I watch a man in church. He stands with his wife, a young boy between them. The boy looks to be about the same age as our granddaughter. I think that they’re his grandparents, but I don’t know. The man’s hand rests gently on the boy’s shoulder. I catch a glimpse of the boy’s red-rimmed
I throw open the window coverings in our bedroom and I am in awe at a massive fog back snaking its way down the valley. Above, the sky is clear, and ever so gradually growing lighter as dawn draws near. Below, well those souls in the valley have pretty poor visibility this morning. Not long
I stay up later than normal to finish reading Water from a Deep Well by Gerald Sittser. As I reach over to put the book down on my bedside table, my mind churns. I’ve marked it with highlights, underlines, notes that will serve as guides when I look back through the pages—and look back, I will.
I’m still chewing on what it looks like to love God and love my neighbour as myself, when a day appears on the horizon that’s dressed up like love, but bears little resemblance to the kind of love I wrestle with in the pages of my notebook. Wrestle, perhaps not the right word. It’s more
I’ve been burdened since we arrived home from our vacation. The troubles of the world (read: politics), and things I have no control over, have weighed me down. I’ve had enough. I take the realization to prayer: first, scribbling words in my notebook; then, setting my pen down and praying aloud. I’m reminded to set
I’m joining in with a group of writers for Five Minute Friday where we’re given a prompt (this week it’s BUILD) and write for five minutes about it. In the corporate world there was a principle meant to remind you not to get too busy or lose focus, lest you get to the top of the
From the vantage point of my warm bed, I watch the eastern sky grow pink over the familiar hills of home. It is cold outside. I have no desire to go out and watch the sun rise as I did just a few days ago on the beach in Mexico. While is the same sun