(A reflection from the conclusion of Things We’ve Handed Down: Twelve Letters I Leave for You, based on the book, For the Time Being, by Annie Dillard.)

We don’t always notice it while it’s happening.

The sacred, silent passing of truth. The gentle, sometimes gritty handing down of what matters most.

But for the time being—in this moment, in this season, in this breath—we are all part of the story.

We are receivers.

We are givers.

We are living between what has been handed to us and what we will hand to others.

That’s why I wrote Things We’ve Handed Down: Twelve Letters I Leave for You. Each chapter is a letter. Each letter is a memory, a story, a reflection, a confession. Each one is shaped by a book I’ve loved, an author who has shaped me, a truth I needed to carry.

And now, I hand them to you.

Frederick Buechner reminded me in the Introduction that we are all Peculiar Treasures—beautifully flawed, wildly loved, held by grace.

Philip Yancey, in Disappointment with God, gave me permission to ask hard questions and still find faith on the other side.

Walter Wangerin Jr., through Wounds Are Where Light Enters, showed me that our pain is not the end of the story—but often the beginning of healing.

Henri Nouwen’s The Wounded Healer helped me realize that our deepest ministry comes not from strength, but from our shared brokenness.

Jerry Cook’s Love, Acceptance, and Forgiveness helped me see that the Church becomes most like Jesus when it chooses welcome over judgment.

Annie Dillard, in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, reminded me to pay attention—to really see the wonder woven into everyday life.

Calvin Miller’s Life is Mostly Edges taught me that life’s transitions are sacred places—beginnings, endings, and all the blurry edges in between.

C. S. Lewis, with Surprised by Joy, and so many other books he wrote, rekindled my imagination and pointed my heart to a joy that surprises us into belief.

Bob and Joel Kilpatrick, in The Art of Being You, reminded me that God is the artist—not the mechanic—and we are His ongoing masterpiece.

Rebecca Pippert’s Hope Has Its Reasons gave me real hope, not wishful optimism. A hope rooted in Jesus that I had to pass on.

Frederick Buechner, again, with Wishful Thinking, gave me language and laughter and a way to think differently—truthfully—about life.

Mary Oliver, through Why I Wake Early, helped me remember that life is poetry, not a spreadsheet. And that waking early is a spiritual practice of presence.

Eugene Peterson, in A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, reminded me to endure. To stay. To keep walking. Because faithfulness matters more than speed.

And now we arrive here, with For the Time Being. A phrase borrowed again from Annie Dillard. A phrase full of both urgency and peace.

For the time being, you are alive. You are holding things you didn’t earn—truth, grace, wisdom, questions. They were handed to you.

And now?

You get to decide what you will hand down.

You don’t have to be famous. You don’t have to be finished. You just have to be faithful.

For the time being? 

• Make the phone call. 

• Forgive again. 

• Tell the story. 

• Write the letter. 

• Stay in the relationship. 

• Listen to the Spirit. 

• Wake up early. 

• Don’t quit. 

• Hand down hope.

Because what we do with what we’ve been given—that’s where the story keeps going. That’s where healing begins for someone else. That’s where eternity touches today.

For the time being, let’s live like it matters. 

For the time being, let’s offer others what has been so generously given to us.