Several months after my mom passed away, I scheduled an appointment with a dear brother who cuts my hair. It was good medicine to see him. Amidst the hustle and bustle of his salon, our conversation drifted from topic to topic carried along by his infectious joy, his tender heart, and his deep compassion.
As we continued to catch up, I . . .
A number of years ago, amidst a season of physical, emotional, and spiritual burnout, I was asked to minister at a funeral. "Perfect," I thought sarcastically, "A dead man ministering at a funeral." Drowning in negativity from the seemingly incessant discouragement that I had been experiencing, the inability to find a . . .
I have a friend, a dear "mom" in the faith to me, who suffers from chronic pain. Though some days are better than others, she lives with a baseline of palpable discomfort. And while the empowering grace on her life to persevere in joyful faith is a powerful testimony to many, compassion in me often prompts the lament of the . . .
A number of years ago, while serving on the staff of a non-profit organization, I had an experience that the Lord recently brought to remembrance. Revisiting my original blog entry about that encounter, I took some time to revise it, trusting that it will speak to you afresh.
While I was working at my desk one afternoon, our . . .
Recently I downloaded a video game onto my phone called Tangle Master 3D. Each round begins with multi-colored pieces of intertwined rope that you have to untangle in as few moves as possible. As you navigate each level, the snarls become increasingly complex both in the number of ropes tangled and in the intricacy of the knot.
One . . .
a poem in memoriam
My extraordinary mother, Joyce Cole Dow, passed away on June 20, 2020. At her funeral, I was blessed to be able to share this poem inspired by many summer vacations in Maine spent at my grandmother’s cottage. This quaint retreat is nestled along the bank of a beautiful spring-fed lake. Behind the cottage is a steep, tree-covered . . .
but what if it's not?
One phrase that I have allowed to slip into my conversational vocabulary is, "Well, it is what it is." Usually, it's accompanied by a resigned sigh and an implied, "Suck it up, buttercup."
It makes sense, then, that as I pondered the account of Jairus in Mark 5, this emotionally acquiesced phrase bubbled to the surface. In the unfolding . . .