Last night we were praying as a family, and I asked one of my children what they wanted to pray about. They responded, “Nothing.”

I don’t like to force my children to pray. I don’t want them to grow up hating prayer. For the same reason, I don’t demand they attend every extracurricular church activity. I want them to cherish church and remember Sunday mornings filled with joy.

It's a brand-new year, and with it come resolutions. The firm decision to do or not to do something. A choice. A quick scroll through social media will show you lots of these firm decisions. Go to the gym, lose weight, save for something, eat differently, be a better parent, move away from the snow, get that job you have always dreamed of, quit that job you used to dream of. 

I was canoeing the Pine River in the Manistee National Forest with my dad and some men from the church. We camped in a campground and froze all night. Just as the sun was beginning to rise and I was finally getting warm, a deacon rolled over on his keys and set off his car alarm. We gave up on sleep and made breakfast.

A few months ago, the number of people coming to church was a bit higher. Someone stopped me in the lobby and said, "Isn’t this great?" Yes, I said, but it will go the other way at some point.

Last summer I went golfing with Ed Allen at Oak Lane in Webberville. It was rough the first couple of outings. If you never forget how to ride a bike, you never remember how to swing a golf club. Miss-hits and whiffs were common. 

When I was young, there was a sledding hill behind my home. My mom would bundle us up, and my dad would drag the toboggan to the top. He’d pile five of us on, give us a good push, then jump on the back.

I got my Christmas tree at a driving range. No one wants to hit golf balls in the snow, so they lease a corner of the lot to a Christmas Tree man. 
The man approached me. Is there something I can help you find? He said. 

I write from my bedroom tonight. The kids are playing downstairs and their voices are somewhere between having fun and about to hurt each other.

A new child arrived in time for Thanksgiving and Christmas, in moments like these, thanksgiving comes easy. Early on Sunday, Cecilia delivered Ouray (you-ray) Lee—both safe and healthy. Every time we’ve gone into childbirth, I’ve asked God for only two things: “safe mom, safe baby,” and the Lord gave more than I asked—typical.

Lately, we've had trouble getting Routt to sleep in his own room. I started to wonder if maybe we had spoiled him by letting him sleep in ours for too long.

Last night, I sat just outside his bedroom as he stared into the darkness.
“Dad,” he whispered, “look!”