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“Wait for me,” he called to her when they were children trudging through freshly fallen snow. She didn’t wait. But eventually he caught up. And they built elegant snow angels and elaborate fortresses together. “Wait for me,” he begged twelve years later when she fled their gloomy hometown and he,…

“It’s not 7:00 yet, Jack,” I murmured groggily. Slowly, but quietly, my son plodded out of our room and I heard his bedroom door gently shut. Soon – too soon – he returned, however, crawling into our bed, elbows stabbing my eye and knees pushing into my side. “It’s 7:00,”…

The following post originally appeared at Quest for Meaning on October 9, 2012. “Wasn’t that the definition of home? Not where you are from, but where you are wanted.” —Abraham Verghese, “Cutting for Stone” I was born and raised in rural Wisconsin. Our town had a population of just over…