God’s Renovations Involve Wrecking Balls, Not Paint Brushes
The house sits mostly empty on this cold Sunday afternoon. The chickens walk up on to the deck and peck at the glass patio doors, their heads twitching from side to side, trying to figure out why a wall of plastic containers obscures their view of the living room. Cardboard boxes stand by the front door – they will carry away the final remnants of this time in our lives.
An unexpected peace fell over the house this week as we packed up our stuff and wedged it into storage. In my experience, all great adventures begin and end with a storage unit. Boxes of books, clothes, and dishes never touched in the two years we lived here have vanished. There is something refreshing about empty space. There is something about simplicity that makes it easier to breathe.
The house even seems bigger now, without the chairs and table and wardrobes, the carpets and end tables and piles of things we never used but only moved from spot to spot. It’s been a good reminder to me, about how our life can expand if we’re willing to throw some of our stuff on to the altar. Read more 
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
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
Bobby McFerrin, Broccoli, and a Question Jesus Asked
Stop smoking. Start exercising. Stop eating fast food. Start eating broccoli. Stop crossing without looking both ways. Start walking instead of driving. Stop adding salt. Start adding vitamins. Stop drinking alcohol. Start drinking red wine.
The list of advice regarding how to live a longer life is endless and often contradictory. Yet we absorb these recommendations and then regurgitate them with amazing confidence, certain that whatever tidbit heard last is the surefire guarantor of a long life.
But adding a day, or a month, or a year, or even a decade…is that the point? Is that really all that we’re concerned with? Read more
