blessed beyond measure

It all started when my sweet Mama had surgery a few weeks ago. I'm all like, "I want to help take care of you." And in her usual strong and fiercely independent manner, she's all like, "You've got enough to do." Not long after which, I learned that she had already stocked her fridge with homemade goodness before the operation even happened. Visiting a few days after the surgery and trying to lend a hand wherever possible, I said, "Well, I had planned to cook some for you all, but it looks like you've already got plenty." To which Dad replies, "Just because we have food doesn't mean you don't need to bring anything." Point taken. So on the Tuesday morning before school started, I whipped up a batch of chicken and dumplings. The boys and I headed over to check on Mom. I walked in the door, firmly declared that I had brought chicken and dumplings, and shoved them in the fridge, steeling myself to be chided for it. ...

It was a low key summer. Nothing terribly special except our vacation, a golf outing or three, and extra time available to spend with the grandparents. We did knock a few items off the summer to-do list. Hardly went to the pool at all, and after two years of dwindling interest I will no longer be spending an obscene amount of money on access to chlorinated water. The heat was stifling, so little spurts of outdoor time came in the after-dinner hours. Nope, not much going on. The boys spent a lot of time on screens. A whole giant bunch. And it was their dream come true. The why is up in the air, but for whatever reason we chose a very low-maintenance parenting path for the summer. While Trey and Aden did their share of dishwasher-unloading and perhaps-questionable laundry, we let them stay up until the wee hours most nights, soaking up all the technology their eyeballs could take. It was probably a mistake, and not the memories we're used to making. But I have a feeling ...

Oh, America. I hardly know where to start, except we've been here before, too many times to count. Two more shootings. More lives destroyed by hate. More hearts shattered as all sides scream louder for change and the one thing that might solve the problem. We are broken . And every time it happens I am seventeen, just home from school on an April afternoon, watching footage of Columbine. It was the first time hate hit home for me. But it wouldn't be the last. I love this nation, its beauty, its freedom, its opportunity. Our history is humbling and fascinating, liberty and progress driven along by sweat and the providence of God. It wasn't so long ago. Yet just like that, we are floundering in our own entitlement and illusion of supremacy. Destroying ourselves. While my mind knows the umbrella answer, that we chose our way instead of God's, my heart still screams why. Why do we so quickly take up arms, go on the defensive, toss around blame? What makes us...