Because I am interested in history—and particularly the history of oppressed people groups—my ears always perk when my friend and fellow writer Shel Pais starts talking about his dad, a Holocaust survivor. “His story is part of who I am today,” Shel wrote to me once. In this post, he’s agreed to share part of […]
The Pickle Story: Sometimes the Smallest Decisions Have Major Impact Read More »
Well, as life goes, I’ve been swept up and whisked away again. I missed posting last week altogether—but busy or no, I’ve had a good two weeks. I am slowly acclimating to the life of a student, and even working in—at a scaled-back level—some of my own writing projects. Today…ahem…I begin a new tradition. Every
I clasp the hands of God, Then break away to run shrieking Across the fields of Rusk County. He catches me easily, And we laugh. He holds me tight As I struggle against his arms. Tossing me across his shoulders, We watch the setting sun. “Please, God, could we, If it works with
I Clasp the Hands of God Read More »
When I talk to my friends about my experiences at Sattler College, they are often surprised by the details. “You mean there are only twenty-two students?” “You mean there are other Mennonites there?” I’ve realized, because of those conversations, that I haven’t given either my friends or my blog readers a very accurate picture of
So What’s Up With Sattler, Anyway? Read More »
Early impressions are both primitive and primal, and when you ask me which educational experiences impacted me most deeply, my mind immediately pictures myself as about six or seven years old, sitting round-eyed and thirsty in a battered wooden desk under the sharp eyes of “Teacher.” “Teacher,” otherwise known as Louise—since neither she nor
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