These are strange days. When things get weird and we get watchful, where will we turn?

Almost anytime I lose my bearings, I’m somehow reminded to follow the example of my kids. Humbling, to say the least.

Making things is hard work. But along the way we catch these glimmers, these flashes of light, these flickers that remind us why we started digging to begin with.

They came marching, heels clicking perfectly in step with the most shameful shadows of history while disbelievingly, we watched.

Looking and seeing aren’t exactly the same thing. Everyday I look at my family, my kids. I don’t always see them.

Life has felt like a blur lately, everything moving quickly past, and I’m not sure if I’m the one running or the one standing still.

When we’re harried or unhealthy, going with our gut can lead us in the wrong direction.

Since ancient times, Jordan has been that place that prepares people for the next place. In some sense, it’s keeping that tradition today.

After the bustle of the city, ducking in somewhere dark and quiet was a relief. Do we need that kind of relief in life?

I used to call up a kind of catalogue, a running list I’d keep of what I’d like to meet once I’d lost count of sheep.