Somebody had to invent reading glasses.

And hand sanitizer. And noise-canceling headphones. And neck pillows. And karaoke.

And somewhere along the way, somebody apparently looked at a “pretty good” pizza and thought, You know what this needs? Pineapple.

I’ve been thinking about all the strange, clever, useful—and occasionally questionable—things people have dreamed up to make life a little easier, more comfortable, or just more fun.

Which, naturally, led me to the important scientific question of why doughnuts have holes.

I believe I’ve solved it!

- Mark

From the time we’re born, we learn by watching other people. We imitate sounds, movements, skills, behaviors—and eventually begin making them our own.

But I’m sure there’s something much bigger happening in that process.

Maybe learning from one another isn’t only about figuring out how to do things.

Maybe it’s also one of the ways we learn who we want to become.

There’s something delightful about a story that knows exactly where it’s going—even when we don’t.

For this week’s Saturday Story, we’re traveling back more than a century for a wonderfully clever tale by the British writer Saki. It begins simply enough: a nervous gentleman, a country visit, a young woman with a story to tell...and, of course, an open window.

I think I’ll leave it at that.

Settle in and enjoy The Open Window.

Some things stay with us in ways I don’t completely understand.

An old phone number. A familiar voice. The opening notes of a song. The turns in a road we haven’t traveled for years. Things our hands and bodies seem to remember without being told.

I’ve been thinking about all the strange, wonderful, ordinary things we somehow come to know by heart.

Sometimes life puts something in front of us that is simply too big to solve all at once. We don’t know how things will turn out, and we can’t see very far down the road.

I’ve learned that maybe we don’t always need to.

Sometimes we just need enough light—and enough faith—to find the next right thing.

I want to live a joyful life.

But I’ve been thinking lately about what that actually means—especially when life isn’t easy.

Because joy and happiness aren’t quite the same thing. And perhaps living joyfully doesn’t require us to pretend that the difficult parts of life aren’t difficult.

Today’s reflection is about the joy I find in ordinary life, the joy I find through my faith, and something I’m still learning:

Sorrow and joy can occupy space in the same heart.

Welcome to The Quiet Between.

Saturday Stories are usually stories from my life.

This week, I’m doing something a little different.

When my kids were young, I loved making up stories for them at bedtime. Sometimes they chose the characters and setting. Sometimes I simply started talking and discovered the story right along with them.

So for today’s Saturday Story, I’m sharing one of my own—a story about a bored kid who discovers that sometimes the cure for having nothing to do just might be sitting right there on your feet.

Although you should probably be careful what you wish for.

Welcome to Saturday Stories.

- Mark

There are things I know. Things I think I know. And an enormous number of things I don’t understand at all.

I’ve discovered that I rather like it that way.

In today’s reflection, I’m wandering through some of the questions that fascinate, amuse, and occasionally bewilder me—from the extraordinary complexity of living things and the mystery of love to football, marathon running, and one question I still have about sharks.

Along the way, I’ve been thinking about faith, curiosity, and why saying “I don’t know” might sometimes be the beginning of something rather than the end.

Welcome to The Quiet Between.

- Mark

I was never a great hitter.

But a friend on our church softball team had spent most of the season trying to help me change that—only with very limited success.

Then came this one hot August afternoon.

Bottom of the last inning. Two outs. Bases loaded. Down by three runs.

And…I was up next.

What happened after that?

Well, it still makes me smile all these years later.

Welcome to this week’s Saturday Stories from The Quiet Between.

We remember so many of life’s firsts. Last times are different. They usually pass quietly—a hand that once slipped naturally into ours, a family gathering, a familiar walk, an ordinary moment we assumed would happen again.

I’ve been thinking about how many of those last times I probably never recognized. There’s some sadness in that for me. But I’m trying to let that sadness teach me something about the moments that are still here.

Maybe we don’t need to know when something is happening for the last time.

Maybe it’s enough to become better at recognizing this time.