This piece was written for our church's November newsletter, Grace & Peace. When I was a little girl, I remember something Corrie ten Boom said that stayed with me: "When people come up and give me a compliment... I take each remark as if it were a flower. At the end of the day I … Continue reading A Bouquet of Thanks
Dear Maggie,* Once when I was a teenager, I went to a big concert by a Christian band-–the kind of concert where you feel the drums beat under your ribcage. The event was themed around one of the band’s new songs, which dealt with the worth of a young woman who doesn’t see herself as … Continue reading On Goldenrod & Body Image
This may sound strange, but these days, I pray often for honeybees. Jared is a beekeeper and a businessman, so much of his success lies in the hives tucked in the corner of his property—in their brood, their comb, and the flow of their nectar in spring. When I said “yes” to dating him, I … Continue reading Bless These Hives
A True Story from Home There it was, lying in a black case on the quilt like a closed casket. “Well, open it,” she said quietly. I unhitched the clasps and cracked it open to see a dark violin lying in green velvet. It was coated in dust and rosin, its strings were frayed, and … Continue reading The Butcher’s Violin
Mavon’s dad knew he was dying. He didn’t want to leave them here on the farm—Mavon, her brother, and mother, but he was ready to be with Jesus, and he reminded them from his deathbed: “We’ll just be separated for a short time, and soon, we’ll be together again.” There was something else— “He told … Continue reading A Light in the Valley
The college theater was dim last Friday night, and the musicians played Brahms in andante, which means it was soft and low. I would’ve drifted to sleep it hadn’t been so beautiful. The concertmaster from the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra was visiting our little town, and I wasn’t about to miss watching him vibrato each … Continue reading The Concertmaster
A True Story from Home I remember Frank as an old man, always kneeling in some corner to measure or drill, always doing it quietly with trembly hands. I remember staring at the nub where I’d heard he’d lost a finger to a chop saw, and wondering if it was still lying in his shop … Continue reading The Man Who Built the Lord’s House
I saw a little kid run out of the Cathedral Basilica so I figured it was alright to go inside, to raise my hand to the brass handles and to ease open the pillared door. I saw a tourist group inside the Cathedral Basilica so I figured it was alright to look around, even thought … Continue reading I Saw a Little Kid
May you wake to a cracked window and rain that started in the night. Before you get elbow-deep into your work, may you get ankle-deep in leaves. Poet or builder, pastor or mother—may you welcome the cooler air by being in it. May you take a walk and need a jacket, and hear the geese … Continue reading An October Blessing
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
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