Hiking, or The Reason to Abuse a Left Knee

A few years ago, my wife decided to give me a birthday present in the form of abandonment in the wilderness. To be clear, this was what I wanted. My version of a vacation is fairly Spartan. Give me a sleeping bag, a hammock, a tarp, and some basic necessities, and leave me to wander. This is distinctly different from my mother’s version of camping, which involves things with agitators—a washing machine, a hot tub, and cable television, for example.

My sweet wife dropped me off at Cosby Campground, where Cosby Creek churns down a mountain gully in fresh cascades of whitewater. The trail from there to Low Gap averages a thirteen percent grade. I was newly thirty-two years old. Surely sixty additional pounds up a mountain posed no problem.

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What the World Needs Now

Editor’s note: We are excited to welcome Wade Bibb to Foundling House. Wade is the Senior Pastor at Central Baptist Bearden in Knoxville and a one-time professor of religion at Carson-Newman University. He is also an avid runner and is in such great shape that the rest of us wonder about our own efforts at exercise. Furthermore, he does not drink coffee, yet still manages to get things accomplished.

I am not a mother.

I have a mother. I’m married to a mother, but I am not a mother. I have seen the job and the responsibilities, and I don’t want to be a mother. Actually, I’m a little a bit afraid of most mothers. It’s as if, once they have raised children, they know there’s nothing else that can ever really scare them.

I’m not a mother, and it isn’t just a biological issue—I know I can’t do the job. One Sunday morning, while we were getting ready for church, my wife told our daughter Emily, five-years-old at the time, to go pick out what she wanted to take to church. Emily picked out four little horses to keep herself quiet and pacified. I told her that was a lot and that she might just need to take two of them. Not sure about the instructions here mother had given, I said, “Let’s go ask mommy what she thinks.” Emily said, “Yeah, you don’t know anything do you.”

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All the Montessori Books

By sheer luck or perfect providence or simple coincidence, the day I called the Montessori School about a job was the same day a full time assistant had quit without notice. They would be thrilled to hire me back to fill the position, the Head of School told me over the phone while my heart began to beat again. We set a start date, hung up, and I stared at the bulletin board trying to collect myself. It hung on the wall of a coffee shop in a strip mall outside town. I had driven there in a gold 1994 Honda Civic on twenty-four hour loan from the mechanic. It was December in Idaho. My car was totaled, I’d just learned I was pregnant, and I was going back to my hometown.

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Fund The Mosleys’ New Record!

Once in a while, you run across people doing good work, and you ask yourself: Why isn’t everybody excited about this? Much of that good work requires a little digging to unearth, so we wanted to do the labor for you and make sure you got a chance to participate in something wonderful.

Stephen and Rachel Mosley have been crafting tunes as a folk duo for about three years, starting at their house in Serenbe, Georgia, and ending up in a Floridian plantation mansion that’s spitting distance from the Gulf of Mexico. Some of you might recall Rachel’s splendid, honest writing about the good perils of family. This year saw the Mosleys not only deciding to produce new music, but to produce a full-length record with Phil Madeira and Jimmy Abegg.

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