Memoirous

  Once again, I am prepping for a familiar trek: To Grand Rapids for the Festival of Faith and Writing. I did a search and so much of this blog is dedicated to that biennial event where so many of my favorite things collide. Reading Writing Meeting other readers Staying with Andy and Natalie Quick convo with Luci Shaw—sadly now, no more Riding my bike home Starting in 2014, the first time I attempted to ride my bike home (then it was Chicago and took 3 days), I would bring a bicycle and commute to the conference. Now in 2026 at age 67 I’ll, again, be bringing a bike. I can bring it on Indian Trails and unpack at the station and ride to my host’s house. I’ll stay again with Natalie—except this time they have moved east of the city, so on Saturday I’ll journey to their house and then go on from there on Sunday morning on side roads back to Lansing. Rereading past posts at this blog about the FFW, I’ve remembered authors I was introduced to through the festival and decided to add ...

This Luci Shaw poem expresses how I felt on my bike ride--was it only TWO DAYS AGO that the ground was covered in snow and the wind whipping around me?? I was praying for an April thaw at the time Psalm for the January Thaw Luci Shaw Blessed be God for thaw, for the clear drops that fall, one by one, like clocks ticking, from the icicles along the eaves. For shift and shrinkage, including the soggy gray mess on the deck like an abandoned mattress that has lost its inner spring. For the gurgle of gutters, for snow melting underfoot when I step off the porch. For slush. For the glisten on the sidewalk that only wets the foot sole and doesn’t send me slithering. Everything is alert to this melting, the slow flow of it, the declaration of intent, the liquidation. Glory be to God for changes. For bulbs breaking the darkness with their green beaks. For moles and moths and velvet green moss waiting to fill the driveway cracks. For the way the sun pierces the window ...

Festival of Faith and Writing I cannot begin to tell you how much I was looking forward to this writer’s conference after what seemed like a forever winter (ongoing?). I kept checking the website at least once a week to see if new writers had been added as speakers. I signed up for the Festival newsletter and got updates. I read the recommended books—not all of them, but enough to tell you I loved Chris Beha’s Whatever Happened to Sophie Wilder . Please read this book—it is a mystery, not really, in a style that reminded me somewhat of Oscar Wilde ( Pic of Dorian Grey ). The mystery it turns out has to do more with incarnation and transmutation, about grace in the face of struggle. I also needed this conference. I needed a piece of warmth in the midst of what felt like human coldness. It was a spark. A rekindling. What I hoped would be the start of spring. Well . . . . I’d been attending the FFW since 1994, twenty years. So I’ve gotten used to what to expect. The...