In my little mountain village in Afghanistan, this was one of a handful of photos that I straight-pinned to a long piece of fabric hung on my bedroom wall, my local version of a bulletin board keeping family and beauty (and beautiful family) where I could see them as I
“There is a time for everything,” says the Teacher, “and a season for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot. . .” (Eccl. 3:1-2). I carry on with my own lines, letting the wisdom
Sometimes—no, often—more than I need something new, I need to return and remember something that has slipped through the cracks that life has made in me and drifted to settle, unseen, in the corner. I fight this regular need to return and remember, of course. Newness intrigues. I’d sooner reach for
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