The Good Logger

This blog is named The Good Logger, borrowed from Wendell Berry's "A Forest Conversation" from Our Only World. “A bad logger goes to the woods thinking of what he can take out. A good logger goes to the woods thinking of what he should leave" (47). A good logger leaves more than he takes, which is the definition of grace. Returning more than he uses, whether it's actions, items, or attitudes. Grace doesn't come naturally to me. It makes much more sense to return what is given

It’s not the kind of rain that causes you to desperately run for cover. It’s also not the kind of rain that Seattle is known for and just seems to float in the air, not ever really getting you completely wet. In my opinion, this is the worst kind of rain. The kind of rain that tricks you. The kind that makes you feel like you don’t need to run but, as a result, soaks you through in quick order. Stephanie, the kids, and I huddle in line, trying to press as close to the buildin

Screams from the bathroom indicate urgency, but my Spidey-sense knew the child was alone. These screams weren’t ones of pain, but something else. The trunk of the car was open as I was in the middle of emptying copious amounts of groceries, supplies for an upcoming camping trip. The fridge door was open as I got something out momentarily. The container was open as I decided which oil to diffuse to bring this day down a bit. Then, the screams. Through tears, the embarr

Rocks Colliding against one another The rocks in the ocean or on the shore are big and jagged The rocks on the beach are smooth and rounded Much smaller The smaller and smoother rocks are more weathered and worn More treated by their Creator Surrounded by other rocks just like them The church is like these rocks God gives other people to bump and push against Challenging us to break off the rough and jagged parts and polish slowly what is left Sanctification the process of ro

My table is A gathering place A nourishing place A necessary evil A refreshing good A place of heartbreak A place of rest Photo by Hannah Busing on Unsplash The table was set for eight. Two leaves added. We were all gathering this night to talk, and I didn’t know what kind of talk this would be. The eight of us, the “core” of our small group, just needed some time to work things out. It felt like a family meeting. Our friends were leaving and we all prayed that their

I stood leaning against the doorjamb in the pitch-black darkness listening. It was late night or early morning in January of 2016 and I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t what I saw, or didn’t see, that woke me. It was the assault on my ears and the erratic breathing that was my concern. Seth was once again snoring away. He sounded like an 80-year-old, overweight man desperately in need of a CPAP machine. He was only 7 years old at the time. Stephanie and I had noticed the lack of ene

I couldn’t sleep even though I knew I should. From what we had heard from everyone who had gone before we were going to be faced with many sleepless nights ahead. Every time I felt my eyelids get heavy I would shake myself awake. Sleep a silent enemy creeping up on me the moment I let my guard down. Not on my watch! I looked over at Stephanie, full of envy as she sank deeper into the sea of pillows surrounding her. She would be up soon and I would have my chance. Another nod

Thank you. You look nice. I like this about you. I look forward to it. You’re a blessing to me. I like your perspective. The words pierce like a blade in my side. A hurt, but a healing hurt. Like when a bone needs to break again to be re-set. Unprepared to hear them, I don’t know how to respond. I just say, “Oh well, you know,” and stuff like that. I go home, and the impact of the words wash over me. Tears stream from my eyes; grateful for those words that heal my soul

She flies in like a tornado, unaware of her own strength. The bits and pieces of the day piling on, adding annoyance and disappointment like changing weather systems intensify the wind speed. She’s about to overturn her entire house, like Dorothy endured long ago. At first it was an unsettling dream. She woke up feeling down. Sadness, like a cloud enveloping. She willed herself out of bed, pushing down tears, trying to hide. She feels so responsible. For things that aren’t he

My heart wavered. The question percolating for weeks in my mind, now at the tip of my tongue. We had a surprise date night; a time to discuss without eavesdropping by one of the ten ears always in my midst. "Bill, sometimes I feel afraid that our marriage...won't make it. How will I know?" No silence, no awkward pause. He speaks immediately, "Well the only way that'd happen is if you left me." The tears come, the happy and grateful and relieved tears. My heart wavers like thi

I look around and I see...things unfinished. Imperfect. Unavoidable. The to-do list still undone; the done list far too short. Photo by Louis Smith on Unsplash I can feel the pull deeper into the “do.” The “do more.” The “do better.” The “not good enough.” The doing to gain righteousness. The attempt to earn something that only is to be given without strings. No. Stop, brain. Stop that lying. Here’s the done list: House is clean enough. Kids are happy. There’s enough food. Ki

It’s not the big and crazy things that draw my heart. The parties, the drama, the anniversaries. Those are fun and memorable. Photo by Malte Fleuter on Unsplash But it's in the daily. The regular. The mundane. Those predictable routines. The milliseconds that combine into minutes, into hours, and into days and years. That is how the trust is built, the safety is rooted. It is in those moments that the line I hold to my heart, previously wound up tight like a fishing line, is

We head toward the library, but take the long way. He falls asleep in the car, looking so peaceful. When we arrive, he startles awake and immediately I know it's going to be another fight. “Calvin, let’s go to the library.” “Waaaaaahhhhh!! No!!!!” “Come on buddy, you can pick out some movies.” “No!” I pick him up out of the car seat; he’s wiggling around like a slippery octopus trying to fit into a mesh bag. I realize I can’t carry him and the fifty-pound bag of books I need

A Prayer of Gratitude Gracious God, Thank you for the challenges in my days, for they cause me to lean more into you. Over time the challenges cause change and growth. Help me be steadfast. Thank you for leading me to pause and look at the ordinary graces in my life, allowing them to become extraordinary. Thank you for my eyes and how they see the wonders of your creations. Thank you for my ears and how they hear love and encouragement in good and bad times. Thank you for my

As I lay in my bed, I know it's waiting downstairs for me. It's kept nice and cool in the fridge. It's waiting in the drawer. The snacks. The treats. The food. Like a lion lurking, it's waiting to add piles to my tummy, my thighs. It's waiting to fill the emptiness, the lack. It's waiting to be consumed, but really it's consuming me. Photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash A person has to eat. A person needs the calories. But what if the calories are the enemy? That slice of cheese,

My hometown is Astoria, Oregon. The land of Lewis and Clark and salmon and trees. I lived there for fifteen years before moving to the Seattle area for school, staying because I married, settled, and raised a family. Whenever I visit home, I drive past this little forest on the left-hand-side of Highway 30 somewhere between Clatskanie and Westport. A little strip of land with very tall trees growing very close together. Occasionally the land will be clear-cut, and a little fe

“A bad logger goes to the woods thinking of what he can take out. A good logger goes to the woods thinking of what he should leave.” Wendell Berry, “A Forest Conversation” (Our Only World, p. 47). I find it easy to find things that are ugly and wrong with this world. I have been trained and trained myself to focus on the all the sin and wrong that is going on – and then find a way to correct or at least suggest corrections that will remove the wrong (from my opinion). This li