The Gift of Retreat

Okay, I know—it's too soon to be talking Christmas. But The Banner recently asked me to write about a gift well worth planning early. So I figure that the sooner I share the piece, the better: "There aren’t enough hours in a day.” Many of us utter this cliché in states of exhaustion, stress, or… Continue reading The Gift of Retreat


Whispering Along a Thin Trembling Thread

"What if we writers are able to tell stories of hurt and joy only because something in us is dulled enough to look them full in the face? What a mission we might have then, to introduce the truth of brokenness and redemption to our brothers and sisters terrified to hear it. We’d have to… Continue reading Whispering Along a Thin Trembling Thread



"Remember He is the artist and you are only the picture. You can't see it. So quietly submit to be painted—i.e., keep fulfilling all the obvious duties of your station (you really know quite well enough what they are!), asking forgiveness for each failure and then leaving it alone. You are in the right way.… Continue reading Remember


Rereading Dillard’s Holy the Firm

“We sleep to time's hurdy-gurdy; we wake, if ever we wake, to the silence of God. And then, when we wake to the deep shores of time uncreated, then when the dazzling dark breaks over the far slopes of time, then it's time to toss things, like our reason, and our will; then it's time to break our necks for home. There are no events but thoughts and the heart's hard turning, the heart's slow learning where to love and whom. The rest is merely gossip, and tales for other times.

― Annie Dillard, Holy the Firm


On being an introvert and a writer

Author Adam McHugh kindly invited me to contribute a guest post to his website today. My post, a reflection on being an introvert and a writer, is part of Adam's "Introvert Saturday" series, which features posts by introverts from all areas of life. I encourage you to check out the posts from the rest of the… Continue reading On being an introvert and a writer


Poetry review: Lorna Crozier’s Small Mechanics

As kids my sisters and I used ice-cubed apple juice and clothespins to make popsicles we hoped to sell by the road. At first we had no real method of cracking the pins in two. Eventually, though, we learned to gently pull their backs apart and slide the wooden portions free from the grip of… Continue reading Poetry review: Lorna Crozier’s Small Mechanics