Today, the sun came out, after a stint of gray weather. It brightened the office later morning. This afternoon it sparkled on the little pond outside my window. It took its time settling into twilight, stretching a pink, then salmon, then deep magenta band over the horizon.     Today, I remembered the long, dark night my mother lay dying in her room and that awful, final exhale just before sunrise two years ago.   Yet, I could feel the wonder of tonight’s lovely sunset, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to do again.   And today I felt joy. Something I wasn’t sure I’d ever be...

Two years.   Two years since I’ve seen her face, heard her voice. Since she sighed the long sigh of death and took up life in a place invisible to those of us on the other side.     How deeply I miss her, my mother. How often I long to pick up the phone and talk to her. After two years, I’m still not able to calculate the magnitude of losing that close relationship with her.   Today, I traveled to the destination of the last trip she took: CEF headquarters in Warrenton, MO. She arrived here just a couple of weeks after hearing that the cancer had spread to her lungs, just a few...

No, it’s not the cookies, presents or parties. It’s not favorite holiday traditions, music or movies.   But it is everywhere.   It is the increased opportunity to hear God speak.   After all, Christmas is His story. And every year, in the carols and cards, programs and performances all over the country, His story and the Scriptures are proclaimed  publicly. Even NPR makes the story, through Handel’s gorgeous Messiah, freely available for online listening.   But the story of Christmas is not static. Nor is God’s message through it. God’s voice is never lifeless, His Word never...

Wind.   It swirls around me tonight, with November’s brittle leaves. It stirs mystery within me—the unanswered questions, the life my mother now lives in heaven, things out of my control. Things that might or might not happen.   Its mystery always seems more enhanced, more noticeable, in night’s darkness, in the gaps between seasons.   Wind, how it takes me places, places both dark and bright:   Mystery—that of faith, of beauty in this world, of friendship. Of Christ’s cross.   Wind and Mystery, the voice and the nature of the Holy Spirit, the pain and joy of letting go and...

Last Saturday I spent some quality time with the mountains—the Rocky Mountains, to be specific. All I had to do to see them was sit on the balcony of my lovely hotel room. The sun was warm, the air just cool enough, the sky flawless. The afternoon, perfect.   And the mountains, green-orange-gold with white dots of autumn snow, like sheep.         As I sat on the plane traveling back to Nashville after a wonderful four days in Colorado Springs, I wrote about the spiritual inspiration and refreshment of my trip. Here’s my concluding paragraph, and I hope it encourages and...