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

I stop. Oh. Huh. And I listen. “You should be waiting with eager expectation.” Waiting. To see what I, the Great I Am, will do. Goodness. So Father’s looked at

For months, it had nestled there in the pocket on the back. Upstairs and down, wherever The Girl went, it had gone as well. To the back room, doing laundry.

As the worship team sang, there they went, first one, then the other. Clad in white robes, they stepped down into the water. As the pastors spoke last-minute counsel and

As they’re out there, chirping “to beat the band,” as my mother always said, I find myself nearly breathless at the windowsill, thinking of the warmer temperatures soon to come.

Sitting in the back of the room, I heard her say it. “Criss cross. On your bottoms!” It was Little Schrock’s pretty, blonde and cheerful teacher. Settling into the now-familiar

Today, I feel compelled to tell you a story. It began nearly two years ago when the first ones went missing… You who come and read here know me as

There had to be a better way. I wasn’t asking for the Brooklyn Bridge or the moon on a platter. All I wanted was one simple change; a little old