Kids you used to know grow up and become all kinds of things. 

Places you used to live . . . family members you rarely get to see . . . moss covered roof tops under a canopy of green remind you of conversations you had walking to breakfast with friends. Everything that was old is new. Everything that is new becomes old. It's a big circle. You keep seeing it from a different angle. But circles have no sides . . . no angles.

We used to sit around a fire for morning watch, teaching children to sing. And the other day we came around the side of the craft cabin, listening to a dear friend play Bach . . . looking at a cloud of witnesses. 

Right there, in the middle of everything beautiful, she got married.

My little sister, the most beautiful girl I've ever met, got married.


Four years into marriage myself, I know about all of the beautiful ordinary moments of a married life. And so I see her differently than I did . . . my sister . . . moving around the circle, becoming someone new all the time. I see that love changes us the way that running water changes a rough stone - dragging it along the bottom of a river, smoothing it out, making it beautifully plain. It's what I hope for her - a whole life of the beautiful ordinary. Quiet adventures and loud silences . . . these things make all the difference.

Don't you think it's a privilege to be allowed to love other human beings?

It's the only prayer I know how to pray when nothing is right . . . "Love, Love, Love."

It's the best experience.

It's the best reason.

It's the only foundation.


I think that whatever good thing makes us live and move around the earth must be like a wedding. I always think of them, the Trinity, like the whole wedding . . . all wrapped up together in the light and the laughter and whatever is right. "See, I am doing a new thing . . ." 

I see the new thing. I see it everywhere. Do you?

Sometimes it's hard for us to see that God is doing a new thing.

It takes monumental effort to drag our eyes away from the distraction of a broken reality. I can't explain it better than that. 

We get invited to this wedding . . . this whole life . . . and the whole time we're there, we're thinking about not being there. No wonder we find ourselves so often unsatisfied with the experience.




Peace & Goodness,