As I stand upon the rocky shore,
looking at the driftwood scattered along the beach,
my heart echoes back through time—
to when the salty sea would carry me
to distant islands, far from the heartache
of those I have lost.

You came in like a warm gust
that quickly went away,
leaving behind only a leaf
that drifted down on this late Autumn day.

A year has passed since that day
when, upon the rocky shore, you lay.

How I wished you could lie in my arms,
that I might hold your hand
upon softer sand, we would stroll together
until another came to take your hand,
and I would joyfully give you away.

Then I would stand alone upon the softer sand
and weep, because I loved you first—
and yet I would be happy to see you go.

Yet now, as one year turns into two,
a bottle drifts upon the tide,
carrying a note no other man can read.

For some things must remain hidden
in the depths of a man’s heart—
things he shares only with the sea.

I look back upon the rocky shore
near Mukilteo,
and I think of your grace
and of the love that still remains—
a love no one will ever replace.

I pray that on this day
you are playing upon the beaches
of the shining sea,
while I look across the northern coast
toward the islands
where the evergreens will always be.

There is room by the hearth.

~RLN

“A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone.”
~ Henry David Thoreau

There is an old chair that was my grandfather’s that he used to keep in his closet when I was a lad. For many years, even before I was born, he used it in his closet to be able to sit down and put his shoes on. Later in life, I recall him making mention that it was also his prayer chair, especially on the Lord’s Day while preparing to head to church to preach or some other pastoral duty he was called to. Somewhere along the line, this old wooden chair was passed down to me and now sits at my desk. As I sit here this evening writing to you, a flood of memories comes upon me with the provoking question that I am pondering: “What is special about ordinary things?”

As I reflect back on the memories of this old chair that my grandfather once sat in, the more I come to the realization that it isn’t exactly what ordinary things you may possess, but the memories that you hold with the ordinary tangible gifts, and also the gifts that you have been given to steward well. Every good and perfect gift is from above, not only the salvation given to man through the perfect work of Jesus Christ, but also the ordinary gifts of God’s providence that He graciously gives His children.

I believe that a man in this world becomes truly rich when he reaches the place of contentment that so many men long for and seldom seem to ever reach because they are chasing the wrong goals and things in this world. When a man can come home to a loving family and count the small circle of trusted friends that he has and say with all honesty, “If the Lord saw fit to remove from me my home, my job, and my possessions, then I will still truly be at peace in this world because the One who holds my soul is still the One that holds tomorrow.”

One of my favorite books is Pilgrim’s Progress, written by John Bunyan. Bunyan writes how Pilgrim was looking for the Celestial City and, forsaking his home and all worldly possessions, sought out this long and dangerous journey to his King’s country, fully trusting in his Master to lead him and provide to him all that he needed. I am fully convinced that we would do well to have the same school of thought as Pilgrim had: that we would hold loosely everything that we own while also treasuring what the Lord has given us, trusting in His providence to lead and provide for our every need.

Holding something loosely does not mean treating it without care. Perhaps it means the opposite. Because something has been entrusted to us rather than truly belonging to us, we have reason to tend it well and leave it for the next generation. A man who is truly rich and at peace with himself will govern the possessions that have been given to him and treasure them well, whether that be the dining table where a warm meal is shared with your spouse on a blissful, cool September evening or an old clock that is hanging on the wall that, if given the chance, could tell stories of itself with the passing of time.

While most people will see ordinary things as anything less than spectacular and will define wealth by how much is in your bank account or by the tangible possessions that make a house a house instead of a home, the man who can find joy in an ordinary walk on a cool September morning on the country lane, or find contentment in the joy of taking care of something that once belonged to someone else, will find greater pleasure in this life.

This old ordinary chair that I am sitting on while writing this essay is more valuable because of what it bears witness to. It bears witness to an ordinary faithfulness that was anything but insignificant. As a man of 38 years who is looking back on the memory of seeing his Pappa put on his boots before going to the garden or putting on his dress shoes to head to church, it gives me encouragement that I must also sit down in this fast-paced life with prayer and conviction while putting on my own shoes to head on this pilgrimage to wherever the Lord takes me in this world.

One day, this old chair that was once somebody else’s will be passed down through me to someone else, or it simply may disappear like countless ordinary objects do in due time. Yet the legacy of the man who once sat in it is still carrying on through this world, as I hope the Lord uses me to pass down the same legacy to my children’s children: that in the inheritance of ordinary things, there is truly only one gift that is far from the ordinary… The greatest inheritance isn’t the ordinary things themselves, but a life of faithfulness to Christ passed from one generation to another.

There is room by the hearth.

~RLN

—Bilbo, The Hobbit

These words have been on my mind this week as I started painting the fence that my wife and I built nearly a year ago. It was a journey we began shortly after purchasing our cottage in our quaint little village. We decided to build a French Gothic-inspired picket fence alongside our home. Many might say this is the typical American dream: to have a white picket fence around the yard. Yet I wonder if they are only seeing the finished picture through rose-colored glasses.

Throughout the building process, as we joyously labored to make each picket by hand, I couldn’t help but gain a deeper appreciation for crafting something that could potentially weather storms for a few decades, stand tall against whatever might try to enter our yard, and, most of all, surround a place where we hope to see our children play.

As with many things in life that we labor over and craft using our own talents, there is a deeper understanding and appreciation for something you build with your own two hands, especially when it falls outside your normal skill or trade. If you have an older home, then you personally know the challenges that come with maintaining one and how important it is to stay on top of its needs, since you are its keeper.

As I painted, alone with God and my thoughts, each stroke of the brush gave me pause to examine my own heart more closely. Maintaining our home and striving to be a good steward of what the Lord has given me to enjoy and use for His glory in this temporary life is about more than tending to a house that will decay if it is not cared for.

I couldn’t help but think the same is true in other parts of my life. If I don’t tend to my marriage and my own spiritual growth, something inside will begin to decay and wither. God, who created us and is the great Craftsman of our souls, has given us what we need to grow strong as an oak rather than wither inside. We only have to open His Word and seek Christ.

Being the keeper and steward of a home is about more than decorating its exterior or interior. You can hire someone to come in, learn your tastes, and do all the decorating. You can also hire a contractor to repair something that you may not want—or may not know how—to repair yourself. But does hiring someone mean that you are no longer the keeper and steward of your home?

I don’t believe it does. There is certainly nothing wrong with hiring someone when you lack the necessary skills or simply don’t have the time to complete the work. Sometimes being a good keeper means recognizing what you cannot do yourself. Yet a home is still far more than a house with four walls and a roof, or a picket fence that you painted.

It is a place where memories and family traditions are preserved. A place of warmth, where friends are welcomed around the table. A place to rest after a long day. A place where God is King and Christ is Lord.

A place where, thirty years from now, I can remember how wonderful my wife looked as we danced around our kitchen after preparing a meal together.

A place where, after all the work is done for the day and the tools have been put away, I can look back and say, “Thank You, Lord, for this home You have blessed me with and entrusted to my care as its temporary earthly keeper.”

And while I am thankful for this home, my heart still longs for the one I will never have to build or maintain, because its Builder has already laid the plans and finished the work.

There is room by the hearth.

~ RLN

As I look through my window to our garden, I reflect on the meaning of The Lamp & Hearth.

We live in an age that moves incredibly fast. Something that consumes everyone’s attention today will probably be lost and forgotten tomorrow. There is always another headline, another argument, another controversy, and another new story we are told deserves our attention.

Sometimes I think we would do well to slow down.

Traditions, ideas, and many of the things that matter have largely remained the same throughout our history.

God is still God. His Word is still the absolute truth. A husband is still called to his duties to his wife and family. A home is still worth tending and cultivating. A neighbor is still worth knowing. History is still worth remembering. Good books are still worth reading. Beauty is still worth appreciating. And truth doesn’t stop being truth simply because the present age doesn’t particularly care for it or says that old truths are no longer accepted today.

Those are the sorts of things I want to write about here.

The name The Lamp & Hearth came from two things that are very fitting in my life.

First is the lamp.

The Psalmist writes, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”

That is where I believe everything must begin.

I am a Christian, and my theology is rooted in the Reformed tradition. I believe Scripture is the Word of God and that Jesus Christ is Lord over all of life. Our faith isn’t something we practice for a couple of hours on Sunday morning and then put away until the following week. It should shape how we understand our families, our work, our homes, our culture, our history, and ultimately how we see the world God has made.

We must learn to abide in Christ and recognize that we cannot do anything by our own strength. Christ is the vine and we are the branches. Apart from Christ, we are helpless and weak creatures.

With the lamp burning, the truth will set you free.

Then there is the hearth.

My wife and I live in a very tiny village that has the atmosphere of an English cottage. We call our home Chateau de Conway. We both feel called to have a home of hospitality for our friends and for pilgrims in the mission field when they are home on furlough. This brings not only our dreams to life, but ultimately what we believe we are called to do by our Lord: to be good stewards of what He has blessed us with.

Our home is not merely a house or the things we fill it with, but home. A place with roots. That is what my wife and I strive to cultivate in our home. A place where friends and neighbors are welcomed. Where books fill the shelves, meals are shared around a table, prayers are offered, stories are told, and memories are made.

Most of this will never make the history books. However, the legacy that we leave to our children and grandchildren is much more important than what can fill a library of books.

And yet I think those ordinary things matter tremendously.

I love history, and I expect there will be plenty of it here. My favorite period to study is the American Revolutionary War. We remember studying history in school and learning about kings, presidents, generals, wars, elections, and the great events that shaped nations. However, the longer I live, the more firmly convinced I am that history is also the story of millions of ordinary men and women whose names we will never know.

As Nikolaus Zinzendorf is often quoted as saying, “Preach the gospel, die, and be forgotten.”

They worked, raised families, worshiped God, buried those they loved, cared for their neighbors, endured hardships, and eventually handed what they had built to another generation. This is the very life that I want to live. To live is Christ and to die is gain! Leaving a gospel legacy to the next generation and instilling Christian virtue wherever we are.

We inherited a world we did not build.

We inherited a faith, history, culture, communities, homes, institutions, and traditions shaped by people who lived long before us. Not everything handed down to us is good simply because it is old. Of course not. Wisdom requires knowing what should be kept and what should be discarded.

But I refuse to believe that simply because we are modern, we are therefore wiser. The calendar has moved forward. That does not mean wisdom has moved forward with it.

There are old truths worth defending, old books worth opening again, and old stories that ought not be forgotten. Not everything handed down to us deserves to survive—but neither should we surrender a good inheritance simply because the age has grown tired of it and much of society considers its ideas or traditions antiquated.

Those are what I mean when I talk about the permanent things. Faith, truth, goodness, beauty, courage, duty, family, home, and our obligations before God and toward one another. The things that will still matter long after today’s outrage and tomorrow’s fashion have both been forgotten.

My first purpose in writing The Lamp & Hearth is to honor my Lord, for He alone is worthy of all glory and majesty. I cannot do this in my own strength. I need the Lord for the very words I put on paper. My second goal is to share topics of conversation and ideas with you, the reader, that might be an encouragement and blessing as we all travel the pilgrimage home to the Celestial City in due course.

Some days I may write about theology. Other days it may be history, Churchill, an old book, something happening in our culture, the stewardship of a home, or simply something I have been thinking about.

And every now and then, I am sure the sea will make its way onto these pages too. I have always loved the ocean. Its history, its ships, its vastness, and the feeling you get standing on the shore looking out toward a horizon that seems to go on forever.

The world will continue to change, and much of it will be beyond our control. But we are not powerless over what happens within our own walls. We can tend our homes. We can know our neighbors. We can remember our history. We can teach what is true, preserve what is good, and refuse to surrender what is worth keeping.

I am a Christian, a husband, a father, an accountant by trade, a lover of history with the sea in my blood, and a man trying to be faithful with what God has placed in front of me to steward and cultivate.

Maybe there are others trying to do the same.

If so, pull up a chair.

There is room by the hearth.

Welcome to The Lamp & Hearth.

~RLN