I'm Dreaming of a White Elbow

"We're scaredy craps - just made that up!" Steve joked with Matt. We were putting away our brushes and capping our paint buckets. The walls of a once dark and dusty basement had become a brilliant white (along with our elbows, shoulders, foreheads and shoes) and filled with laugher and song in just one hour.

Normally we would be wrapping up a scripture passage with discussion and prayer, but this week was a little different. Matt and Mary needed help painting their basement, especially with Matt's twelve hour shifts, a newborn, and the state of their house when they first moved in. Last week, over food

Kids Like This

My brisk run this morning began and ended much later than I intended. I did set my alarm* correctly  in hopes of getting up early enough, but this morning, largely persuaded by my sleepy wife, I slept in. And once up, I occupied myself with this and that (check email, check weather, etc.) to avoid the cold air outside. After way too long, I mustered up the determination and slipped on my long spandex**, pulled on a sweatshirt, gloves, a beanie and my shoes and jogged out my back door, across my lawn and to the street behind us.

"Hi Spencer!" I shouted across the street as I came upon a familiar figure. It was Carter, Spencer's

Prince of Peace

I am not in grade school. I am not a teacher. I am not from Connecticut. I do not have children. I have never been the victim of a violent crime.

Why, then, do I feel attached to what has happened? Why do I feel sorrow for the families? Why do I feel anger toward the perpetrator? Why do I feel responsibility to know the story and understand what happened? We all share it together, don't we? We are connected by our humanity, connected by the

A Figure in the Driveway

A sergeant is barking orders at his dog, beating it with a club as it whines. No, it's not a dog, it's a person curled in protection, taking blows to the ribs. The shouting continues; I hear moaning now. Fight. Somebody is taking a beating.

"And stay the f*** out of my house!" Anger splits the darkness. I'm half conscious as I leap from my warm bed to the window, peeking through blinds, searching the darkness with my blurry eyes. A

Finish, Fumes, and Love

Last month I finished building a coffee table for our living room. In the makings for almost a year (not due to the difficulty of the project but more-so my deficiency of proper tools), the supreme wood shop of my father-in-law catalyzed its completion. Yesterday the table stood proudly between the couch and the facing chair, topped with candles, coasters, and various books. This morning, the table lay belly-up in our basement as I worked new wax into the tight grain (I had finished it before, but the finish was too light for me. I like dark antique wax finish that gives the grain character and beauty to the flaws of my second-rate woodworking). It's during tedious and monotonous work like this that I can dream, remember and process.

"It makes you realize that your ways of loving her are really just ways you control her," agreed Connor. Last year the five of us had kidnapped Calvin and took him on a camping trip in Lake

Snowy Walk

Snow dusts the sleepy woods and brush

Like a lullaby and a mother's hush

Frost rests to the trees

Sun rays like melted dreams 

the drops feel like rain

But now it's snowing again

Immanuel

We come together, in from our loneliness

By the flickering light
We come into a stable

A small trough is our strange table

It is good news that He has come

Yes, Jesus,

Come

Our family meal,

Bendy Toy

I instantly recognized the handwriting before my eyes found the return address. It was a yellow package from my mom. The lid of the black mailbox clanked shut as I carried the cold gift to into our warm home. There's a magical excitement about packages delivered to your home. First of all, it is amazing USPS can bring something from my parent's front door in California to mine in Michigan in two days. Secondly, a package contains something specific and special, a surprise of intention wrapped in protection with a seal just for you.

So I pulled up the sticky tabs and emptied a short note from mom and two objects wrapped in tissue paper. One was a square tin which I opened to find a red frame ornament. "Our First Christmas" is

Sleepless Love

Tomas opened the door with a smile and I could see Kelly's face peeking over the couch back in the living room. It was good to see our friends. Their eyes looked more tired than usual, despite their warm welcoming smiles. We said hello, slipped off our shoes and shuffled over to the couch to peek at a tiny baby girl curled up in her mother's arms, sleeping.

How do you greet a little baby like that? They seem so fragile and little. I wanted to speak hello in a language she understands, but it seemed impossible with her brand new ears so small. We all chatted as she slept, enchanted by the presence of this new little person as we caught up.

I could tell they were happy to have us over and wished we could stay longer (at least that's how I

The Gift of Imagination

For the last three and a half months, Barry has been on sabbatical, traveling through Turkey, Greece, Italy, Switzerland, Boston, New York, (I probably missed a location or two) and back to his hometown in Michigan. Since he was south of us just an hour, he thought he would come up to stay with us for one night. Yesterday we hopped in the car as I showed him around my world a little, and as we did, he told me all about his sabbatical.

I love the way Barry tells stories. I heard about Spello and Assisi in vivid detail; Barry spoke slowly and calmly, painting patient and detailed word pictures. Before I knew it, I was walking down narrow

O Christmas Tree

After lunch yesterday, and with the ax in the trunk, Rachel and I drove up to our uncle's hunting property in New Era to cut down a Christmas tree. I love road trips with my wife. For some reason we get sillier and simpler with just a radio between us, singing, sharing, or just sitting silently. We didn't know exactly how to get there, but we found our way somehow, rolling along a narrow dirt road way back into the woods.

None of the little trees we found are perfect. We picked our favorite, cut it down, carried it to the