The leaves of the maples on the corner have fallen down around their waists. Now they wear only golden skirts poked through with branches. Just a week ago the trees evoked glory, their brilliant cadmium yellow and orange foliage gleaming in sunlight. No one knew how long the peak of autumn color would last. Just a week ago he was still with us. An autumn tree not yet stripped, a season lengthening. No one knew how short this autumn would be, how quickly winter could descend. After today’s rain, we’ll see how many leaves remain on those maples. Tomorrow or the next day or perhaps the day after, just...

my heart awakens like the unfurling petals and leaves around me, brightens like pink and white cherry blossoms splashed over green leaves and blue sky yet hunger lingers in my soul, builds and grows like the neighborhood creek after these spring storms, a thirst for the vigor of its waters: full and flowing, energy bursting through distractions and weariness to follow after and follow through to the oasis of ultimate satisfaction and perfect rest— the kind of thirst that does not stop until I find it: the presence of God it is, vitally, the meaning of Easter the gift of the Resurrection: God’s...

This week, the world lost one of America’s best poets when 83-year-old Mary Oliver died. I still remember when I first discovered her poetry, perhaps 15 or 20 years ago. I found her poems to be rich with meaning but not abstruse, honest with depth of feeling but not depressing, and beautifully descriptive yet so much more than mere observation. My soul thrilled. Here was a writer—a poet!—who spoke of trees, flowers, the beach, and so many other aspects of nature as I experienced them, as though through a special relationship. (But let’s be honest: I detest ants and snakes, while she very obviously did...

the blue and yellow lines around our umbrella   the sparkling stripes laid wide and long across the ocean, alternating with the darkness of water   the glossy emerald stripe just off the shore between lines of frothy white waves   and that one cherished silver stripe around your finger gleaming gold against the hot sand

Today is my wedding day, and my father will read this poem during my ceremony.     Today is like the new wine flowing from the hands of Christ at the late hour during the wedding of Cana It is like the first blooms of spring and the brilliance of sunrise after the sunset before a long winter: Today is a tree of life. Today is the wonder of divine redemption after the death of dreams, like Isaac’s ram on the mountain It is like a feast at harvest, the evidence of seeds unseen cultivated by Sovereign hands: Today is a promise received. Today is a reflection of God who is faithful in covenant love,...