Kith & Kin

NEW FEATURE: If you would like to listen to this story in audio format, click here . “Steven, would you please go downstairs and get the clinics box for me?” The request came from aged Mrs. White, a tiny white-haired Southern belle. Cindy and I, early in our marriage, were working for her in exchange for free rent in the apartment above her garage. As the lazy afternoon Southern sun drifted through the gauzy windows, illuminating dust motes floating in the air, Cindy and I were vacuuming the floors and wiping down her antiques—in a futile effort to conquer those same motes when they came to rest. Mrs. White was an easy person to work for. She wasn’t demanding or demeaning or unreasonable. Her wants were generally few. “Steven, would you please go downstairs and get the clinics box for me?” “Sure, Mrs. White. What kind of box did you say?” “Clinics. A clinics box.” She seemed a bit frustrated, which was unusual for her, so I didn’t press it any further. Clearly a clinics ...

Baby Keith. Mom ’ s idea of putting the baby ’ s age right in the photo was a stroke of genius. NEW FEATURE: You may listen to an audio version of this post by clicking here . My mother often told me the story of the day she and Dad brought Keith home from the hospital. They laid him on the couch, and I, two-and-a-half years old, looked at him and said, “Where’s his mommy?” At some point thereafter I comprehended the fact that my mommy and daddy were also Keith’s mommy and daddy, and that meant we were brothers. When we were still quite young, Keith and I had our own TV program. It was broadcast every evening immediately after supper. The two of us would go into the living room, stand in front of a large mirror, and put on a comedy show. Its high-brow humor consisted mostly of two little boys dancing around and acting silly, the larger one repeatedly hitting the smaller one on the head and pushing him off camera because he had made a comment that was, in the estimation of the larger ...

Hi all, Back in Sept/Oct when Cindy and I were on our trip to southern Colorado , we met bloggers / Youtubers Matt and Cheryl of We ’ re in the Rockies — very nice folks! When I mentioned we were spending a night at the Grand Imperial Hotel in Silverton , Cheryl asked me to write up a summary of our experience and said she would post it on their blog. She has done so, and I ’ m excited to see it! If you ’ re interested in lots of interesting details about the Durango-Silverton Railroad AND in my blog post (“A Night at the (Haunted?) Grand Imperial Hotel, Silverton, Colorado”), click here . Scroll to the bottom for my contribution. I hope you enjoy it. I had fun writing it! Steve Cheryl and Cindy on our way to Silverton, CO, via the historic Durango-Silverton Railroad.

PLEASE NOTE: All verses are quoted from the New International Version unless otherwise noted. Any quotations given without a verse reference are my own interpretation. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the Old Testament prophet Elijah. His life is filled with astonishing, unique events, one of which I can relate to all too well. Elijah’s origins are a mystery. He shows up for the first time in 1 Kings 17:1 : “Now Elijah the Tishbite, from Tishbe in Gilead, said to Ahab, ‘As the Lord, the God of Israel, lives, whom I serve, there will be neither dew nor rain in the next few years except at my word.’” Where was Tishbe? No one knows for sure. What else do we know about Tishbe and Tishbites? Nothing. Elijah is the only person identified as such in the Bible. Elijah shows amazing confidence in the face of a wicked ruler who could easily have put him to death. I used to think that God had spoken to Elijah suddenly, in a dream perhaps, and told him out of the blue to go to Ahab wi...