Childlike Faith

Mr. Book was at the public library yesterday. Mr. Book is not a human, but rather a robot of a friendly book. Two-year old Wesley approached Mr. Book tentatively, and was greeted with “Hi, what’s YOUR name?” With daddy’s help, Wesley gave his name, and said that he was two years old. They had a sweet discussion, during which time Wesley stared in utter amazement at the creature before him. He left with excitement for picking up some books to take home and “read.” What Wesley didn’t know was that there was a kind gentleman positioned in another part of the room with a headset. He spoke to each young child as they entered the library. He made their visit a personal, individual, experience. Some walked away skeptical, others were afraid, but most were thrilled.

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You Can Go Home Again

My friend Phil is a former pastor who had been forced to leave his church ten years ago because of mistakes he had made in the aftermath of his daughter’s death. Many people, if they knew of the details of his story, would say that reconciliation would be out of the question in his case. Conventional wisdom says there are certain things that are unforgivable and unrecoverable. But conventional wisdom often undervalues the power of the cross.

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Second-Guessing Motherhood

Bruce and I had been married nine years when we found out we were expecting our first child. Joyous tears streamed down our faces as we looked at the plus mark on our home pregnancy test. I had dreamed for years of cradling a sweet baby in my arms, gazing into the eyes of a precious innocent child, curling fingers around mine and sweet butterfly kisses. We were going to be parents! I was going to be a mommy.

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Kidnapped by GPS

Her name was Zelda. At least, I imagine her as a Zelda. Her voice sounded like one. She politely told the driver and his passengers what turn to take next, and how long until the next set of direction—even the estimated time of arrival.

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Spring Fever

I’ve had the symptoms for a few weeks now. Long strolls through the garden department at my local discount store, spending more time looking at seed catalogs than my favorite decorating magazine, Googling vegetable names to learn new planting techniques. Yes, I’ve got spring fever.

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