Culbert Report

Recently I've been thinking a lot about miracles. We throw the term around quite a bit. When asking my husband to define miracle, he appropriately replied, "happy, happy things that happen, especially at Christmas!" Precisely, I thought. This exactly summarizes what we would like miracles to be. Two summers ago, Colorado was bursting at the seams with the miraculous: "It's a miracle that the Colorado Rockies made it to the World Series!" Also miraculous, our ability to come up with such a catchy term marking the month of their success on such a short amount of time, " Rocktober ." Although the Rockies' success was yes, far-fetched and incredibly unlikely, miracle is still a bit too hyperbolic to use in this instance. Wikipedia (well reputed source on miracles) tells us that a miracle "is a sensibly perceptible interruption of the laws of nature, such that can only be explained by divine intervention, and is sometimes associated w...

We've recently enjoyed the company of some dear friends of ours out in the bustling metropolis of Junction City, Oregon.  Our friends were delighted to introduce us to their darling girl, Elizabeth, whom we hadn't had the opportunity to meet these last six months of her existence.  While we savored watching her small hands, busy feet, and endlessly changing (often humorous) expressions, we enjoyed so much more watching these new parents glow in the joy of their daughter. As visits with these dear friends are rich, but seldom, we jokingly began a yarn of folklore to assuage the sadness of living far apart, missing more moments with Elizabeth, the new source of daily life and chaos for our friends:  Crazy Uncle Dan.  Crazy Uncle Dan lives in Russia and does Crazy Uncle Dan things, like hanging his wet clothes on the clothesline outside in negative 40 degree weather, then shattering his jeans when he tries to put them on immediately after taking them off the line.  Or like learnin...

An attempt to modernize this moment in the gospel of Luke. Herd of Pigs Luke 8:26-39      It was that same smell that always smacks into you on that same corner: that revolting blend of stale alcohol and dried urine. We always quickened our pace around that corner, a sort of unspoken pact, anxious to get to the light and cross to the cleaner side of the street. But he was there today, marinating in his own filthy odor and trash. As he sensed our approach, he began spewing his senseless fragments:      “Adime t’day? Shum change?”      “How abow shum help for a body down on he sluck.”      “You kids got shum money?”      I looked over at my brother, who stood staring unabashedly at the desolate man. This corner, this man, seemed, for my brother, as much a part of our Friday routine as swimming at the Y, candy at Michelle’s, and reading magazines at the library. I could see the subtle fascination creep over his face. He just lives like that. Lives. Why doesn’t he do something for...

Our family has some close friends who are caught with two houses. They built a new, fancy, house to sell right before the bottom fell out of the housing market. Now they are paying two mortgages and have had to put both of their homes on the market. A falling stock market is taking care of whatever else might be left. I should mention that they are very Christ-like people. It's easy to tell that they know God in a very intimate way. A couple nights ago they came over from dinner. The husband, Jack, told us about his recent trip to their financial advisor. He described it, with a hint of southern drawl, something like this: Financial Advisor: "There's some cash left over in here. Do you want to pull it out? Do you need it?" Jack: "Nope." FA: "Ok, 'cause I want to invest it and it might be tied up for a little while." J: "Ok, that sounds good." FA: "I want to make sure you feel comfortable about doing this. How do y...

The primary difficulty I've come across in writing my novel involves saying all the things I hope to convey in narrative and dialogue rather than direct statements about these people. "Subtlety" becomes more and more in my eyes the true art of the author: the ability to introduce you to a character whose life encompasses those thoughts, actions, ideologies with which we are all familiar, guide you into their daily dilemmas, treat you to their philosophical outcomes, and thus show you yourself and your world in them without once your ever knowing that we had intentionally journeyed together through this. The secondary difficulty involves simply writing it. My life fails not to supply ample characters for a mighty work, rather my ability to truly capture them on paper does. To a novel, a life, a character in progress, cheers! - rkc

Nation, let's talk Palin . I certainly don't know much about politics.  I have opinions, just like the next Joe six pack, but nowhere near the level of knowledge to defend my ideas thoroughly, even adequately.  I do have observations and questions sufficient to supplement my lack of data.  I'd like to attempt to articulate some of these observations - particularly on the Palin -fanaticism rampant in areas across America.   The McCain campaign chose Palin , among a myriad of reasons, to attempt to leverage the women's vote. How effective this decision has been remains to be seen. Newsweek recently put forth the statement: "Most women are saying thanks but no thanks to John McCain's running mate" ( Are Voters Feeling Alienated by Palin , from the magazine issue dated Sep 29, 2008.) However, from what I have observed in the primarily conservative evangelical environment in which I now find myself, the response to Palin remains extraordinarily enthusi...

The Shack ... the buzz... the controversy... the middle aged black woman... the revolution... the lack thereof...   For months now, murmurs of The Shack  have rumbled around me - reviews, recommendations, discommendations , swirling around me like the aromas from Sarayu's fractalesque garden until I finally had no choice but to give in and read.  My dear friend, Ashley, first gave me the book months and months ago to read; but I, however, evaded her under the pretense that I am incapable of reading more than one book at once; moreover, I am a slow reader and must make careful choices of the books I read for woe to me for wasted time on empty pages.  And, hearing what I had heard about the Shack, I feared for the worst...  There is nothing like popular Christian fiction, or popular Christian music, or popular Christian anything to induce me to question its quality. But, alas, it is finished.  And I find myself very much where I was when I began the book.  The Shack failed to redee...