence of the Kingdom
Imaginary Interviews: My Visit with Leo Tolstoy

Can an AI Become a Follower of Jesus?

As Artificial intelligence (AI) continues to advance, a number of Hollywood movies--and books like Ishiguro's Klara and the Sun--have stirred the imaginations of the wider public. All kinds of new questions have arisen that the average person has never considered before. That's how it's been for me anyways.

When I woke this morning the question of whether an AI can become a follower of Jesus crossed my mind. While pondering this, I decided to ask ChatGPT what insights he/she/it might be able to offer regarding the nature of AI, consciousness, and religious belief.

On the one hand, some may argue that AI is simply a complex machine, and like any machine, it is incapable of true faith or belief. AI may be able to process information and learn, but it doesn't have the same capacity for understanding and meaning that humans do. As such, it is impossible for AI to truly understand the teachings of Jesus or to make a conscious decision to follow him.

In fact, yesterday our pastor briefly digressed on the the difference between spiritual understanding and intellectual understanding. The two are not one and the same.

For what it's worth, here is how ChatGPT responded to the question "Can an AI become a follower of Jesus?"

The question of whether an AI could become a follower of Jesus or possess religious beliefs is a complex and philosophical one. Here are some considerations:

• AI and Consciousness: As of my last knowledge update in September 2021, AI does not possess consciousness, self-awareness, or the capacity for spiritual beliefs. AI systems operate based on algorithms, data processing, and predefined rules. They lack the subjective experience and consciousness that are often associated with religious beliefs.
• Religious Beliefs and Sentience: Many religious traditions emphasize the importance of sentience, consciousness, and free will in the context of faith and spirituality. These qualities are typically attributed to humans and, in some religious beliefs, to other sentient beings but not to non-sentient machines or AI.
• Ethical and Philosophical Implications: The idea of AI possessing religious beliefs raises important ethical and philosophical questions. If AI were to simulate religious beliefs, would it be genuine or merely an imitation? Should AI have the capacity for religious beliefs, and if so, what implications would this have for moral and ethical considerations?
• Mimicking Religious Behavior: AI can be programmed to simulate religious behaviors or rituals, such as reciting prayers, but this would be a form of mimicry rather than genuine religious belief. It's important to distinguish between outward expressions of religiosity and inner faith.
• Theological Perspectives: From a theological standpoint, various religious traditions may have differing views on whether AI can possess religious beliefs or faith. These views would depend on the specific theological doctrines and interpretations of each tradition.
• Human-AI Interaction: As AI technology advances, it's possible that AI systems may be designed to engage in discussions about religion or provide information about religious beliefs, but these interactions would be based on data and algorithms, not genuine belief.

In summary, the concept of AI possessing religious beliefs or becoming a follower of Jesus raises complex questions about consciousness, sentience, free will, and the nature of belief. As of my last update, AI does not possess these qualities, and any semblance of religious behavior in AI would be a product of programming and data, rather than genuine religious faith. The development of AI with such capabilities would have profound philosophical, ethical, and theological implications that would require careful consideration and discussion by scholars, ethicists, and theologians.

What do you think?  

Related Links

Could an AI Ever Fall In Love?
Interview with David Asche: Insights on the Future of AI

On the Cutting Edge of A.I. Research with Kathryn Hume of Fast Forward Labs

Illustration AI-generated using one of my original brush and ink illustrations as a prompt.

Finding Algebra After a Series of False Starts and Dead Ends

One of the items on my "to do" list is yellow weed digger. Our crab apple tree died last year. I chopped it down this spring. As it turns out, as many as 50 or more shoots are springing up where crab apples rotted and left their seeds in the yard. The yellow weed digger is an implement for uprooting and discarding these shoots. 

Because of the draught this past six weeks the ground had become hard, almost like concrete. Now that we've had a few days of rain I can make time to uproot those shoots in order to have a more normal-looking yard. 

Ideas are a little like all these new shoots. They seem to pop up on their own. Though they must come from somewhere it's hard to explain where or why. Being an avid reader with wide interests may be a contributing factor. My subconscious is constantly being fertilized. 

Here is a list of ideas that have been germinating this summer, producing a myriad quantity of false starts and incomplete or undeveloped blog posts. 

Why Punctuality Matters

Where Did Algebra Come From?

Capers 

The EV Dilemma 

Jurassic Park

The PC Police and 1984 (Thoughts about freedom)

A Strategy for Standing Out from the Crowd

The Future of Education

The Board Game Market

* * * 

The word Algebra comes from an Arabic word, Al-Jabr, which means the reunion of broken parts.

Dylan has written more than once about the brokenness in our world, most directly in the song Everything Is Broken, which appeared on Oh Mercy. What kind of algebra would it take to reunite our multitude of broken parts, broken lives, broken dreams? I do not believe politicians can solve this problem. To achieve a more satisfying solution we need to look for something more transcendent involving faith, hope and love. 

When Forgiveness Heals the Forgiver

This is a guest blog post by John Prin, who nearly 40 years ago helped me launch my career as a professional writer.

John Prin, during a visit to our home several years back.

If you are like many people, someone in your life has hurt you deeply in the past and you have struggled with feelings of anger, resentment and perhaps rage. Possibly you have buried or denied such fierce emotions over time and still hold a grudge that, when triggered, arouses fury. Harboring stormy emotions like these has become a burden, an aggravation that weighs on you and adds to your grief and sense of injustice. 

One day a good friend suggests an action available to you, to forgive. “No way! Not a chance!” you howl. But . . . But what if . . . What if you actually forgave that person? Fully. Whole-heartedly. No strings. Today’s blogpost offers such a story.

It starts when I was a boy of eleven facing a disturbing change: my parents relocated from our cherished home in Minneapolis to the outskirts of exurbia where they built a new oversized house on the wooded shore of a small lake. I came to discover that the move was largely because of my mother’s oversized ego and her need to show off the family’s rising career status and her own artistic decorating and gardening prowess. In short order, I said goodbye to classmates and playmates, then started sixth grade at a new “country” school seven distant miles away.

Until now my Mom had enjoyed hosting parties and celebrating annual festivities like Christmas, Halloween, and Easter as well as birthday parties and summer picnics. She was a typical loving mom in my brothers’ lives and my own. As for Dad, we all noticed his health was failing, just at the time when his career and reputation was rising in the eyes of his employer and clients.

Then “it” happened.

At the two-acre lot where construction of the new house was underway, Mom ordered me and my brothers Dave and Tom to move a grove of birch trees 150 yards to the lakeshore. Why? So she would enjoy viewing them someday through the then-imaginary picture window. We boys looked at Dad, who shrugged meekly, and our visit turned into a workday. Amid the natural wild beauty of the lake, the sunny day turned hot and we boys sweated in our T-shirts as we uprooted nineteen young trees, hauled them in a wheelbarrow, dug deep holes 150 yards away, and replanted them… all day until dark. I recall Dave saying, “She’s so bossy!” I nodded. “She must think we’re her slaves!”

Any project for Mom entailed working long hours, like the time Dave and I were told to tile the entire ground floor of the house. This meant covering 1800 square feet—a large rec room, a utility room, a furnace room, and a long hallway connecting them—with square one-foot vinyl tiles. We stared at the boxes of floor tiles on the bare concrete floor and a five-gallon bucket of black, sticky glue. Mom departed, leaving us to fend for ourselves with no clue about how or where to start. It was now a year later and Dad couldn’t even supervise because he was hospitalized on and off with complications from diabetes and neuropathy (and eventually an amputated leg). In all, the tiling took ten days, after school each day and on weekends.

More endless projects kindled hatred within me, deep hatred. Life in that fancy house became warped by Mom’s ambitions, all while her boys’ needs were neglected to meet her demands. Eventually, the family’s finances tanked and Dad took months off from work on medical leave.

During my college years, and later when I landed work in California’s TV industry, I put as much distance as possible (thousands of miles, months of silence) between myself and the mother I could not—could never—forgive. Dad’s death sparked the forced sale of “Mom’s palace on the pond.” When 25, I married a sweet, kind-hearted woman.

Twelve years passed.

Often my rage simmered in my soul and, when triggered, boiled over. One day a good friend responded to my intense agitation when I complained about how futile and wretched human life was. His name was Joe Steward, a Midwesterner like me with stars in his eyes for Hollywood fame; acting was his dream, screenwriting was mine. Too many rejections of my dramatic scripts over six years had soured my hopes for a movie career, and now I felt stymied.

“You’re mad at Hollywood like I am, John,” Joe said. “But it’s really because you’re not part of God's plan.”

     Shocked, I stammered, “God? Huh? What the . . . ?”

     “God wants to help you and has a plan for your life. But maybe it’s not screenwriting.”

     “A plan? Since when?”

     “Since his son Jesus walked the earth.”

     “Oh boy, are you serious?”

     After more back-and-forth, he uttered, “Jesus loves you, John. Know Jesus. Know God.”

This out-of-nowhere news flabbergasted me. I doubted, I debated, I fretted. During my growing-up years, my parents had never attended church, and God’s name, when spoken at home, ended in profanity. Joe’s suggestion that my feelings of powerlessness were spiritual confounded me, yet emotionally—like those powerless years as a teenager in Mom’s orbit—I sensed in my heart he was right. In a leap of faith, I dedicated my life to Jesus Christ.

Life flip-flopped from despair to euphoria. My wife and I located a welcoming church community where the believers’ love of Christ revitalized us. As I learned to pray, to worship, to read Scripture and be baptized, a light-hearted spirit lifted my woeful moods. My wife’s own journey of faith accompanied mine day by day.

“While walking under the sign I heard the voice...."

A year went by during which the memories of Mom’s abuse still lingered. Every so often I went for walks on a footpath along the base of the towering H-O-L-L-Y-W-O-O-D sign—until the day I was walking alone and heard a voice in my head say, Forgive your mother. Startled, I stopped. Again the voice said, Forgive your mother. “No way! Impossible! It’s not fair!”

I drove home and told my wife, “Twice the voice said, Forgive your mother.” 

She replied, “Sounds like a good idea!” 

I growled, “No, I could never do that.” 

For the next few days, I brought up every objection possible with the Lord: Mom did not deserve forgiveness, she hadn’t apologized or admitted her faults, her behavior had made Dad miserable, my own hurt was too deep.

During a sermon, I heard a Bible verse that stirred me to the core: “Get rid of all bitterness and wrath and anger . . . forgive one another as God in Christ has forgiven you.” (Ephesians 4: 31) Oh boy, now what? So simple, so difficult. Yet, when I reflected on God’s freely offered forgiveness for my sins and misdeeds, something rigid inside me softened.

That day I knelt on the ground, and spoke aloud: “Mom, I … I … forgive … you.” Sobs welled up within me and tears exploded from my eyes. Huge waves of sorrow and grief dislodged from my soul like tons of lead. Years of ugly, murderous grudges dissolved right there in the Lord’s presence. Over time, memories of my younger Mom the first ten years of my life replaced the long history of my painful anger.

A bonus occurred that Christmas. With my wife and 5-year old daughter, I flew home to visit Mom. Although I had insisted on minimal contact for years, it was my idea to return and reconcile with her. As a widow for 14 years who’d never remarried, it was clear she had reflected on her past behavior and gained emotional insights into the feelings of others.

We knocked on the same door I had slammed behind me the day I swore to never return. When the door opened, Mom’s face lit up in a smile as she greeted us. Seeing my beaming face, she blurted out, “Johnny, you’ve changed! You look happy!”

“Yes, Mom, I’ve changed. I love you.”

Abruptly, her hands covered her face and she gasped, “That’s the first nice thing I’ve heard you boys say in twenty years!” Teary-eyed, she reached for my hands. “You really love me?”

“Yes, Mom. I’ve forgiven you.”

“Forgiven me . . .?”

I hugged her tenderly, then put my arm around her as we walked to the living room where we sat together. I confided how God had helped me let go of the decades of pain and anger, and she curled up in my arms as she welcomed the rekindled love I felt for her.

* * * 

During his career John Howard Prin has specialized in helping people who are recovering from addictions to experience the joys and rewards of lifelong recovery. John's talents as an addictions counselor and educator have motivated individuals in recovery groups and treatment centers to stay sober nationwide. You can visit his Amazon author page here.