My parents
recently watched my young son while I was speaking at the Jot Writers Conference in Grand Rapids. When I returned to their place, I saw that they had
set aside a few more items from their basement, placing near the door--a subtle hint that I should take them home and
place them in my basement. (This has been a slow and steady process since I got
married, fifteen years ago).
But this time,
it wasn't a box of old toys or school papers. It was one of my masterpieces
from my early teen foray into acrylic paints. For a while there in the late-'80s/early-'90s. I churned out a fairly steady supply of Peretti-inspired
spiritual warfare pictures. I remember thinking they were pretty awesome.
But they
actually looked like this.
