Porch sitting in the rain

Sitting on the porch alone, listening to them fixing supper, he felt again . . . the sense of loss and the aloneness, the utter defenselessness that was each man's lot, sealed up in his bee cell from all the others in the world. But the smelling of boiling vegetables and pork reached him from…

The starving of the imagination

The people of God in Isaiah’s day had starved their imagination by looking on the face of idols, and Isaiah made them look up at the heavens; that is, he made them begin to use their imagination aright. Nature to a saint is sacramental. If we are children of God, we have a tremendous treasure…

Grandma’s cook stove

“The smell of bruised apples reaches me of a sudden. And in that moment I am back in Miss Eliza's kitchen, rich with cooking odors: the nutty smell of roasting coffee berries, the syrupy scent of fruit upon the stove, the pierce of a fresh-cut lemon, the sweet warmth of a split vanilla pod, the…

Part of the story

Gethsemane The grass never sleeps. Or the roses. Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning. Jesus said, wait with me. But the disciples slept. The cricket has such splendid fringe on its feet, and it sings, have you noticed, with its whole body, and heaven knows if it ever sleeps.…

Blue

When first I met Dr. H he was walking toward me across the small parking lot from his office in Boise, ID. I was early for my appointment, so my husband and I had sat in the truck to wait a bit. I still couldn't drive. He must have seen us. As I climbed out…

Oatmeal cookies

It’s Birthday week at our house for my guy . . . Dad, Pops, Grampa. We'll be gathering to celebrate with a meat and potatoes dinner, his grandaughter's homemade bread, and daughter's Pecan Cheesecake. His kind of feast. If you ask him what he might like as a gift, he’ll say the same thing every…

Window to the world

Going to Walden by Mary Oliver It isn’t very far as highways lie. I might be back by nightfall, having seen The rough pines, and the stones, and the clear water. Friends argue that I might be wiser for it. They do not hear that far-off Yankee whisper: How dull we grow from hurrying here…