We Have This Hope

About We Have This Hope

WHTH exists to equip others in the art of remembering God’s work in their lives and the practice of telling others about it. wehavethishope.substack.com (https://wehavethishope.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast)

Publisher

Emily Curzon

Category

history · religion & spirituality

Language

en

Explicit

No

First episode

25 May 2022

Latest episode

1 Oct 2026

Latest episodes

2 of 67 episodes have a transcript.

1. 

   1 Oct 2026TRANSCRIPT

   So I Won't Forget...September 2026

   Emily Curzon, a licensed therapist turned writer, shares personal reflections on embracing delight, understanding embodiment, and the enduring impact of youth group ministry.

2. 

   28 Aug 2026TRANSCRIPT

   So I Won't Forget...Summer ‘26 Edition

   Hi friend! I’m Emily. I’m so glad you’re here! I’m a licensed therapist turned writer, speaker, and theology student. In the early mornings and middle hours of my day, you can find me in my office (or a nearby coffee shop) writing about hope, grief, spiritual formation, and Biblical literacy—all things that have changed my life and light me up inside. I speak and preach occasionally, too. Find out more about all of that at www.emilycurzon.com (https://www.emilycurzon.com/). Today’s email is part of a monthly series I’ve been writing for almost 3 years called So I Won’t Forget (https://wehavethishope.substack.com/t/so-i-wont-forget). It’s the overflow of a life full of the goodness of God and it’s the simple way I practice remembering as a spiritual discipline—something I talk about a lot. This series is my most personal writing and the thing readers seem to love the most. I hope you’ll stick around! Prefer to listen? Tune into the audio narration of this post. You can find it right here in the Substack app or wherever you listen to the We Have This Hope podcast. 🤎🎧🎙️ Alternate titles for today’s essays are as follows: How Not to Take a Sabbatical Things I Did This Summer Instead of Writing Or my personal favorite… I Tried to Be Laid Back About It Friends, I’m delighted to be plucking away at the keyboard right now and I’m holding your faces, or perhaps your Substack profile pictures, in my mind as I launch back into a work that I’ve come to love so dearly. It would not be something I delight to call “work” without readership, so if your eyes are seeing this, you’re a gem in my book. You may have noticed I took a break from the regular monthly repetition of So I Won’t Forget (https://wehavethishope.substack.com/t/so-i-wont-forget). Somewhere in late June, I decided that the kids needed my fullest attention and maybe I needed my fullest attention, too. No one is forcing you to do this, Emily. And whoever it was that whispered that in my ear like an old friend was spot on. Adding a few weeks of space has landed me squarely in the place I want to be with a tried and true discipline—wanting so badly to get back to it. And so let’s do it, shall we? This is the END OF SUMMER 2026 and here are the things I don’t want to forget. #1…Put your worries aside! We’re in London! These hilarious and precious words fell verbatim from the lips of my 8 year old son as he strolled, arms swinging, down a random street in London. Where he learned an expression like “put your worries aside” is beyond me and probably in a book somewhere, but I’m not complaining. In that moment, his father and I needed the wisdom and the reminder. We were, in fact, in London doing things we’d dreamed of doing with our kids when they were babies and the thought of ever traveling abroad again seemed l-i-g-h-t-y-e-a-r-s away. When we got married, both of us had traveled internationally enough to know that nothing shapes a worldview like travel. You can hear stories and read books about God’s good and big world, but until you see parts of it with your own sleep deprived eyes, you’ll always subtly think Broken Arrow, Oklahoma is the center of the universe. I found out how tiny and insulated my world was in a dump in Guatemala City when I was 16 years old and at a medical clinic in a field 3 hours outside of Dar es Salaam, Tanzania when I was 18 and on the beach of the Baltic Sea after the baptism of a Russian-Estonian believer when I was 21. This kind of travel fundamentally changed me and I’ve dreamt of it for our kids since they were a twinkle in my eye. I have to interrupt myself now and admit that our trip to London was not a mission trip in the slightest even though the UK heatwave did its best to remind us of times we felt perpetually and inescapably sweaty in the name of Jesus. This trip was for fun and for a few weeks we had a lot it. It was also to get our kids out of their comfort zones and we checked that box the first trek through the London tube system carrying all our luggage after sleeping less than 4 hours in a 24 hour period. They flew further, walked longer, stayed up later, and used every mode of transportation we could creatively muster. They slept in a hotel, a centuries-old farmhouse on the grounds of an old castle, and in each others’ laps on an airplane. They walked where kings, queens, theologians and scholars have governed and worshipped since the 12th century and they ate burgers at a local pub after traipsing through a creek all afternoon. We call this kind of travel well-rounded. I don’t remember when this conversation happened, but at one point on the trip, my husband looked at me and said: “This is the hardest trip we’ll ever take them on.” Are you kidding me, I thought. This is about as cushy of an international trip you can take. “But think how much more grit they will have on the next one…” he reminded me. “Every trip we take them on, they’ll be that much more resilient.” Gosh, I hope he’s right. He usually is. Of the many things we’ve said we want to instill in our kids, curiosity and grit are at the top of the list. Yes, faith. Yes, kindness. Yes, responsibility. But it’s curiosity that invites people into the life of faith in Jesus and grit that prepares them to partner with God in building his kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. And if that’s not what I want for my kids—heck, for myself—then what business do I have dragging them across an ocean on a trip that may eventually be a fuzzy memory or, at best, a memory they claim to recall because of the 4000+ photos we took of them on it. Depending on how you look at it, we took a big trip or we took a small trip. It cost us things we can measure (dollars) and things we can’t measure (my pre-trip sanity). But what about the growth potential? What about the return on investment that we can’t yet know? If the payout becomes people who ask good questions and don’t pretend to know everything or people resilient enough to pursue the majesty and goodness of the God who put them in a BIG WIDE WORLD or people courageous enough to love their neighbors across the globe…then by golly, put your worries aside and plan the next one. #2…Overstimulated Moms, Unite! This list is based on true events. The names of contributors have been excluded to protect the innocent. You might be an overstimulated mom if…you’ve ever hosted a ministry meeting in your house after taking 8 kids to the pool and it turned out to be “kind of a low key day.” You might be an overstimulated mom if…a science podcast blaring, an electric keyboard banging, a dog barking, and you’re wondering why the person you’re on the phone with keeps pausing their story. You might be an overstimulated mom if…taking 4 kids to a loud restaurant an hour away on the hottest day of the Summer sounds like “something fun and different to do today!” You might be an overstimulated mom if…you’ve ever naively planned nap time around the promise of effective EV charging stations in Chanute, KS. You might be an overstimulated mom if…the anniversary date night you planned with your spouse was preceded by 2 nights of catastrophic dreams of getting sick and having to cancel the babysitter. You might be an overstimulated mom if…you’ve googled “spatial awareness while walking” because you’ve worried your kids have missed some elusive developmental milestone. You might be an overstimulated mom if…you’ve pretended to go to the bathroom so you could respond to 35 text messages. You might be an overstimulated mom if…you’ve ever changed a tampon with a baby strapped to your chest and a 4 year old outside the stall at an airport. REAL TALK GUYS. You might be an overstimulated mom if…you’ve walked door to door barefoot and in a swimsuit asking neighbors to borrow their phone because your arguing kids locked everyone out of the house. When all is said and done, your youngest names it “the best day ever!” This list was assembled by a group of women who via text message had me laughing at our collective expense for more than a full day. At one point, someone said “who run the world? MOMS!” and no truer words have ever been spoken about the Summer of 2026 (and perhaps all the summers that passed before it). All of this is documented a bit tongue and cheek, but the reality is that mothering middle grade children may be the most dysregulating experience of a lifetime and I actually do want to remember what it feels like. There’s true mystery in a love so fierce it would call a day “pretty good” that started with dog poop and ended with losing a contact in the pool after getting splashed in the face. This is the kind of love that defies logic, that on the outside makes not a lick of sense, but on the inside seems clear as day. It’s a holy, self-sacrificing, perseverance-requiring kind of love—a mothering love. And I’d not trade it for a million bucks. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. - 1 Corinthians 13:4-7, NIV #3…The Summer I Turned Preachy I’ve never seen the show The Summer I Turned Pretty and I hardly know what it’s about, so at the risk of sounding cringy or (insert adjective here), let me simply say that the title came to me as I was doing what I heard one writer describe as lived thinking. This is essentially when people who write, or perhaps all creatives, wander around their daily lives thinking, noticing, crafting in the interior spaces of their mind. I do that a lot. Anyway, it’s my way of communicating the significance of what I did in July for the third time ever, but for the first time on a Sunday morning. I preached to my beloved church from the Gospel of Matthew on Jesus’s Parable of the Sower. You can listen to it here if you’re the sort who listens to women preach (https://open.spotify.com/episode/0GD6jhtVSFvYHAC5FTyaiI?si=S96OVWijSySRUFZeQgGliA). I sure hope you are because well…I’m a woman and I preach occasionally. Before I go any further, I probably ought to clue you in on the many directions I thought about taking this essay knowing that I would feel vulnerable sharing it. In his book Strong and Weak (https://www.amazon.com/Strong-Weak-Andy-Crouch/dp/0830844708/ref=sr_1_1?adgrpid=187497388258&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.3WMxSktNU4dZQOTbNlIo3tS3dGCP49lkGiUtkTX9I8LJWfxL3Tfd0o8RCgQr1lZetpf7vmNxgyWCgu80Byp3Vl8lbVGp96LL4n70B6cbmzsUSw1ZGbHfpk6PzGpE5p4M9G7VK6XbhVXuqxivBzWUe-ak1eA0vjLUrOXzf5_OtuS7rhABWWm5lwbV_vDoSkmry2kxvwhyUlOkfd6sU86iZjgnE1KSiDRNnyn8zfAhLDU.q6w9aHb33UOi2AmuuoEbd6Rg12Wb-TUI5X2AHj2jc2I&dib_tag=se&hvadid=779683617731&hvdev=c&hvexpln=0&hvlocphy=9026563&hvnetw=g&hvocijid=794050971937768722--&hvqmt=e&hvrand=794050971937768722&hvtargid=kwd-500145872592&hydadcr=22534_13730692_8442&keywords=strong+and+weak&mcid=2269fd415ba2306c9e1587b04ead4a44&qid=1787848619&sr=8-1), Andy Crouch describes vulnerability as someone’s “exposure to meaningful risk” and he says that this kind of vulnerability—the meaningful kind—is necessary for true flourishing. You can have too much of it and you can also have too little of it. The flourishing happens when vulnerability is paired with authority, or what Crouch calls our “capacity for meaningful action.” Simply put, you cannot take meaningful action without also taking meaningful risk. And so as I sat to write this I wondered what meaningful risk I would take… Do I want this to be an essay in defense of women preaching? Not really.. I’ve spent the last several years delving into the rigorous work of theologians and scholars, men and women from diverse denominational contexts, past and present, who believe in the centrality of Scripture AND who through their comprehensive exegetical work around key passages like those from 1 Corinthians, 1 Peter, Titus, and 1 Timothy have landed egalitarian. To be clear, so have I, and not because I took it lightly. I have not, nor will I ever. This stuff matters deeply to me and it matters for the future of the church. Do I want to make this it’s own separate piece or tuck it away right here? Sheesh, I don’t know. Baby steps, ok? I’m not sure I am ready to put all my thoughts into one single piece when there are brilliant, kind, and thoughtful people who have spent years researching and writing entire books on the topic. I may not be the woman for that job, but I am their biggest cheerleader. Do I want to remember what it felt like to preach? Yep, this is the one. Preaching to my church felt like a tremendous privilege and like coming home to people I love more than my luggage. The time I spent soaking in Matthew 13 brought me right back to my first love: studying Scripture and getting so excited about what I was learning that I had to tell someone. I’ll never read the Parable of the Sower the same way again. Along the way I collected loads of encouragement. too—voice memo prayers from women who’ve done this before, partnership and collaboration from men who made space for my voice without hesitation, and reflections shared even weeks later. My favorite landed squarely in my head and heart at the pool, where I was rounding the corner of hour 5 in the heat and a young mom said this: “I got a lot out of that.” Her sincerity in that water-soaked moment felt like a kiss on the forehead. Me, too, I thought. I also got a lot out of that. I think I’ll do it again. Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. - Hebrews 12:1-3, NIV Friends & readers, I’m delighted you made it this far. I wonder if you might leave a comment to let me know what resonated, what landed for you, or simply to say hello because I love to know who makes it to the bottom. It would mean the world to me! I have one month until seminary classes are in full swing and I hope to finish up a few articles brewing under the water line of my daily life before my focus shifts. Be on the lookout and please do share with a friend! Thanks for reading We Have This Hope! This post is public so feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe (https://wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2)

3. 

   1 Jun 2026

   So I Won't Forget...May 2026

   Hi friend! I’m Emily. I’m so glad you’re here! I’m a former therapist turned writer and theology student. In the early mornings and middle minutes while kids are at school, you can find me in my home office writing about hope, grief, spiritual practices, and Biblical literacy—all things that have changed my life and light me up inside. Today’s email is part of a monthly series I’ve been writing for over 2 years called So I Won’t Forget (https://wehavethishope.substack.com/t/so-i-wont-forget). It’s the overflow of a life full of the goodness of God and the simple way I practice remembering as a spiritual discipline, something I talk about a lot. It’s my most read and most personal writing. I hope you’ll stick around! Prefer to listen? Let me join you on a walk via the audio narration of this post. You can find it right here in the app or wherever you listen to the We Have This Hope podcast. 🤎🎧🎙️ We did it. We survived what the internet affectionately (and accurately) tells me is now called May-cember. Just typing the hyphenated made-up word makes me cringe a little. Is it not equal parts humorous and equal parts sad that 2 months out of our calendar year are known for their hustle? Something to ponder as I stare out my window watching a red cardinal land on a hammock I haven’t once used this month. There’s a song by one of my favorite artists Jon Guerra that is based on Matthew 6 and I kicked it around in my brain while I watched that red cardinal hop around like the totally contented creature I aspire to be: I see the birds up in the air, I know you feed them, I know you care. So won’t you teach me How I mean more to You than them In times of trouble Be my help again. I would not categorize this month as a “time of trouble” by any means. In fact, it was mostly a time of great joy, but I did experience the full breadth of it such that, now at its close, I need to watch a few birds and remember who holds it all together. This is May(cember) and here are the things I don’t want to forget. #1…Forty years deep I won’t bury the lead. I turned 40 this month. I wrote some reflections on this milestone in my essay The Year of Whole Numbers (https://wehavethishope.substack.com/p/the-year-of-whole-numbers), so I won’t belabor the significance of it,. But I also won’t breeze past it so as to ignore the spotlight or to downplay the joys of the day. In other words, there are a few things I want to remember. Dustin kept asking me what I wanted to do for my birthday and all I could think to say was 1) I do not want to be responsible for planning something and 2) I want to spend time with people I love. Not to make it about this, but I have lived in a world where someone I love deeply was here one day and gone the next. It’s conceptual for some, but for me it has been reality and as the experts say “the body keeps the score” so I shall not leave things unsaid if I can possibly help it. I decided I wanted to go on a walk with my Dad, go shopping with my Mom, and have dinner with a few people I love dearly and include the kids. Waking up the morning of a milestone birthday and navigating a whole day where people are acknowledging you, texting you, and generally making the day about you can feel a little bit strange, unsettling even for those of us who don’t mind being in front of a group. Our kids greeted me with the darling-est (I made up a word here, but you understand…) of morning hurrahs, cards and armloads of enthusiasm. When they scurried off to school, my Dad arrived with an orchid in hand and his sneakers laced for a 5K. We both caught the bug for walking a few years ago and the shared hobby rarely makes its way to joint efforts so I asked him if he’d walk the full loop of a nearby trail and grab coffee afterwards. I share this with humility and the understanding that there are many reading who either no longer have their father or never had him to begin with. I write my experience with tenderness in my heart and a true desire to acknowledge the utter gift I have in my father. He’s a delight. Supportive and intentional. Slow to speak and slow to become angry. Hard-working and affectionate. I have never known anyone to not love my Dad and what a sentence to be said of a person. May it be true of more of us! Thickly in my elementary school era, my life is chock full of logistics and we rarely get one on one time. It filled my cup to have space to hear him, ask him questions, and just converse about the things happening our lives. As long as we are able-bodied enough to make the 3.2 mile loop, I hope we’ll make it a more regular thing. Midway through the day, I decided I would tell a few friends things I love and cherish about them. Perhaps that would seem backward to them, but oh well. It wasn’t deflecting, but rather embracing the permission birthdays seem to give. To paraphrase the great Miley Cyrus, this is my party, I can do what I want. So I told one friend what a great leader he is, one friend that her presence in my life was a total answer to prayer, another that she has a pure heart, another that no one is kinder than she is, and another that she is my safe place. The next day I skipped town with my Mom for a shopping trip. Is this real life? We spent 48 straight hours together and the conversation never lulled. This must be the backlog of all the truncated conversations we’ve had over the last 11 years since I became a mother and start-to-finish conversations became scarce. The thing is I am a rich woman in the parent-department because my Mom is as much a gift as my Dad. She’s thoughtful and generous. Dependable and uncomplicated. I enjoy being with her and we both seem to appreciate that this alone is a rarity for some mother/daughter duos in our respective life stages. Suffice it to say, we had a ball. I submit all of this to you with a twinge of hesitation. I never want my words, and particularly my real life, to appear to be something that it is not, namely perfect. I have known stress and frustration and disappointment. I have dabbled in anger and resentment. And I have an earned my stripes in sorrow. If you’ve read any of my work, I hope you know this to be true and you hear my heart as I sift out what is worthy of commemorating for this moment in time. Forty years deep, I will say this: I have seen the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living and I will look for more of it in my second act. #2…slow middle spaces My husband calls it his “happy place.” This is one of the more demonstrative descriptions to ever fall from his lips so please allow me translate: this place must be magic for him. It’s a 20 acre plot of land just outside the city where he and my father-in-law have started to dream, scheme, chop stuff and build ponds. If you’re wondering how one builds a pond, you’re not alone. Just a few months ago, I also had a few questions about how this gets done. I grew up traipsing around my grandfather’s pond, but it existed long before I did so I was never privy to how it got there. Here’s a brief summary of what I’ve learned based on a couple of eyewitness accounts combined with a flurry of trail cam videos uploaded to a photo stream people keep showing me. Step #1) Dig a really big hole. Step #2) Wait for it to rain. Step #3) Check it constantly. Voilà! A pond in a matter of a few Oklahoma Spring rains! I may have left out a few details like dam construction or water flow, but generally it seems building a pond is the stuff of sand boxes and weather patterns. A few days ago, we ventured to the land with kayaks in tow to officially inaugurate summer and to scope out the herd of goats hired to clear out the underbrush of some densely wooded spots. Yes, hired goats bound by the geofenced tags around their necks doing the Lord’s work. We invited some friends to come explore and within minutes of their arrival, 7 happy children were full-on swimming in the pond. In the moment, I thought about all the gross stuff likely floating around the newly formed water hole—guys, please don’t swim with your mouths open! Also, we did not have enough towels…or swimsuits…not one swimsuit. In hindsight, what on earth did I expect? The sun was beginning to set over the horizon while I sat near a solo stove chatting with one of my best friends, a cold drink in hand, our kids cackling, maneuvering, digging and generally having the time of their lives nearby. Why would I ever interrupt such a delightful scene just because we didn’t bring enough towels? Forget the towels, Emily, and let the people play… While my “happy place” eventually needs to include electricity and modern plumbing, I think I can get on board with the slow middle space between creature comforts and adventure—between my iced coffee and my muddy children. One day they won’t want to jump head to toe in the pond. They’ll think twice about their freshly painted nails before digging them into all that red clay. They won’t want to ruin their favorite t-shirt. They’ll be more inhibited like their mom and they’ll consider the laundry more than the moment. Or maybe they won’t because they’ll remember how sweet it is to jump off a kayak with friends and play in the sun until their cheeks feel a little crisp. Maybe they’ll teach their mom to relax a little and pay close attention. Here’s hoping they do. #3…on character awards & cosmic thoughts Tis’ the season for school character awards. I remember my own elementary school’s version of this. Somehow I always walked away with something that felt boring like “industrious” or “responsible.” What 10 year old girl wants to be described as “industrious”? I have yet to meet her. I envied the kids who got “creative” or “artistic.” Somehow those words felt cooler than being the one your teacher could always count on to do the right thing—nah, I think it’s better to be the kid who’s really good at doodling. Over the last few years our eldest has collected her own version of “industrious” because, by God’s grace, she does typically do what is expected of her at school. No complaints here, but I’ve found myself wondering a couple of times if there wasn’t something more fitting to describe her. I mean this mostly to say that I’ve wondered if the one selecting the award really and truly knew her. Did they see what she brings to a group? Could they name any her quirks and strengths? She’s rich in them. I mean this not as a critique or as a whine. In a room full of her wildly wonderful classmates, there is much, truly MUCH, to name that is worthy of recognition. These kids bear the image of their Creator with uniqueness and beauty that makes you catch your breath. I’m so grateful my girl gets to be around them. I simply noticed a difference this year when the words of her teacher captured both her personality and her potential. A mom notices when her kid is seen—and because I noticed, I want to remember it. “You sit there and you contemplate, you’re thinking a lot…” Said with affection and humor: “These guys are pesky and you’re like thinking these cosmic thoughts…” Her award: Wisdom. Maybe for Ella, it still wasn’t “creative” or “artistic,” but I chuckled through my pride because if ever there was a child who was thinking cosmic thoughts while a whole room swirled around her, it was my firstborn. And of course, her wisdom is only blossoming, but after the months I’ve spent digging into Proverbs and the Life of Solomon, I can’t think of anything I’d rather nurture in my children than wisdom. Her teacher wrapped up the moment by quoting Proverbs 13:20 to the class for what must have been the umpteenth time because they finished it for her: “He who walks with the wise grows wise, but a companion of fools suffers harm.” Then she pointed her finger at Ella and speaking to the class in a sort of sage, motherly way said “You want to hang out with her.” The moment ended, but I was still processing it later that day. Popularity is not something I’m interested in seeking and I certainly won’t encourage it for my kids. If anything, in an age when popularity generally equates to putting yourself first and slandering your neighbor, we’d be wise to run from it. In this instance, her teacher meant only to counsel the students toward seeking friends who understand the things that matter, those who will sit long enough to contemplate before acting, those who are beginning to look like they possess a glimmer of God’s good wisdom. And she saw those qualities in my kid! Holy smokes, let’s keep going in this direction, shall we? I won’t pretend like we’re not doing a boatload of character development at the Curzon house right now—please hear me when I say most emphatically, WE ARE. If anything, we needed a “W” so I preserve it here as a testimony to myself. This long obedience in the same direction is bearing fruit and I’ll keep my eyes peeled for more of it. Friends & readers, I’ll be taking the month of June off because our crew is headed to the UK on a grand adventure that will most assuredly be fodder for the next installation of So I Won’t Forget. Also, my seminary class is wrapping up and I need a little sabbath. I also need time to finally finish reading Theo of Golden (https://www.amazon.com/Theo-Golden-Novel-Allen-Levi/dp/1668236516) like everyone else. Later this week, I’ll send you the last installment of our Stack Study on Proverbs (https://wehavethishope.substack.com/p/stack-study-proverbs-and-the-life). I hope this will be a resource for some of you over the Summer months. It’s an easy and rich step into the world of Solomon and his acclaimed wisdom. Let me know if you’re working through it and I’ll see your inboxes next month! Thanks for reading We Have This Hope! This post is public so feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe (https://wehavethishope.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2)

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So I Won't Forget...September 2026

Published 1 Oct 2026 · Transcript excerpt

[…] This month, I visited him with a little more frequency while my parents were out of town, and I quickly realized how little one has to report when their world is very contained. I had shown him all the latest photos of his great-grandchildren, shouted in his ear about OU football, and grappled at how we'd run out of things to talk about. The next day, on my way out the door, I remembered that my son had been attempting to make Harry Potter-esque butterbeer, and I had a few leftover bottles of cream soda in the garage fridge. I snagged one and threw a bottle opener in my purse. When I arrived around dinnertime, at 4.30, I presented the chilled glass bottle to him at his table in the dining hall with a mix of pride and hesitation. […]

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