In Which I Call Out Myself and My Home Town
We all want to belong. We all want to be an insider.
We all want to walk into a place billowing with people and noise and distraction, and then somewhere in that storm we want someone to turn and notice us. We want to see their eyes light up and we want them to forget what they were talking about and we want them to pull up a chair or make a spot at the bar for us. We want them to want to get to know us. We want to know that we matter.
I want you to want me
I need you to need me
I’d love you to love me
I’m beggin’ you to beg me
This desire for friendship and community and intimacy is a beautiful thing. It serves a purpose in the perpetuation of our species by leading to the creation of little people and also to the formation of communities that provide for and protect the individual. We are not all Bear Grylls-types, able to forage on pine cones and various species of moss. Read more 
Another Example of How God Doesn’t Play Low-Stakes Poker
I got the call on the way to Virginia.
First I should tell you that when we approached our wonderful landlords about our upcoming trip, we told them we would be moving out. We couldn’t afford to pay rent AND be on the road, so we planned to put our stuff in storage and then find a new house to live in when we got back this summer.
Our landlords surprised us by telling us not to move out. We could keep our stuff in the house, stop paying rent while we were away, and then pick up where we left off as soon as we got back. That was a shocker. Amazing news.
But there is a small chance we may sell the house before you leave, they said. If we do, you’ll need to move out before the trip.
Then came the phone call the other night, 21 days before our scheduled departure in the big blue bus. Read more
He Wonders Why There Were No Survivors
At dusk, the sound of a cricket lurches out from the heavy green grass that must soon be cut. The boy knows it’s time to mow because it was soft and warm under his feet that day. When it’s not time to mow it sticks up scratchy and straight like the stubble of his father’s weekend face.
The sky looms gray and blue and dark in the east. He presses against the window screen. It leaves the imprinted feeling of small hash marks on the tip of his nose. He can smell the stinging sweet smell of metal. Read more
The Girl Who Cannot Speak
Every Thursday night the woman leaves her house and drives over soft hills to the home of an Amish family. She walks up to the door, and they let her in with smiles and the typical Amish greeting of a handshake, a nod, a kind word. They walk her to the bedroom of one of their daughters.
The woman walks in and holds the girl. Perhaps she reads to her from time to time – I’m not sure. The girl does not respond, or at least not in an obvious way. She was shot in the head years ago, and she has never recovered completely. Read more
Cade and I Discuss the Merits of an Invisible God Who Often Doesn’t Seem to be Listening
Awesome photo taken by http://jamiebg.blogspot.com/
“Hey, Dad, how come hard things happen in life?”
I stared into the rear view mirror, peering through the darkness to catch a glimpse of my 8-year-old son in the back seat of the minivan. After the meal at Friendly’s, I felt stuffed. Heat rushed from the dashboard, trying to put me to sleep. My recent back pains had even died down a bit now that I was sitting in the van. We were only waiting for Maile and the girls to come out with our takeaway ice cream, and then we’d be good to go.
“What do you mean by hard things?” That’s called a stalling tactic. Read more
