It’s also pretty distracting to have you around. You’re always buzzing and beeping. Those little red flags you throw up tempt me like a bull in the hot Spanish sun.
And I can’t stop imagining a world—an extraordinary, beautiful world—in which we all have the reed of goodness at our centers instead of a spine.
I wouldn’t say I liked fantasy as a child. What I liked were stories that started out in real life, then took a turn for the magical. I liked the prospect of our world with improvements.
Sometimes there’s just no better word than “discern” or “redeem” or “vocation,” and it slips out. Maybe you embrace it, or maybe, like me, you cringe.
A serving of oatmeal eaten straight out of the brown paper package gets a five out of ten stars when eaten in my kitchen, but eleventy-twelve stars when eaten atop a mountain.
One year I was Santa Claus. That worked pretty well. But then the next year I couldn’t think of anything, so I just went as Mrs. Claus. People still thought I was Santa.
a wind has blown the rain away and blown / the sky away and all the leaves away, / and the trees stand. I think i too have known / autumn too long
I miss the energy. The companionship. The routine. I miss the rah rah school spirit and the constant activity and the sense that I was always accomplishing something (seemingly) important.
But now that everyone and his mother uses them to serve cocktails and curl their hair, I think we have to put them under the microscope.
You might call it “stuff” or “junk” or “clutter,” but I know there are many of us in this world who take genuine pleasure from a fine teacup or an antique camera or a good pair of broken-in leather shoes.
Reading what people would save and why is such an intimate peek into their lives that sometimes it even feels like prying. People bring photos of their wives and collars from dogs who have died.
We made it! One year is in the bag. And from our perspective, it has been a major success. Read on for a few words of gratitude, some fascinating numbers, and several exciting announcements.
The hum of tires on the road and the whoosh of other cars passing and the thump of bumpy highways has a way of drowning out the chatter of everyday life and transporting us smoothly to blessed vacation.
A bird in hand is worth two in the bush. A firm hand. I have to hand it to you. To have the upper hand. To be underhanded. Give me a hand. Sleight of hand. The matter at hand.
A girl, age four, is in bed with the quilt scrunched up to her chin. Her blond curls quiver. She is petrified. There is a monster in the closet.
The rustle of everyone sitting up straighter and reaching for a pen when an author says something profound. Those pens scratching on paper in unison.
I hate losing things. I try really hard to stay organized because there is nothing more frustrating than losing an important scrap of paper or a sweater.
“Orpheus! what ruin hath thy frenzy wrought/On me, alas! and thee?/Dark sleep closes my swimming eyes. And now farewell:/with enormous night I am borne away.”
The chord sounds a little different—less jaded and sweeter but less sappy—and I’m really glad. Glad to know I’ve changed and glad that a book has changed with me.
May you find a moment’s space tonight. May you draw the curtain, open the window, and climb outside to wait. May the light fall where you need it most.
I’m pretty sure it’s Christmas’ fault. We’ve entered the season when everyone and their mothers has something inspirational or encouraging to say.
I could tell you my opinion about the intersection of homosexuality, Calvin, and the church. But I appreciate the simplicity and genuine goodwill of these stories, so I’ll let them speak unaccompanied.
Perfect Ten, but every time this person talks, a stream of bubbles comes out of his or her mouth. Perfect Ten, but everywhere he/she goes, there is a possum within ten feet.
I really hope thirtyandfourtysomethings don’t think I’m a promiscuous, drunk, hopelessly romantic, lazy, clueless, emotional wreck.
He told me the etymology of the word “encourage.” “It comes from the old French, which comes from the Latin. It means, ‘to put the heart into,’” he said.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
We’ve literally never heard of the 1964 movie Scotch Tape because we were not, in fact, alive in 1964. So no, we don’t know who starred in it.
’ve decided to ignore it and make peace with the familiar. It comes down to personal preference, I guess, but do we really need an adventure every other day of our lives? That sounds exhausting.