In 1966, I was training at the Great Lakes Naval Base outside Chicago. I had enlisted in the Navy with the conviction that destiny was pulling me toward Vietnam, where I imagined myself serving as a Marine Corps medic. That belief came from a recurring dream—one that felt less like fantasy and more like prophecy.…
As a writer, I’ve often marveled at how characters take shape. At first, they are little more than names on a page. Yet as the story unfolds, they grow into beings with distinct personalities, quirks, and destinies. By the time the final chapter is written, they have become inseparable from the work itself. In creating…
For many years, I have poured my heart into the work of peace — not as a distant ideal, but as a daily practice, a quiet commitment made and remade with each passing season. And yet, for much of that time, it felt like shouting into a wind that simply carried my words away. Progress,…
For much of my life, I have had to deal with bullies and dishonest people who held positions over me. Most of the time, I have just walked away from the job or situation, frustrated, yes, but confident that the day would come when they would be held accountable. THE GARDEN was written after being…
In the year 2000, I was working with an HIV and AIDS prevention organization in Cambodia. The epidemic was accelerating, and the solution seemed straightforward: distribute condoms and teach people how to use them. Teams fanned across the countryside with boxes of condoms, demonstrating their use on bananas. We returned home satisfied with our work.…
“There is a Wine that flows from the vineyards of the Lord, Its sweetness aged in jars of clay, its price none can afford. And wise men say that he who tastes its sweetness on his tongue Will understand the Mind of God and evil overcome.” With tear-filled eyes, a dying father passed these words…
As a species, we have repeatedly acted on inherited prejudices, convincing ourselves that certain groups are somehow less human, less deserving of dignity—or even of life itself. In doing so, we have committed atrocities while telling ourselves they were necessary, justified, or deserved. The dehumanization that precedes genocide, the racial hatred that fuels violence, the…
The questions came early.They first surfaced in Mr. Timmer’s Sunday School class at Olivet Reformed Church in Grandville. I didn’t intend to embarrass him by asking what he could not answer, but at that age, there was no one else to ask. I was already searching. In those early years, I imagined that becoming a…
For my 70th birthday, I flew from Cambodia to Bar Harbor, Maine, to see my dear friend Gail Gutrudt for what I knew would be the last time. She was dying of cancer, and the hospital had called to say she didn’t have long. So I was surprised when I arrived at her home to…
I wrote this poem while recovering from wounds at the Bethesda Naval Hospital in 1969. I was the last person to leave the battlefield alive. The eleven Marines who threw me on the medivac chopper were all dead a few minutes after we got airborne.The full story can be found in the second chapter of…