“The whole outlook of mankind might be changed if we could all believe that we dwell under a friendly sky and that the God of heaven, though exalted in power and majesty, is eager to be friends with us.”
— A.W. Tozer
Welcome to our blog page. The content here, up through the year 2022, was originally posted on my personal blog/website (chrisdeman.com). As God continues to lead us into different ways of being spiritually formed, our creative outlets have also transitioned. So, we’re simplifying into one web presence. We hope that you find encouragement, challenge, a bit of humor, and honest reflection on our experience with God in the commonplace.
Humble Earth Dweller
A poem…
Alone with my Friends
Peace and quiet. I collect them. In my home they’re readily found before the sun rises, mixed with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. They prefer a dimly lit room…
The 40's Fork
Sparse and random were the small, black plastic discs. Stationed at ground level, most lay out of sight. Quiet. Dormant. Lifeless. They kindled little hope.
Move it!
Three weeks ago we wrestled eight-year-old roots from country soil and replanted ourselves in the midst of suburbia. It was an arduous process. We’re still herding the last boxes into their rooms and daily attacking ubiquitous clutter. With rejuvenated clarity I’m remembering why I told my wife eight years ago we’d never move again.
Shoo, Lie - Don't Bother Me!
I never mow alone. But I wish I could…
Finger-Painted Turkeys
It’s on my desk. And the bookshelves – both at home and the office. Some hangs in my workshop. I’ve stuffed pieces in my wallet and tucked remnants in my journal.
Dragon Slayer
More than seventeen years ago, I was blessed with a hope made real.
I Will Remember
Reflections for Memorial Day 2013.
Birds, Bees, and Burgers
Strange terms, fresh imaginings, embarrassed moments and puzzled looks. And for some extra intrigue, a batch of fried pickles…
My Favorite Picture
Last week I was overwhelmed – again. It was déjà vu from two years ago. All those hallways and galleries and glass cases and tiny spotlights. It doesn’t take long for me to get lost in the varied and sometimes loose interpretations of art at The Art Institute of Chicago.
We Wait
A meditative poem for Good Friday.
A Mighty Throw by a Wimpy Kid
Field Day. That mini Olympics held annually in schoolyards large and small. With blue, red, and white ribbons, laughter, crying, triumph and defeat, field day signifies the end of another school year. At my school, it was also the only day of the year when pizza was served for hot lunch. So long, Shepherd’s Pie!
Best Seat in the House
My hand glides lightly over its velvety fabric. Many hands – sticky and rough and small and greasy and snotty and delicate and yes, even some clean ones – have traveled a similar path. It beckons for touching. Few can resist the temptation to caress its surface as they round the corner into the open room.
How Big Are Your Ears?
I found another one today, resting on my dresser. It lay softly on a pile of receipts that await entry into our budgeting spreadsheet. Somewhat crinkled, dog-eared and covered halfway with penciled words…
Are You Listening?
Strong coffee. The smell of a campfire. A well-tensioned film. Belly laughs. Cutting with a sharp chainsaw. Crickets at dusk. Old books with cloth covers…