A Field Journal
Dispatches from the edges of the map, where the work is slow, the roads are long, and the small things turn out to be the whole thing.
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Psalm 119:105Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.
Where we go
Past the last bus stop the pavement gives up and the dust takes over. We keep going on foot, because the people we came for are the ones the map forgot.
One season in
across five valleys
Carried by
From the editor
Memory is generous and unreliable. It rounds the corners off the hard days and forgets the names of the people who carried us. A journal is a small act of defiance against that softening.
So this is what these pages are: a ledger of small faithfulness, kept honestly, so that later we can read it back and remember what was given and what was received.
More to read
On the difference between studying a text and keeping it company — and why we host the latter.
The slow gospel arrives this fall, with wider margins than we've ever dared.
Our printer asked why we insist on linen covers when buckram is cheaper. A meditation on materials.
Stay in touch
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