A New Creation Poem Remember that at one time you were a howling wilderness, the haunt of hyenas who cackled among the thistles under a ghost moon. But now in Christ Jesus you are a fresh spring, cooling the rocks and watering the hills that roll under a young sun.
We stood at my grandma Karen’s grave on Palm Sunday, the wind matting the grass and making all the fake grave flowers tremble. Dad brought a bundle of daffodils from Papa Larry’s garden, and as he tucked them in the granite vase, I said I hoped they wouldn’t blow away. But it’s early April and … Continue reading Grave Flowers
In learning how to sew, it has often occurred to me that most of my time is spent tearing things out. Maybe it’s because I’m a new and fumbling seamstress, but I spend more energy ripping out what’s crooked or backward than actually sewing pieces together. The other day, I talked to a seamstress friend … Continue reading To Tear the Seam
I met Darlene at the café on the first floor of the doctor’s building. And before I met her, I heard her ordering at the counter. The cashier had asked how she was doing, and she had answered with: Not wonderful. She had an elbow propped on the counter and her gray head in her … Continue reading Coffee and a Breakfast Wrap
A True Story from Home The church sanctuary hummed, moms herding their kids in from nursery, guys in khakis talking deer hunting, and a blonde boy who got away, darting between folks’ legs with a Sunday school paper in hand. Anna stood at the front row, looking across the aisle to where her friends were … Continue reading Walking on Water
A Story of Christmas Yet To Come Race Point is the easternmost I’ve ever been— in fact, it’s just about as eastward as you can get in the States, at the fingertip of Massachusetts’s arm. It was a strange thing to stand with all North America behind me, to face the horizon of sea, to … Continue reading Look East
A Story of Christmas Present It’s that time of year when the trees go up in the church foyer, and the Operation Christmas Child shoeboxes get stacked, and I stand in the green fluorescence of Dollar Tree, and everything on the shelves is plastic and off-brand, and I wonder if the kid getting my box … Continue reading Glory in a Box
The Ozark Trail ambles down eastern Missouri, flanked by shortleaf pines and tracing the foothills, in places skipping over rocks and roots like a stony river. It’s a dream of mine to walk from its trailhead (just forty minutes from here) clear to the western edge of the Mark Twain National Forest— some 230 miles. … Continue reading Rocks Of Remembrance
It’s Sunday morning and our pastor is there early, drinking his coffee, straightening the chairs in the sanctuary, and, I think, praying over them. The heater makes the ceiling creak as Jason and Courtney hold hands to pray before he’ll lead worship in a voice that sounds like Mark Hall’s from Casting Crowns, and she’ll … Continue reading Sunday Morning
Sometimes, I'll forget whether it’s Dad’s Sunday to preach or not, but as soon as I feel my way down the hallway toward the coffee pot, I know. If he isn’t reading in the armchair by the window, then his black dress shoes wait on the floor next to it. I like to see him … Continue reading The Minister, As I Know Him
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