An editor from my newspapering days telephoned the other day. My memory snapped like a rubber band back to the newsroom. I could practically hear the crackle of the police scanner over the urgent tapping of computer keys. A long series of remember-when’s rushed in: the hanging chads of the 2000 presidential election, our in-depth examination of teacher...

I had good intentions. The alarm-clock sounded five minutes earlier than usual. I wanted the girls to have plenty of time to swallow their typhoid-vaccination capsules before the school bus arrived. Next month, our family leaves for a short-term mission trip to a Haitian village that we’ve grown to love. This will be our girls’ first trip to a...

I had it all memorized—the way some people memorize favorite songs, Bible verses, or math facts. That's how I had my town memorized—by heart. I knew which sidewalk bulges could derail a Schwinn bike. I knew shortcuts through alleyways; funny bluish hairdos of hunched old ladies at church; the smell of the Farmer’s Co-op break-room, which reeked of dust...

I stood under the peaked roof of my country church, folded my arms across my chest, and looked out across the sanctuary, feeling a sense of admiration and a tinge of envy. The mothers of our church had sewn dozens of darling dresses as a mission project, then draped them over the backs of every pew for the rest of us to see on Sunday morning. As the...