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I learned to write in Africa. The school was taught in English, which is a more layered story of conquest and colonialism. By the time I got to Lusaka Infants’ School, it was the only language taught. At the top corner of my desk was a hole that held an
recipes
You may notice that the site looks different than before. I am in the middle of a number of changes—many of which I don’t yet know how to make. One of the changes is to get back to posting recipes. For now, rather than posting them on my
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The theology of boxed pews. Ginger mentioned that she overheard our new ministerial intern use the phrase in a conversation. It stuck with me. Box pews allowed allowed families to sit together in a regular spot and provided shelter from cold drafts. They were typically purchased or rented by families
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It has been a long time since I watched any kind of news on television. Neither Ginger nor I make a practice of watching the news before we go to bed, but last night Ginger had it on for a minute and heard the story of Debra Stevens’ drowning somewhere
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I have been absent here for a few days because Ginger and I made a quick trip to Denver to see friends who used to live here in Guilford. Sarah used to be co-pastor with Ginger. Beth, Sarah’s wife and my friend, is a big Red Sox fan. When
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Today was a glorious late-summer day here on the Shoreline, as we call it. The high was in the mid-seventies, the humidity was low, and the wisps of clouds looked like they were painted in just to add a little texture to the sheltering sky above them. I sat at
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My mind has been wandering today because of what I saw on television. Last night Ginger and I watched all four episodes of When They See Us, an original Netflix series written and directed by Ava DuVernay, that tells the story of the boys who became known as the Central
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“Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes,” is the opening line to “Seasons of Love” from the musical Rent, answering the question, how do you measure a year in the life. What about four hundred years? The first enslaved people arrived on our shores at Fort Comfort, Virginia four hundred
sermon
I preached this morning at our church in Guilford. My text was Hebrews 12:1-2. Here’s what I had to say. I am not a runner. I never have been. When I was in eighth grade, we had a school-wide track meet in which everyone was expected to participate.
poetry
I’m preaching tomorrow at First Congregational Church in Guilford. Since it is my church, I’m going to wait to post the sermon until tomorrow, since I want to make sure no one gets a sneak peak. Instead, here’s a poem that grew out of my preparation. sermon
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I remember the afternoon in Fort Worth. I walked into Sound Warehouse—a regular stop on my way home from work—and picked up two debut CDs off the “Discover New Artists” rack: Shawn Colvin’s Steady On and David Wilcox’s How Did You Find Me Here?, which is
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Billy Collins has a poem about working on a poem and then talking about it before it was finished, only to watch it get up and walk away. I know how he feels. Then there are other times when it helps to get it out in the open like a