The microcosmic richness of human identity is a reflection of the God who not only made us but sees us, knows us, and speaks to us. Our being addressed by the divine is an infinite well for human possibility.

Can a four-year-old understand stealing?

What does an artist give up for art?

A story gets away from its author.

When fiction leaves questions unanswered

“Parable, / which is to say / not an allegory. An opportunity / for displacement.”

“The old / cars had iron, the new, light aluminum / alloy, chromium, even plastic. / My father-in-law with Alzheimer’s walking / along Highway 6 to flag a semi.”

She was pretty sure she was too crazy to be a mother, and when the yearnings showed up, every few years, they now passed quickly.

Perhaps all these / years God has denied me / the little grace / I hoped for in preparation / for the larger / one

On the decay of flowers. “I love the way they teach me to love / the things I can’t get close enough to.”