a year ago, this room was filled with reclaimed lumber and pregnant dreams; now I sit in my spot, trying to give birth to new ideas as though I have always come here. the path from then to now is not mapped, but discovered — looking back into the woods of hope and friendship, of…
Several years ago, Thanksgiving became synonymous with pie at our house. The week before I go on a pie baking frenzy and the results are shared throughout the neighborhood, as well as around our table. Here are a few of the recipes that have become keepers over the years. I’ll start with my mother’s pie…
Though we have still have a few days before the feast, I thought I would point to a few recipes that have served me well in the past. Many of them will make a repeat appearance this year. Follow the links to the recipes. Pimento cheese stuffed sweet potatoes Roasted red curry carrots Green bean…
If you have followed this blog for very long, you have heard me make reference to my songwriting days with my friend, Billy Crockett. This week, his wife Dodee posted a video of him singing what is perhaps my favorite song we wrote together. The idea grew out of our reading Paul Bowles’ amazing novel…
One of the most enduring stories in scripture, for me, comes from Joshua 4, where Joshua is explaining to the people how they were to mark what had happened in their lives. When the entire nation had finished crossing over the Jordan, the Lord said to Joshua: “Select twelve men from the people, one from…
forty-seven octobers ago i was eleven dad was thirty-nine and we lived in a shotgun apartment for missionaries who had come home from the field . . . I didn’t know much about america, but I loved the boston red sox though we had never been to boston in the fall and I was…
One of my dad’s favorite songs was “You Never Even Call Me By My Name,” which was written by John Prine and Steve Goodman and most famously recorded by David Allen Coe. I don’t know the story of how my dad came to find the song, much less love it, but during some of his…
october is warming up like august — two months ago where we stood in a summer cemetery singing gospel songs and saying goodbye goodbye grief, I think, is hot — not cold a burning, swarming absence that gets under your skin and won’t let you find a cool place to relax these feelings are as…
these are my favorite days when the summer’s shellacking is painted over by fall’s crisp palette of expectancy and comfort I want to match the colors with aromas savory and sweet — layers of flavor and hope that sustain as the nights grow longer and winter hangs on the horizon barren branches and grey mornings…
I was driving to work yesterday and saw a sign in front of one of the storefront churches that inhabit our downtown neighborhood that said, “This is the year of great grace and great growth.” The rhythm of the words, when I said them out loud so I could remember them, pulled me towards writing…