Morning Flames

After my shower and shave I took my time down the stairs to an empty kitchen. Rachel had just left for work minutes earlier. I put some water in a pot and ignited a hot blue flame on the stove which licked the metal bottom of the pot. In my groggy morning state, I stared at the burning flame and the bubbles in the water which were beginning to form.

I am in a small tent pitched on cold crushed pine needles at the base of a granite bowl suspended in the high Sierra Nevada mountains. Above, the sky is flame-blue, streaked with clouds and bouncing off the  cold crystal lake. Little circles grow as trout snack on little bugs. The sun is not yet visible; its halo ignites the jagged sawtoothed peaks to the east. I'm pulling on my pants in the tent, which ruffles and bends as my brother steps out and pulls a fleece over his head. I see my dad sitting in jeans on an old pine log, folded at the waist over his knees as he works on something between his boots with his big hands. It's a little butane burner he props up and balances with one hand and with the other strikes a match. The hot flame roars and spits and is soon

Will You Give Me A Drink?

Yesterday in high school group we told John's story of the woman at the well. Afterwards, we gave students the opportunity to write their deepest secrets. Is there a time you have felt lonely or secretive? What was that like? How does it feel to write your secret? How would your parents or teachers react to your secret? How would Jesus respond to what is on your paper?

Three high school boys shared around my table. One was open and friendly, pleasantly aware and blessedly naïve. One was deep in pain, writhing in silence and fear. He clearly wanted to be left alone but he is also desperate for somebody to understand him. One was foreign, a lonely student from Germany struggling to speak English phrases. And in each of these boys I saw reflections of

Forced Fasting

Slushy rain splattered our windshield on our way east through frozen blueberry farms to the doctor's. The flush red twiggy plants, bare to the cold air, stuck in blank snowy rows that we flipped like pages as we passed. Each fruit and leaf had earlier been picked by winter's chill. Similarly we passed mowed corn fields, beheaded like statues, chopped as a pine forest for lumber. Tall stood