Humanity
Stores as Magic Places
When I was a child the only truly magic spaces were stores. Giving money to another person across a counter was the most highly charged experience imaginable, and when it was comb...
Other Post
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Whither Trickster?
January 11, 2013 -
Fed with the Burger of Tears
January 02, 2013 -
Give and Take: The Paradoxical Function of Art
December 28, 2012 -
Stuff Christian College Kids Don’t Like
December 05, 2012 -
Thoughts & Texts to Accompany Your Advent
December 02, 2012 -
Dispatch from Idaho: Shooting the Hog
November 28, 2012
Speaking Faith as a Second Language
Today at the beginning of class, Elisha–who speaks Korean and Spanish fluently and is learning English now–was trying to recall a phrase he had read. “It’s a locution,” he told me, “a locution your grandparents might have used.” I raised my eyebrows. “You mean it’s an old phrase?” I asked. “Yes!” he said. “It is ‘low and...’ something.” “Lo and behold.” I guessed. His face...
One Short Sleep Past
"DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so, For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me." -- John Donne My grandmother's name was Hope. I remember learning this when I was little. At the time, I thought it was ridiculous. Who names their child Hope? Hope isn't a name. Hope is a thing. Hope is somethi...
Dear BF (F?),
Dear BFF, The ‘forever’ part is starting to feel like a real hassle. We’ve got kids now, houses, husbands. More things to disagree about and less time to disagree about them out loud. Which, of course, builds more closets for assumption and judgment, more need for the Lysol of talk-time. But, like I said, we’ve got these kids now. (And I’m pretty sure yours makes mine possessive and mine makes yours hype...
Parable on Wall Street
“The point of a protest isn’t direct action; it’s to educate people.” He puts his hands in the pockets of his black Nin jacket. A purple scarf is tied around his neck, and his dark hair is pulled into a tight ponytail. He calls himself an anarchist pagan Buddhist. His friends call him Captain. I find him camped out in front of Trinity Wall Street on a Tuesday afternoon. His friends—two tall bearded fellows ...
The Myth of Narcissus Goes Social
Not recognizing himself He wanted only himself. He had chosen From all the faces he had ever seen Only his own. He was himself The torturer who now began his torture. —Ted Hughes, Tales from Ovid Eight or nine months ago I was still in the honeymoon phase of first-time smartphone ownership. Instagram was the first app I embraced. Armed with a battery of hazy filters, I set about making the street corners, sta...
What the Hell Just Happened? A Story of Going to College
I grew up in State College, PA, one of the premier college cities in the U.S. The downtown is quaint, full of cute hipster cafés and vintage clothing stores. I loved the vibrant feel of students bustling on sidewalks in their blue and white hoodies and pajama pants. Not knowing any of the store owners’ backgrounds, I could still maintain a close connection to the man who sold handmade chocolates and the woman wh...
Dear City Mouse
Dear City Mouse, I hope you are well. Things are, well, no, to be honest, things are not well here. I opened the glove compartment in the car this morning only to find everything shredded. Paper, money, Kleenex… everything. What kind of an animal would do such a thing? And last week, as I was peacefully eating my sandwich under a tree, Squirrel came by and rudely asked if I had any nuts. I’m sure...
