I woke up this morning and, as I often do, told my wife what I dreamed. Just a dream. Then I read the morning news. That was the nightmare. Trump continues to … you know. Then another story, another nightmare. Burlington’s Neil Bantleman is going back to jail, for 11 years apparently, this because Indonesia’s […]
Bantleman’s nightmare, the Brownshirts, and Jesus for president Read More »
It’s morning, just past sunrise, and the youngest, Child #3, gives me a big hug at the door. “Wish me luck, Daddy!” she says. Today is Track and Field Day at her school. She will run and jump and all that. It will be good for her body and her soul too, and I am
Winning and losing and other sacred moments Read More »
It’s Monday morning coffee at the kids’ school, a privileged school if for no other reason than it sits in the middle of Africa’s sunshine and offers parents morning coffee. I wonder aloud about sending the kids to Washington. Snow, you know, is healthy for kids, and so is the bitter cold, and the snowier
Want an educational trip? Go to Washington! Read More »
Today’s post is a wish for a blessed Christmas for you and yours, a wish for peace and joy and all the things that (thank you, Paul) are to be seen at least through a hazy mirror even here and now, imperfectly yes, the sort of things of the heart that one day we
Open hands. Open hearts. It’s Christmas. Read More »
‘Where does everyone go at Christmas?’ I asked, and all the African kids yelled ‘Home!’ and that’s how it started, a brief word shared last night from the front of our own home where a few dozen carollers, mostly Ugandans, gathered. It was our annual contribution to Christmas things here at the university that we’ve
Mary and Christmas carols in Africa Read More »
It’s morning and the sun is up, shining on the mud, and Zak, the dog, has left his bright orange ball to chase Tiblets. Tibs, as Liz is fond of calling him, is the poor cat who just took off into the bush. There is another way, though, and one of our cats, Mister Bubbles,
Fear and childbirth in Uganda Read More »
So, the boy arrived home from the school this week wearing his swimsuit. He had lost his shorts. And those other shorts, also. Yes, those other shorts. The conversation went like this. “How was your day at school, son?” “I lost my shorts.” “Oh.” “And my underwear too.” “That’s great Jon.” The swimsuit my son
My son lost his shorts. (But we’re still fine parents.) Read More »
It’s Saturday morning in Africa and some of us, jet-lagged, are sleeping in. At least to the extent that’s possible around here. Hannah opens the front door and yells out, “It’s time for breakfast!” She’s yelling to her brother, who is with his best friend, a boy from school who, last night, had his first
