As I recall her in my mind’s eye, Mrs. Thompson (first name lost to time) was a pleasantly plump, nurturing fifth grade teacher, clad in the sort of festive, seasonally-appropriate sweaters favored by seasoned elementary school veterans. During my first year at that small Christian school in Winter Park, Florida, she led my class through…
My children are growing up in Florida, where we experience no visible signs of either fall, winter, or (arguably) spring. October or April, the landscape looks the same. It occurred to me last month, when reading books to my kids about autumn in 97 degree weather, that fall must seem like fiction to them. To a Floridian kid, the idea of changing…
God is our refuge and strength, we will not be afraid. These things are true even in a season of widespread global suffering. Humans, sustained by faith in the living God, have a great capacity to do hard things with grit and grace.
I like to think of myself as a musician. I mean, if taking piano lessons for years as a kid and knowing some music theory makes you a musician, I guess it’s true. Knowing how to play a musical instrument is a special gift – but it takes a while to get there. I remember…
Snow falling on a field of dream-scented scarlet poppies; a gold river that sings when you swirl your fingers in it; a gargoyle breathing sweet, warm breath onto a girl’s hands to help her grip better as she climbs a cliff. Do you remember snippets and side-views like these in your favorite books that resonated…
Samwise had climbed too many stairs with Shagrat drooling on his heels. He’d blasted through Cirith Ungol’s gates with Galadriel’s light. He’d searched every black corner for Frodo, and now, his master was a tower trapdoor out of reach. So Sam sang nursery rhymes into Mordor. “He murmured old childish tunes out of the Shire,…
…Look you, this brave o’erhanging / firmament, this majestical roof, fretted / with golden fire…” Hamlet, from Shakespeare’s Hamlet Act 2, Scene 2, Lines 323-325 Between 8:00 and 9:00 p.m. each evening falls the mortal drowsy hour, at least for me. Upon finishing our bedtime routine with the six and eight-year-old, either my wife or I sit…
There I was, a scrawny, gangly twelve-year-old, standing with my back pack and tape recorder in front of a house I had never been to before. It was a small ranch house with mint green vinyl siding and white shutters. As my family car pulls out of the drive way, my mom waves goodbye and…
God has such a terrific imagination. Creation is proof of that! And so am I. I never imagined the directions my life would go, but God did. I never imagined I’d become an ordained minister. I didn’t grow up in church. And I’m an introvert with a capital “I.” Mom and Dad couldn’t agree on…
Fictional parents. Fictional kids. Never the two shall meet. At least, as a compulsive reader of kids’ books, it often seems this way. I’d love to see stats, compiled by someone else, of course, breaking down this pattern with decades of book data. What percentage of child protagonists are orphans? What percentage are latchkey kids?…
There seems to be a lack of bookmarks in my house – it’s not uncommon to find books left on tables, benches and counters being kept open by odd placeholders – coasters, markers, pencils, toys, and even other books! At the end of the day, if I gather up these paperbacks and hardcovers and remove the…
There is a dirt road on the western border of Missouri and Arkansas that winds for miles over an Ozark ridge until it eventually comes to nothing in an overgrown pasture beyond a tree painted purple. The mail lady calls the road, “The End of the World,” and the epithet is spot on. It is…
