Lately I’ve begun to notice a pattern in my life. It’s one that I’m excited about and increasingly anticipate. Why?

As I write there is a weeklong event taking place in England called “Slow Down London.” It is a protest of sorts against that

I muffle my cries in the pillow so my children will not hear me: “Jesus, Jesus, Lord, please help me!”

It is early yet,
only the first inning,
and he stands so tall and sure.
He’s a lefty
with confident eyes,
and he w

I’ve sunk deeper into our home lately.

Bowling was not my first choice.

Recently my family sifted through objects from the past and the memories they inspired while cleaning out a sway-backed old horse barn

The first Wednesday in Lent never fails to catch me by surprise.

In August 2007 the Lord said to my family, “Leave your friends and country and go to the land I will show you.

Listen, Dad,
God sees you, he knows what’s happened,
               &nb

According to legend, the Chinese Emperor Shen Nung, considered to be the father of Chinese agriculture, discovered tea accidentally one d

Everything I know about church planting I learned from my father.

Come to a space that you choose to be your place of solitude—at least for the span of a day.

My bookshelves contain numerous volumes about contemplative life and spirituality—books on the desert fathers, on famous or obscure

It was too beautiful a day for something to die. But it did. There was nothing I could do about it.

I carry this sorrow like a stone in my pocket. It’s always there, sometimes chiseled sharp, painful to touch.

There are days here in Alberta when the weather is just about as perfect as one can imagine.

With the Amen this dog

knew her kingdom

had come. Scraps of fat,

burnt potatoes, beets,

everything proceeded

The teacher in the book of Ecclesiastes says, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.”

Fast from discontent.
Feast on gratitude.

Fast from anger.
Feast on patience.

Fast from worry.
Feast on fai

When I was a child about 5 years old, I would go to my grandfather’s small Baptist church.

It really was, as the cliché goes, a dark and stormy night.

The picture on the next page hangs in my church office. Parishioners often ask if there is a story behind it.