Peace and quiet. I collect them. In my home they’re readily found before the sun rises, mixed with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. They prefer a dimly lit room. They also have an affinity for my desk – the one I’ve pieced together like Frankenstein from mismatched chunks of walnut-colored tabletop. I hoard as many peaceful, quiet moments as I can before they’re chased into seclusion by bright lights and waking children.

Despite my propensity for introversion, I’m not anti-social or a recluse. I think people are great. I just enjoy moments without them.

Regular infusions of solitude refresh my perspective. They energize my work. Silence helps unclutter noisy thoughts and smooth pathways to clarity. Quiet mornings lead me toward spiritual renewal and reorientation.

But sometimes my solitary re-creation becomes conflicted, even paradoxical as my mind fills with thoughts of…people. Faces and conversations and shared experiences. In the serenity of my solo time I drift into pondering the mystery and wonder of being with people.

Sitting this week at Franken-desk in the pre-dawn stillness I’ve been rehashing a collection of recent experiences. A montage of relational highlights that include soccer games and a poetry reading. Wiring three-way switches, installing can lights, and rerouting furnace duct. A video parody. A pair of playful beavers. Eating half-chickens and tailgating through a Chicago rush hour. Comedy that wasn’t, goose poop that was (sort of) and a hotel fire alarm.

Broken trust. Tears of lament. Soulful petitions in a rain-spattered parking lot. The embrace of authentic friendship.

Confessions, celebrations, classic literature, and an ancient language. A highly viscous (but tasty) squash soup. A tale of providence and obedience. Children and their prayers of blessing. New connections and shared passions. A common faith.

We are made to relate. Be together: face-to-face, hand-in-hand, soul with soul. It is good to participate in humanity’s sacred solidarity. To be communal. To give and take.

I like my alone time. I like people more.

Thanks, friends.

“What’s friendship, when all’s done, but the giving and taking of wounds?” 

~ Frederick Buechner, Godric, p.7

One year ago, with our first post, this blog came to life.

We came out of the gate a bit tenuous, feeling small. But we soon found our rhythm. Now, blogging is part of our weekly ritual. With each post we are stretched as we work-out our theology in the common things of life. Things like helping our kids see the value of reading good literature. Or explaining what belly buttons are for. Or making it through the hug line unscathed. Or applying financial leverage to shape long-term character – or simply influence behavior in the moment.

Conversations with our children provide much material for our writings. Parenting is a very humbling experience. Despite our best efforts, there’s always the possibility our kids will find us old-fashioned, or even (gulp) puritanical. But we love our little sweeties (Katrina’s term of endearment). Each day we pray over them as we lovingly weave our threads of influence into their souls.

But with weaving comes tension. A tension that needs breaking once in a while – with humor.

A little levity helps balance the frustration of dog-chewed earphones , broken lawn tractors and a long weekend of painting. A herd of galloping unicorns brings welcome laughter to a stressful moment (even Scrooge can’t help but smile at a unicorn – real, stuffed or imagined). At times our humor leads to a bit of mischief, but we never cross the line of looney. And, what better way to keep zombies at bay than periodic bursts of giggling?

Food was a consistent theme this year. With some trepidation I shared my “fruit tree” moniker. I followed that by comparing myself to a coconut. We ate waffles in Chicago and waxed eloquent about our Family Stew. And just recently we discovered that donuts not only taste great, they also work well on issues of the heart.

Not content to stay at home, we went international. We plumbed the depths of middle earth with Chilean miners, only to return to Earth’s surface with questions about life. We went to war for the fatherless in Ethiopia. We crossed “The Pond” to peek-in on a royal wedding. Our journeying finally brought us back to the States where we considered the life of an American icon, wondering what her life would have been like if she had tarried longer.

During this past year we learned more about our unwelcome, but necessary companion. The company of struggle and pain has taught us to pray audaciously. And in this praying we found – again – that God is juice and joy. His goodness fuels our praise and fosters a longing for the day of restoration. But in the present, we rest in Jesus Christ for strength and courage to do the hard work of redemptive relationships.

Like our blog title suggests, we are privileged to relate with a God who loves us. Who is jealous for us. Who wants our deepest affection. And our time. We must arrange our busyness around Him – our epicenter. His Spirit speaks to our spirit, imploring us to stand firm in our faith. To be honest about our brokenness. To not be duped by a feel-good theology.

The rookie season of Dwelling Under a Friendly Sky has been a blessing – for us, and hopefully for you. We write out of gratitude for choices made in a garden long ago. A choice to obey. To sacrifice. To love. Choices made by a Man who knew what it was to struggle. Be tempted. Feel pain.  Work hard. Be part of a family. That Man – the God-Man Jesus – was our pioneer. As you dwell under His friendly sky, may you become infatuated with who He is and what He’s done.