In Gennesaret

  "But she could love Charles Wallace." Last week, I finished  A Wrinkle in Time  with my 8th graders and fought back tears as I read this final scene aloud in class. The protagonist Meg finally understands that the only weapon she has against IT, the evil power controlling her beloved little brother, is . . . love . Love is the one thing she has that IT doesn't have. Meg first wonders if she is expected to love IT; she is sure that IT could not withstand love, that it would "shrivel up and die" if she loved it. But she realizes that she is incapable of love that great. I don't think any of us are. We hate evil, understandably. Nevertheless, we can and should love those who are caught up in and therefore victims of evil. Like Meg's brother, who was a good kid, but prideful and unwise, who believed he was strong enough and smart enough to withstand IT's power, but was very wrong.  "She could stand there and she could love Charles Wallace." Y

This is going to sound like bragging, I’m afraid. I’m not bragging. I’m not boastful or prideful about this at all. I’m just in wonder at it. A father spoke at our school’s chapel service this week. He told the story about Jesus calming the storm (he wore a life jacket and used an oar – this dad knows his audience). And he expressed frustration at the disciples freaking out over the storm rather than waking up Jesus who was sleeping in the boat. Why didn’t they turn to him first? he questioned. And why don’t we? And that’s when I realized . . . I do turn to God first. I didn't used to, but I do now. When I have problems in my life – big ones or small ones – God really is the first person I’m talking to, at least more often than not. Somehow over the years, I’ve grown into the sense of being in constant conversation with God. Not quite the way Brother Lawrence did it in The Practice of the Presence of God (Kolin mentioned him during chapel, too), but yeah . . . it’s like he’s

These days, I’m praying every night for sleep. Many times. I pray for it when I’m first lying down trying to shut off my brain. I pray for it when I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and fear I’ll be awake until dawn. I pray when I get out of bed in the morning that I’ll sleep better the next night. Sleep issues have been a constant in my life for almost as long as I remember (I wrote about them here nearly a year ago). I’ve had several sleep studies, seen many specialists, tried multiple remedies . . . and yet I still have seasons like right now where genuine rest eludes me. If I had a few thousand dollars lying around to cover my high deductible, I’d see a specialist again. But I don’t, so I just pray. And pray. And pray. And I still don’t sleep as well as I need to. There are many who say this is exactly why they don’t believe in a God, or at least in a personal God who loves us and is involved in our daily life. If a personal loving God existed, these people say, he would

My daughter got married the weekend before last. I’m not objective here, of course, but I do believe it was the most beautiful wedding ever (see the picture here for corroborating evidence). My cheeks hurt by the end of the ceremony from smiling so hard. The reception was lovely . . . the weather was lovely . . . my girl was lovely . . . the vows and toasts were beautiful . . . it was just a joyous occasion. And then on the last evening of their honeymoon, someone broke into their hotel room and stole their wedding rings. And then the next day, they got a call from the hotel that the rings had been recovered, and they were able to go back and get them (no details of what happened . . . the hotel people probably can’t discuss a legal situation like that). During the twelve hours of furious back and forth in the family group text about the rings, my other daughter was strangely silent . . . and then not answering my phone calls. Nobody else had heard from her, and her local friend