This Is What Dreams Are Made Of

This Is What Dreams Are Made Of

It’s 9:28 p.m. and I’m alone in my office. It’s just me, my laptop, and a small oscillating fan. A copy of Eugene Peterson’s The Contemplative Pastor rests on the planked desk beside me. I have never been a pastor, but I do desire to be more pastoral. This...
Why We’re Moving to Arizona

Why We’re Moving to Arizona

Thanks to a one-armed, bearded geologist who died 117 years ago, my wife, Sam, and I are moving 1,700 miles across the country next week. Allow me to explain. I long despised the desert. A pudgy Midwestern son, I swell and sweat in 80-degree heat, much less 120. What...