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There are two things my daughters ask for when I’m tucking them into bed: a prayer and a story. They don’t ask for an explanation of geometric proofs. They’ve yet to look up at me, their heads on their pillows, and inquire about the molecular structure of hydrogen dioxide.

Don’t get me wrong: they ask some zany questions. They want to know why. They want to know how. But at the heart of their question isn’t a desire for technical information: they want a story. Because somehow children innately understand that the pathway to truth is always paved with good stories.
Continue reading “Want to do Something Worth Remembering? Tell Good Stories”

It’s been a typical Thanksgiving Day with Maile’s family: kids chase each other around the house; the kitchen bustles with food preparation (you can’t walk through it without getting coated in flour); the two dogs hump each other in the foyer.

Okay, that last part is atypical. Continue reading “Turkey, Family, and Humping Dogs (You Know, All the Typical Stuff)”

The thunder sounded like someone throwing firecrackers up against the window. The rain fell in cycles of noise, like a crowd doing the wave in a huge stadium. Then I heard another sound, faint, hidden under everything else, but suddenly very much there.
Continue reading “The Night I Heard a Tornado Siren and Ignored It”

Each child at the Thanksgiving program stood from their seat and said what they wanted to be when they grew up. My children happened to go first.

Cade rose, a smile on his face, and proudly proclaimed: “Writer!”

Then Lucy, always a little bashful, always looking for that thin ray of acceptance: “Librarian.”

For the last few weeks, these have been the career choices. Not too long ago they were policeman and gardener. And before that something else. Continue reading “What My Son Wants to be When He Grows Up”

A teenage girl walks into the bathroom and vomits quietly into the sink, tiny flecks of her barely existent lunch sticking to the mirror. When she looks into the glass, she sees a stranger. She sits on the toilet and puts her face in her hands.

Then she sees it – on the floor, written on a torn scrap of toilet paper, a note to her from someone who loves her. Continue reading “The Bible: Notes of Love, or Charges Made By a Disappointed Father?”