She’s telling a story. And this one, it’s true. Oh, it’s true and it’s hard. Lord, who can bear it? Who can even stand up, or get out of bed?

It was in his first year at Bethel as an incoming junior that I was invited to blog for the college, alongside professors and students. This is a letter I

Driving along on the way to church, he chirps it from his throne behind Daddy. “My teacher was happy at me.” It’s the Cheerful Little Cricket, our newest scholar who

Boy, that was fun. When you’re six like me, a kindergarten field trip is a really big deal. I was so excited that Mama said I vibrated for days, I

It reads like a novel. Some days, a tragedy; others, a comedy, but always a volatile plot line. A friend, observing the action, said, “You should make a sitcom about

It’s the Boston marathon. This year, 26,839 people have entered, signing their names to a race that will mean blood, sweat and tears in a 26.2-mile test of endurance. Then

It was the second time through that did it. I’d found it once already, counted it up and gave it back. A day or two later, kneeling on the rug

Stepping outside, I see it. The sun, it’s peeking, leaking light across the back fence just there at the edge of the world. I stop for a moment on the

“Crooked sticks.” He’s reading from Matthew. There, Jesus is assembling his starting lineup, some of those He’s chosen to go the distance. By looking at who He’s picking, won’t it

I could scarcely believe it. Why, it was hardly American, not to love it like that. To skip it right over, to pass it right up. To go for the