The House of Mourning

The lovely Angela and I have a friend for whom the medical prognosis is not good. Our time with her seems ever to be shorter. Of course, this has prompted much prayer and reflection on our part. We have pleaded with God to extend her days for His sake and the sake of […]

O Woodchuck, My Woodchuck!

With some birthday money, I picked up a copy of Christian Wiman’s most recent collection, Every Riven Thing. The thing I like most about his writing is the even dispersal of energy throughout his poems. Every line is capably load-bearing. Punch one in the gut as hard as you can when it […]

Still A Child

November 5, 2008

Somehow it has taken me
until today
to understand, as
the sun cupped my face
in its warm hands, the wind
turned back the corner
of a leafy blanket,
and a dove lulled the afternoon
with a song that
in thirty-eight years
has never made me mourn,
I am still a child; I am
larger than nothing.

Nearly four years later, and appropriate to the […]

(Early) Valentine's Day Poem, 2011

As many of you know, my first date with the lovely Angela was on or about February 12th, 1993, back when I was convinced I’d never be a poet. These days, however, my poetic spirit re-invigorated, I try to write her one every Valentine’s Day and for her birthday.

Since I’ve been intrigued with form […]

Great But Unsung Hymn Stanzas, Vol. I

After recently being convinced of the necessity of developing religious affections in my children, we have begun singing some of the more theological, God-centered hymns in our family devotions.

One benefit is exposure to some great texts. Another is discovering all the original stanzas of the more familiar texts, some of which have […]

Valentine’s Day Poem*

The lovely Angela found this in her card this year:

A Valentine’s Day Heartlooks nothing like the muscled pumpthumping behind skin and ribs;instead, its pointed symmetry resemblesmore an arrowhead which once, perhaps,graced one of Cupid’s mystic shafts–even that which left his grasp a nightfifteen years ago. (He turned his backbefore it struck; the arc it traced […]