The Why
This story began as an exercise in curiosity for me at a time in my life when I felt particularly lost. I began writing a short story about a man whose mistakes were manifold and consistent and who received what he believed to be a call from God to do something, without that something being specified. He tried one thing after another, only to fail miserably. And then, in his final attempt and his greatest failure of all, something of significance was accomplished. It was to be an exploration of the idea that God, whoever God may be, might use our very frailties and failures to achieve God’s purpose. It was to be a peek at the notion that God may use the lost, weak, and powerless, rather than the accomplished and potent, to change the world.
As I wrote sporadically over a number of years, the project morphed, seemingly of its own volition, into a novel. It became less about weakness and failure and more about mystery and the limits of our understanding, our need to drift with the current rather than fight for solid footing. And threads appeared about some of the things I know, or choose to believe, are possible and true: that the natural world reaches out her mossy hand if we stop to pay attention, that the most damaged among us has the longing for and possibility of belonging and redemption, and that we can rescue one another. I didn’t expect to end up here, but there it is. It has been a ride.
This work is deeply autobiographical although I don’t appear in it; nor does anyone I have known. Still, the people from my memory make me who I am, and they and I inhabit the characters and sentiments of the story; a fragment here, a color there, an offhand comment, gesture, or joke. In addition, I couldn’t create a fictional family and community of friends without imagining it in the small village in which I grew up. I changed the names of towns and many landmarks in the story, but those familiar with the place will recognize their hometown. Central to the location is Kinderhook Creek, which runs through that village and beside which I spent a great deal of time as a boy. It holds a powerful presence in my mind and in the story, and for that reason I chose to leave its name unchanged.
I am honored to birth Of Leaf, Wing, and Water into this world. Whoever you are and by whatever path you arrived here, I invite you to wander about in this story and let it take you where it will.
As I wrote sporadically over a number of years, the project morphed, seemingly of its own volition, into a novel. It became less about weakness and failure and more about mystery and the limits of our understanding, our need to drift with the current rather than fight for solid footing. And threads appeared about some of the things I know, or choose to believe, are possible and true: that the natural world reaches out her mossy hand if we stop to pay attention, that the most damaged among us has the longing for and possibility of belonging and redemption, and that we can rescue one another. I didn’t expect to end up here, but there it is. It has been a ride.
This work is deeply autobiographical although I don’t appear in it; nor does anyone I have known. Still, the people from my memory make me who I am, and they and I inhabit the characters and sentiments of the story; a fragment here, a color there, an offhand comment, gesture, or joke. In addition, I couldn’t create a fictional family and community of friends without imagining it in the small village in which I grew up. I changed the names of towns and many landmarks in the story, but those familiar with the place will recognize their hometown. Central to the location is Kinderhook Creek, which runs through that village and beside which I spent a great deal of time as a boy. It holds a powerful presence in my mind and in the story, and for that reason I chose to leave its name unchanged.
I am honored to birth Of Leaf, Wing, and Water into this world. Whoever you are and by whatever path you arrived here, I invite you to wander about in this story and let it take you where it will.