Dear Laura Kate,
It was seven years ago this month that we welcomed you into the world. And what an amazing seven years it has been. Of course, there are plenty of things in this world to feel alarmed or sad about. For example, I seriously doubt that anyone has watched the news or read a newspaper in the last seven years that didn’t contain the word “terrorist” in it.
You have never known a world where, if people wanted to communicate, they actually had to look someone in the eye and use their voices to make words – or get a piece of paper and use a pen, pencil or crayon to write.
You have never known a world where English wasn’t a second language to “Textlish.”
You have never known a world without FaceBook, YouTube, or the iPhone. “Grammy/Mommy/Papa/whoever, can I play with your phone?” became standard conversation early in your life.
Over the years, thanks to social media and places like this site, we have watched you grow and known that you were created without a mold. So when you marshalled your forces and launched an all-out invasion on First Grade, we all braced for impact. [click to continue…]
(A Fable)
Aging and sad, a grand hulk of useless machinery sits in an airplane hangar when it probably should have been sold for scrap. Designed by an Engineer as an elegant flying machine, this plane has never left the ground or even taxied the runway. For reasons that still don’t make sense, when the time came to assemble all the parts, in the end the plane looked more assaulted than assembled.
To an untrained eye everything appeared to be in place. There was a fuselage, wings, wheels, and engine shrouds. But if you looked closer, you would see that the assemblers failed to actually install the engines.
The assemblers did other damage to the interior of the plane as it was being put together – so much, in fact, that the order was canceled and a new plane secured. Having royally failed inspection, the plane was unwanted and unneeded. It would have cost more to fix what was broken than it would have simply to start over. So for years, lost in the shadow of what could have been, the airplane sat, exposed to the elements, powerless, lifeless, and unwanted.
Word reached the Engineer of the plight of the flying machine. Moved by a sense of love for his designed creation and a conviction that airplanes were made to fly, the Engineer did the unthinkable. [click to continue…]
This is about a Father with four sons…
A Sailor.
A Driver.
A Flyer.
A Walker.
The Father provided richly for each of his sons. He gave them a home in which to flourish. He provided resources upon which to build their futures. He even saw to it that each was uniquely equipped and trained to succeed, according to his own natural bent.
Yet despite their obvious advantages, each son seemed convinced that there was more to life than living under the watchful, seemingly all-knowing gaze of his Father. Each seemed determined to find fulfillment on his own terms. And despite the obvious objections of the Father, each chose to go his own way. [click to continue…]
These days I make a trip to the bank just about every day. I’m on a first name basis with most of the tellers, which feels good. And most days it’s a pretty straightforward deal – one or two deposits, mostly business. Even a left-handed guy like me can get that right. About the worst mistake I ever made was driving around in a cluttered truck and realizing that beneath all that clutter was a deposit I forgot to make. For about a week.
Then came Friday. Four deposits. Three different accounts. And one of those was a check I’d written to myself to deposit in our personal account.
I pulled up to the window and realized I hadn’t endorsed the check I’d written to myself, so while the probie teller waited for me patiently, I paused to do that.
I’d venture to guess there was about a six-inch gap between the deposit drawer and my truck window. And somewhere in that six inches, as I reached for the drawer with a pile of bank bid-ness, that freshly-endorsed check was sucked away. Weird even for the dusty plains, the drive-through lanes had formed a wind tunnel. And the wind tunnel took my check.
My assumption: Oh. This is frustrating. I’ll have to get out of the truck and pick it up off the ground.
My reality: Y’all, it was gone. Vaporized. On its way to Amarillo, I suppose. I always fuss because Amarillo gets all the rain (out here we refer to it as “moisture”). Now they got my check. [click to continue…]
They were two branches off the same Vine.
Designed in the Vine’s image, each a was unique expression of the nature of its Creator. One was tender and sensitive, with stunning intuitive wisdom. The other was strong and masculine, with a compelling view toward the horizon.
They loved being branches of the Vine. And they loved each other. But they’d cut themselves off from the flow of the Vine’s life. They believed the lie that they could thrive on their own. The result: An odd combination of life and death in the same form.
Form without flow.
Image without reality.
As they dreamed of a future together, they asked one another, “How can we shape ourselves so our offspring can know our love and be fruitful?” [click to continue…]
Pssst.
Tap, tap, tap.
Sorry to interrupt. I know you have a lot of important things on your mind, so I’ll only keep you for a minute.
Oh. And let me quickly say that I’m not here to sell you anything. But, as the envelope says, you may already be a winner!
So wouldn’t it be sad if a winner was living like… well, otherwise?
Wouldn’t it be tragic if this incredible wealth was there all along, but went unnoticed or unclaimed?
Let me show you how extraordinary the Grand Prize is. [click to continue…]
It came with all the usual markings of a Christmas card – a small-sized envelope, personally addressed, arriving in early December. But inside was a surprise. All that was in the envelope was an ordinary, well-used playing card – the three of hearts. Across the front of the card, an anonymous friend had written, “Merry Christmas, from one soldier to another.” [click to continue…]
