faith is a story

I love this post of Don Miller's. It's a bit long, but stick with it. Something interesting to ponder.

A sample:

'I had a long conversation with a distinguished scholar last month whose lifelong expertise is story structure. He is not a Christian. And as we talked, he said something that fascinated me. He said this:

“I understand you Christians. I understand the essence of your message. It’s this: If you are not a good person, you are going to burn in hell for all eternity.”

As I said, this man was a distinguished scholar and so it surprised me when he made this statement from a position of absolute knowing. There was no doubt in his voice. He wasn’t asking me to confirm. He knew. But he was absolutely wrong. That isn’t the essence of the Christian story, and anybody who believes so is a heretic.'

three and counting

I really should have done this post yesterday instead of the garden one... but I swear my priorities aren't that out of whack. I was just waiting for some film to be developed. :)


Happy three years, love! This last one has been bumpy, but for better or for worse it's always an adventure with you. No regrets. I love you always.

garden update

Well, two weeks have gone by and the squash monster is growing.


Squash on the left, tomatoes on the right. I was worried about them, but I think they'll pull through.

Somewhere behind the squash: spinach, green beans, & carrots.

And the basil is nestled in there somewhere... hopefully the sun will keep after it.

First round of green beans!


And, this is what happens when I am gone for a weekend and leave one in the oven too long. The arm is for scale.

Every time I step out the front door, I feel a touch like Dorothy opening the door of her tornado-tossed house into a technicolor garden. And the biggest sunflowers haven't even bloomed yet.


Up next: camping with the Brady Bunch!

summer is trying to win me over.

Between my garden and the weather, it's doing its very best. I'm not the biggest fan of summer; the sweating, the mugginess at work (73 degrees? COME ON! our thermostat is a liar), the oven my car turns into after 20 minutes outside, the watering and campfire restrictions as summer scorches on in Colorado.

But, this late spring and early summer have been dramatic. Mild and clear mornings end in the sky throwing a tantrum- funnel clouds, hail, charcoal-gray clouds dumping rain. Lawns and flowerbeds have thrived on their own much longer than in past summers. We haven't had week-long stretches that linger at 100 degrees each day. When I work into the evenings, chances are my ten minute drive home will be cinematic, like the time the whole sky was clear but for a towering bank of clouds to the east, filled from top to bottom with constant sparks of lightning.

And then there's The Little Garden That Could. On a whim I ripped up some grass, mixed in some topsoil with the clay as best I could, and hoped for the best. The peppers and basil are struggling, but the beans and spinach are thriving. So is the mutant squash plant to the lower left.

The garden is flanked by raspberry bushes that some previous owner planted, and they have just been dripping raspberries the past few weeks. I pick a bowl full almost every day.


The first zucchini squash of the season.


And so summer is not so bad.

dark cloud hovering

The past five months have felt like a steady struggle to outrun a storm. Back in the winter, the storm cloud was a distant speck that often seemed it would dissipate as soon as not. We knew it was there, but it wasn't close enough to be a threat.

Lately it seems like every time I pause and take a look around, the cloud is looming. It rolls and billows and darkens, and some days it is camped out squarely over us, spreading in every direction (or just raining in one spot, like we're Eeyore.). We're trying to stay two steps ahead of it, to keep in the sunshine as much as we can, but the sunlight is more and more fleeting. The thunderhead is becoming impossible to ignore.

We're going camping in a few days, and I'm looking forward to stepping out from under the storm cloud for just a brief window of time.