Moving Drama
Rained here Saturday night. My father-in-law’s little gauge–the old farmer in him couldn’t really live without one–registered three-quarters of an inch, a healthy rain. In
Rained here Saturday night. My father-in-law’s little gauge–the old farmer in him couldn’t really live without one–registered three-quarters of an inch, a healthy rain. In
Not a day goes by when I don’t see an image bearer of God begging on the New York streets. Some of the street peeps
Dear Rob: Please don’t think I’m being snarky posting an open letter to you. But the issues you’ve raised over the last year or so
Along about 1970, when I was in junior high, A new friend invited me to hang out at his house. Another invitation followed, to go
This past week I set aside my academic work, picked up a flat bar and needle nose pliers, and set to work ripping up old
Memorial Day deserves a poem. Not the civil religious strains that once caught me at the altar rail at a small-town Episcopal church, receiving the
Over the past couple of months, I’ve been following debates in the media about what has been called a “war against women” or a “campaign
I don’t think I’m going to be able to plant a garden this year—which bums me out. But too much travel means I’ll not be at
Averagely scrumptious. Tolerably ravishing. Mediocrely luxurious. Do such phrases make sense you? How about “common grace.” A bit oxymoronic, perhaps? Is grace ever common and
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