I’ve been thinking about success. I think about it a lot actually. It’s a function of our culture and our time—particularly for us who are (to use David Brooks’s phrase) ‘meritocrats’—always striving after accomplishment as the source of our identity. I want to be a successful pastor, husband, and father. I want to be successful as a cultural consumer (i.e. watch the right TV, listen to the right bands) and as a board game player. Really I want to be successful everywhere and always.

Since I began using it about six months ago, I have developed a bit of a love-hate relationship with Google Reader. It’s become a great way for me to organize news and follow blogs. That’s the part I love.  But if I don’t stay on top of Google Reader, newsfeeds pile up and I begin to drown in unread information that (I fear) may be really important. What if I miss a crucial story?

With my son (and oldest child) five weeks into his first year of public education, I have been thinking about school. I’ve been listening to other anxious parents who, like us, have sent their firstborn off to school. And I’ve been remembering my own scholastic career—the good, the bad, and the ugly (which peaked around middle school for me).

Lately I’ve been thinking about liturgy. I know, I know—that sounds incredibly boring. The word ‘liturgy’ causes most of us to think of church services, and specifically the dry (and often alienating) routines of a particular denominational tradition. Liturgy need not be a dirty word. Etymologically, liturgy means ‘the work of the people.’ Liturgy suggests that Christianity is not just about a set of doctrinal beliefs. It is a form of shared life. That is to say, Christianity is as much what a community of people do as it is what they believe.

He gasped: 'Gandalf! I thought you were dead! But then I thought I was dead myself. Is everything sad going to come untrue? What’s happened to the world?’

I’ve been thinking about Little League. If you watch sports on TV, it was hard to avoid the Little League World Series over the last few weeks.

“Yes, there will be people that will be against giving this man a second chance and I understand that. That’s why it’s a soul-searching decision, because I don’t disagree with the feeling of some people don’t deserve a second chance. . . . There is no room for error on Michael’s part. There are no third chances and we know that. That’s the thing, if this isn’t fulfilled the way we expect it to be then that will be the end.”

We got new neighbors last weekend. We had watched the ‘For Sale’ sign change to ‘Under Contract’ and then disappear altogether. We watched the rental truck pull up, the heavy lifting take place, and the empty boxes pile up near the trashcans.

But what is home? Home is more of idea—often romanticized by our memories—than a specific spatial reality. The physicality of home often disappoints, or at least fails to match our memory of it. Those who have returned to a childhood home only to realize it’s not the magical (or big!) place they remembered can testify to this truth. What really makes a place a home are relationships of intimacy and of love.