Hush, Hush, Somebody’s callin' my name. Hush, Hush, Somebody’s callin' my name. Oh, Hush, Hush, Somebody’s callin' my name. O my Lord, O my Lord, what shall I do? What shall I do? Sounds like Jesus. Somebody’s callin' my name. Sounds like Jesus. Somebody’s callin' my name. Oh, Sounds like Jesus. Somebody’s callin' my name.…

“There is often a good deal of the child left in people who have had to grow up too soon.” Willa Cather He’s napping this afternoon. It’s been three and a half weeks since the unexpected, seven-hour quadruple bypass surgery. I had stretched out beside him on the edge of the hospital bed that morning,…

It was a bright, pleasant, frosty morning, perfectly still, with an air like wine. –George MacDonald, What’s Mine’s Mine, 1886 Happy Birthday to my big sister Kathy! We’re reading this book together this winter, she in the Texas Hill Country, I in the mountains of Montana. Upon hearing that I had re-discovered the copy she’d…

We do not want to merely “see” beauty—though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words—to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. C.S. Lewis—The Weight of…

October is nearly over . . . and I can’t get to the fall decorations! The fat squatty pumpkins for the kitchen window boxes, the gourd turned into a bird house, the big grapevine acorns that hang in a trio in the window toward the lake. I have only these red branches fresh cut from…

O God, why dost thou cast us off forever? Why does thy anger smoke against the sheep of thy pasture? . . . Thy foes have roared in the midst of thy holy place . . . they hacked the wooden trellis with axes. They set the sanctuary on fire; to the ground they desecrated…

I had a little talk with Jesus last week . . . same topic but a different conversation on my end. I’ve been praying all these months for the truth to be seen, for justice to be done, for strength and protection for those I love who are under attack . . . and I…

She’s called “The City of Trees,” this place we’ve called home for at least part of each year, these past fifteen years. And she’s a charmer. I remember the first time we visited being struck with how beautiful the sky was . . . its wide blue arc stretching from the foothills and red-rocked cliffs…

We drive south along the lake, rain showers pattering on the roof of the truck now and then. The morning sun finally breaks through the clouds as we pass Wild Horse Island, Big Arm, Chief Cliff . . . and as Flathead Lake ends, Polson. It’s our breakfast stop on this ten-hour journey back to…

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…