This tribute was written for my grandma Naomi's memorial service. She entered Christ's presence Sunday morning, August 17th. My grandma Naomi was a lover of the little things. Looking out her and Papa’s sunroom windows this time of year---when the cicadas are full in the trees, the fish flipping down in the pond, and August … Continue reading With These She Was Content
My good friends lost their mom and grandma back in December. We are such good friends, in fact, that I'd only ever called her "Nana." Nana was known for her knitting and quilting, so at her memorial, her family hung her quilts in their kitchen for folks to look at. They filled a basket with … Continue reading She Knitted Things
They showed a map on TV the other night that over her lifetime, U.S. swimmer Katie Ledecky has nearly swum the circumference of the earth. She may as well have swum to Paris for the Olympics, I thought. But I wondered if all her training had felt that way---if, with each stroke, she felt herself … Continue reading Two Good Legs
The Story Behind True Stories from Home For every writer, there’s a day of small beginnings. Jane Austen started with a quill and inkwell in her family’s sitting room. Hemingway carried a notebook and pencil around in his pocket. For Tolkien, it was the back of a student’s Oxford exam paper where he drafted the … Continue reading Over the Pond Banks & Through the Woods
My pastor said last Sunday that it's no mistake where we meet Jesus. I met him at the kitchen table, when I was still small enough to fit on my dad's lap. He had unlatched and pulled the two halves of the table apart, so there was a gap where the leaves might go. On … Continue reading At the Kitchen Table
For Mr. Bob They said you could have flown that day and gone down with the plane that burned in the field behind the barn, smoking black above the Pennsylvania pines. Instead, you went down slow, stalling, but steady, and still checking your flight lists, making sure the hospice nurses were safe and buckled, the … Continue reading Flight 93
The kingdom of heaven is as near as the hand at the end of your arm. So turn the dough, stitch the wound, change the sheets, play the notes, stack the wood, sow the seeds and straighten the rocks along the wilderness road.
One of the main characters in Wendell Berry’s novel, Jayber Crow, is the river itself, which moves through the story like Jayber does, picking things up as it goes, sometimes setting them down again. The river is always changing---sometimes fat and angry, “as if the mountains had melted and were flowing to the sea.” In … Continue reading Everywhere the River Goes
“Today is the longest day of the year,” Mom would say one evening late in June, then shoo us out the back door to drink up every last drop of light, because, she said, the evenings would only be getting shorter from now till December. So I’d lie over the swing after dinner, brushing my … Continue reading The Longest Day of Light
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
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