The One Thing That Grows Trust

Trusting people is hard for me. What about you? It’s not mainly because I believe people are so sinful they aren’t worthy of being trusted. That’s can be true sometimes. No, it has more to do with me. I don’t want to trust them. Trust means I need to be close, vulnerable, intimate. It’s easier to keep my distance. What’s the solution? Friendship. As friendship increases, so does trust. I’ll represent this reality with a mind-blowing, universe-altering, life-trajectory-changing graphic. Revolutionary, right? Actually, it is. Have you ever heard someone talk—in any context—and, as you listen from afar, you sense a deep distrust … Continue reading The One Thing That Grows Trust

Write Again

In eleven years of publishing posts on this site, I had only missed posting seven months. Seven. In eleven years. And most of those months off were taken off by design because of various seasons of life. But then 2018 came. We moved back to Nebraska, after having moved twice in the previous year. We’ve settled in to a new home. We’ve rekindled old friendships and started new ones. We’ve joined a new church and a new team. We’ve discovered our oldest daughter has autism. We’ve learned about sensory processing issues with our kids. For Carly and me, we’ve learned about … Continue reading Write Again

Blessed Are Those Who Mourn 2017

If you’ve paid close attention, the last few posts here have been related to lament. That’s mostly because I gave a seminar (earlier today) on that topic at our Cru Winter Conference in Denver. Another reason—for the recent posts and my interest in giving the seminar—is that much of this past year was lamentable for us. Our family lost much. Of course, with loss comes unique opportunity for gain. And we have gained. But make no mistake, the losses are real. And they hurt. As I type this, I’m sitting on the fourth floor of the Hyatt Regency in downtown Denver. Fifteenth … Continue reading Blessed Are Those Who Mourn 2017

A Christmas Poem, “Hands”

Hands Open on your mother’s chest or after a bellowing belch. Taut when you’re tired. Slurp slurp, tick tick, your tongue tackles each knuckle and cuticle. Somehow that helps you fade away to never-never-land. Mine are calloused, crusty, tired. Splinters are their wages. Blue veins bursting. Palm lines peeling. Bleeding. Grab the balm and bandage. I’ll too visit never-never-land soon, only after watching you there now. For a moment I remember the memories we will make. Brush and comb. Throw and catch. Shave and wash. Swing and saw. Eat and write. Push and pull. Mine will train yours? That baffles … Continue reading A Christmas Poem, “Hands”