-
⚽ Twelve 8-year-olds + 200mg of caffeine + one mortified coach = the best bar story you’ll hear today. Trust us, you want to hear how this ends.
-
A late-night traffic stop becomes a reminder: storytelling connects us, grounds us, and makes us known. In a world of strangers, our stories are how we find our way home.
-
Grant’s thoughts about purchasing the Toyota snapped away when the officer softly tapped the driver’s side window. “Hello? Can you roll down the window for me, sir?” Grant didn’t realize the young officer was standing next to his door. The lights were blinding and hypnotizing all at the same time. “Yes, sir. Absolutely.” He quickly
-
Before I was old enough to read, I told stories. Imagination incubated, spit out into the world through my limited toddler vocabulary. After being taught how to read and write, the magic turned from oral stories to written stories. Now I was writing my own material, reading everything I could to get ideas, even the
-
Staring right at me, I thought she would start screaming, yelling at the top of her lungs. Before you start in on me, I just want to set the record straight – I didn’t start this argument. No. Really. I didn’t. It wasn’t my fault. But then again, the guilty always have a way of
-
“What did you say?” Marcus blinked several times, not believing what he heard. “How can I help you?” Marcus looked down at the man. His clothes were well-worn, dirty, and greasy in spots from motor oil or some other substance. The shoes on his feet had a hole in one of the toes, and the
-
I’m not sure I’m smart enough to understand how it works or what it is. I’m no scientist. I’m not a researcher. But I do know what creative thinking looks like. I know how my brain works, creating a solution from nothing. But can I paint like Michaelangelo? Not even if I wanted to! Can
-
“For fifteen years, I’ve lived out here. On the streets of Portland, Oregon, you can find any kind of substance or alcohol if you are willing to pay the price. I’d rather keep my mind free of all that garbage. They gave me meds once upon a time for schizophrenia, but the voices told me
-
Words matter. Like more than you thought they did. Wrong words can do irreparable damage for however long you have left of your life. Kids don’t know what words have the potential to do by uttering the simplest of words and phrases. The more you think about it, the more you start to understand how
-
“Well, well, well. I wondered if I would ever see you again, Zack.” I recognized the voice. Not the hair, makeup, and clothes. I closed my eyes, wondering if it might help me remember the perfume she wore. It didn’t. I must’ve looked like a deer caught in headlights standing at the valet station because
-
“Put what you want into the universe. It will come back to you.” Bracelets on both wrists jangled as she touched my nose with her index finger. “Promise.” The smile and her words warmed me. She stood before me, wearing a flowing broom skirt, her sliver-streaked hair touching her shoulders with a sunflower tucked behind
-
Tuesday morning, June 4, 2014. It’s burned in my memory because I got a call at 8:17 A.M. interrupting a brief meeting with the senior pastor. Our discussion included the need to improve outreach, which started with building healthy relationships in our congregation. The voice on the other end of the phone sounded strange. Distraught.
-
San Francisco, Pier 39. In the late 1980s, as a junior in high school living in the suburbs of Dublin, California, this was the place to be. The things you saw downtown were edgy. Skinheads. Mohawks. Different colored hair. Piercings, similar to the ones you see today, were the norm. Ripped jeans. Leather jackets.
Stories. Enjoy!
5 Minute Observations 