And so here is to new life in new places, abundant and everlasting. Arlo, here, and you, wherever he came from. Dust arriving and dust returning, like a grand switch for a brief blip on this eternal timeline.Read More
My mom drinks Barley Green in the morning, and then uses the same cup to eat her granola and yogurt, and then uses the same cup to drink orange juice, and then wonders what my sister and I are talking about when we tell her it’s disgusting.Read More
Life was more clearly defined when it fit into the filing cabinet, but these collisions are like hands reaching in to throw all those papers into the air so they rain down like the wonder it is to be alive and breathing, as if that were merely a categorical bore.Read More
As I was leaving Albuquerque to begin my last tour the morning after I said goodbye, I had the thought that driving away from my friends felt like a small death. It felt like small deaths the further east I moved. It feels like a small death when I think of going back home without them there, now. It feels like a small death when I think of my wife being home without the friends that used to be there for her when I was gone.Read More
As I sit here and try to figure out what to say, all I can think of is the word "mercy." That you were a man who understood the need for mercy. That you would long for me to be a man full of mercy. Even in your darkest moments you were able to perceive that mercy was the thing that we lacked. It's almost laughable, how poignant that statement was, like the eye of your storm spent on a glimpse of our future.Read More
When you work for yourself, there is no clock-in-clock-out unless you are incredibly disciplined at creating your own parameters, and most people aren't that disciplined. This is probably extra-true of artistic types who don't like any structure whatsoever. I sort of like the idea of both, so I switch back and forth between them and talk to everyone about how one is better than the other depending upon whether I'm in a season of waking up early and hitting the gym and regimenting my days, or if I'm awake until 3 a.m. because - you know - creativity only flourishes in the night or whatever.Read More
I loved the girl who'd smoke Reds with me into the morning at the park by your place, but I love the fitness guru with the dirty glances at my tobacco-infidelities ten years removed just the same. Thank you for the differences. Thank you for change.Read More
I pictured you both as children.
As dreamers. As dreaming as though till death do we part
were no more than words on a page.
As omniscient as youth is on a wedding day,
when love hopes all things, and believes all things,
and promises to do the same
when love must bear all things, and endure all things,
when all things change.
When I read the letter today, it was so much more than that. It was memories wrapped up in your rise and awe-filled conversations with my family enjoying the games and screaming at the television. It was watching 'es skateboarding videos and loving the gold and purple Koston 3s and his spots in LA jerseys.Read More
I'm going to say a lot of this tomorrow at your reception, and at first I was worried about spoiling that, if you read this beforehand. Then I thought about what Brandi says about weddings - how they're mostly for other people, or maybe the parents. I don't know if I agree with her, but if she is right, God knows your parents probably don't read my blog, so it'll all be news to them.
“I do not with to deny the traditional prayers I have said all my life; but I have been saying them and not feeling them. My attention is always very fugitive. This way I have it every instant. I can feel a warmth of love heating me when I think & write this to You..."Read More
An open letter to Mark Driscoll and the former pastors and people of what was once called Mars Hill Church.Read More