Observations

All around me are people, squished and squeezed and packed in tightly, seat by seat, row by row, waiting for takeoff. The woman next to me looks so lost, like she’s frightened a bit and just wishing the trip was over. It seems she knows no English, and I am struck by how my own experience these last days in Lebanon helps me to empathize with her. To be alone in a sea of incomprehensible words, unable to read the signs and instructions around you, to be forced to rely only on the most basic of grunts and gestures – that is a frightening thing in any culture. I am realizing more and more that language not only helps us communicate with others, but also helps us know our place in the world. Safety, security, stability, all these needs are bound up in the words...

Small to mid-sized towns have a certain charm about them. Perhaps it’s the sense of homey community, or the feeling of history behind each landmark. With big cities, it’s easy to get so focused on the new things and the energy of mass population that you lose sight of the place itself. Not so with the small town. It draws you in, whispers stories from the shadows. The small town not only *has* character, it IS one.

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning, great is your faithfulness.” Lamentations 3:22-23 Two days ago I returned home from an incredible and inspiring summit of leaders in children’s ministry from around the world. For me, coming back from great gatherings of amazing people is always a mixed bag of emotions. On the one hand, it’s always nice to come home; familiar faces, consistency, routine, but on the other hand it can be such a letdown. After days spent stirring up vision and passion and motivation, of meeting people with whom you share so much in common, to come back “down to earth” is often a difficult thing. It’s all just so… normal. BUT,...

I’m sitting in a straight-back chair with a fastened safety belt, 35,000 feet up on a hot summer day. All around me are clouds; the white, puffy, cotton-ball clouds that give young imaginations the best fodder you could ask for. I remember clouds like this from summer afternoons as a boy; from long, hot, lazy days filled with lemonade and basketball games. No matter what games we played, though, it seems we almost always found time and a patch of grass to just lie down and watch. Dragons and ships and fish and who knows what else we’d see; anything could happen when the clouds were just right. Somehow, though, somewhere along the way the clouds became just that: clouds. Cumulus and status and cirrus and nimbus, all just clumped up bunches of water and...

“Why didn’t any of the gospels describe what Jesus looked like?” Ever get one of those strange questions that just makes you stop and say “hmm”? I was sitting at a cafe doing some devotional reading when I got this text message from a good friend of mine; “Very important theological question for you… Why didn’t any of the gospels describe what Jesus looked like? If I was writing about someone I cared about so that the world would know him I would describe what he looked like… Random, I know, but I figure there is a reason.” Yes, it WAS random, but it got me thinking about it.  And thinking about it.  And thinking some more. Eventually I had to answer, so here’s what came to...

Confession time: I’m an analyzer.  Ok, make that an over-analyzer.  I am the type that has a deep drive to take every fact or experience and try to fit it into a category or framework; some sort of structure to show me what it all means.  It’s the never-ending push to understand, to know, that drives this desire to analyze, dissect and pick everything apart, so I won’t be lost on the dim plain of chance. Let me explain it this way… Imagine you’ve stumbled upon an abandoned battle field that now lies silent in the late moments of dusk. The sun has fled the horizon but the moon isn’t yet out, and the last shafts of daylight are reflected and diffused by a low-hanging cloud of battle-smoke and fog.  The wounded have long since been taken away, and now...