I ask the world’s most obvious question: “All right, who did this?” I jab a finger at the letters carved into the back of the wooden kitchen chair: A N N A Anna’s older sister chimes in first, rolling her eyes for dramatic effect. “I recognize those backwards Ns anywhere,” she says. Anna’s fork falls with a guilty clink…
Rosie, the matriarch of our little country church, scooted through the crowd and down the center aisle to find me before the postlude even began. “Can you bring a dessert to the church supper Friday night?” she asked, pressing a pen into my hand. She held up a clipboard, and I froze before I looped the first curve on my cursive J. Rosie…
“I wonder what Heaven will be like,” our older daughter says, staring out the window of the car, with her hand propped on her chin. She’s staring at clouds. I turn on my blinker to change lanes and reach the exit ramp toward home. Our younger daughter is buckled in behind me and blurts out the first answer: “Ice…
You forgot to pay the electric bill. Someone left the milk out overnight. You missed a deadline, and your son missed the bus. Your heartbeat elevates, and your nerves stand on edge. You’re a wee bit angry at the world, and at the kids, and mostly at yourself. You’ve been overmatched by your to-do list, overloaded by…
If the story weren’t so ridiculous, I don’t think I would have believed it. I have been the skeptic, and maybe too often, the cynic. I see the holes. But this story? The one about a King born in a manure-caked stable? It was the absurdity of the story that I found most convincing. I’ve been a news journalist since…
She asks her hardest questions at bedtime, when we flop open the pages of Scripture atop her flowered quilt. We flip through pages of her Bible, rustling like onion skins between our fingers. We land on the story of David and Goliath, and I read aloud the story of a heroic boy who felled a giant with one smooth stone. In the bluish light…
For years, I didn’t smile with an open mouth. I had a mouthful of crooked, crowded teeth. Imagine a picket fence rearranged by a wildly errant bicyclist — or a Mack truck. That’s what my teeth looked like. I had postponed orthodontic care for years, because in my heightened state of teenage self-awareness, braces…
It happened like this one Sunday morning at my brother-in-law’s church in Minnesota: Someone had taped a bright-yellow sign to the front door, with an apology to those gathering for worship: “Sorry. We weren’t able to find anyone to serve as greeters today. Let yourself in!” The congregants shrugged, then opened the door, to step…
The small country church where our family worships every Sunday turned 125 years old this summer. We celebrated with a pageant, picnics, and an old-fashioned “hymn sing” under a big white tent. We lingered long over tables, while our children ran unending circles around a church tucked into the crook of a farm field.…
Our nine-year-old has been practicing her smile for two days now. School pictures are this morning. She set out her shirt last night, along with a matching hair-clip and cubic-zirconia earrings. These things, she could plan for. But that smile? She’s not sure what will happen when the photographer snaps the shutter.…
