For Unbelief, God, I Give You Thanks
“Sometimes God calls a person to unbelief in order that faith may take new forms.” Christian Wiman, My Bright Abyss I remember the day I stopped believing. I see that day now for what it was: a doorway. Nothing would ever be the same for me having passed that threshold. I thank God every day for leading me to that place. I thank God...
These Farmhouse Bookshelves
Friends, a confession: I read some books this summer. The bad news is that I forgot to start dinner, I never noticed when the baby ate cat food, and I forced all four children to endure 90 minutes of daily “quiet time.” The good news is that I have so many books to tell you about. Let’s talk books, again, shall we? (If...
The First Gift Was Desire
If this room were hanging on the wall of a museum, like a painting, I would call it “After the Celebration.” The fabric birthday banner is draped over a dining room chair (having fallen, gracefully, from the top of the china cabinet). A pile of gift bags, in shades of pink and purple, is stacked on the floor waiting for a return trip to the...
This is Rubber Meeting Road
Two years ago, I wrote a few words for my son. They added up to something that wasn’t quite a story. I think they were a prayer. Also, a confession. I meant them for all of my children, but it was this boy who drew them out of me. The love we have for others – but especially for the weaker ones, like our children – is often...
How I Ran Out of Dreams and Found Myself Behind the Wheel of a Pickup Truck
When I was young, dreams were easy. I wanted to marry that one boy from the church youth group. I wanted to live in the big city. I wanted a PhD. Later, I wanted (desperately) to have children. In those days, dreams were like stair steps. One after the other, they fell into place. Some were realized easily, some only after the proverbial...
The Wanderer’s Return
The cherry trees behind our house may be old, but they are scattering yellow leaves like overeager flower girls before a wedding. It isn’t time yet, I whisper. But it is time. No matter what the calendar says, it is time. I know because I have seen this once before. On August first, we began our second year at Maplehurst, and this, yellow...