grace land

why does grace threaten me like it does? i walk up snow covered hills with children and more snow falls down all around us.  they are insatiable.  whatever is good, whatever is lovely – these children will take these things. i feel like i’ve had my hands closed tight for a while now. if grace

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consider it, neighbor

there are a couple of finer points in genesis that i just don’t understand. one – the tree of life.  sure, there was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, but god seemed to not want adam and eve anywhere near the tree of life.  what gives?  they couldn’t live for ever in

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october laid to rest

  the carousel was empty. the smallest child and i climb up to a horse carved 99 years ago.  children under six need an adult to stand beside them.  i place my hand on the hind quarters and real horse hair makes the tail. she is beaming. three women are manning the operations.  one rings

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small yellow leaves

i’m in detroit and i’m driving down forest avenue.  in the corner of the road where the street meets the curb there are thousands of tiny yellow leaves.  they are falling and they are gathered. god makes a mess every autumn. i walk with my youngest child up through the rainy morning to her school

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stopping on the wine trail

i’m burying them in the sand. i’ve dug three holes and they fit themselves into them, water pooling around their feet. i push the sand back around their frames and i see my arm there, my hand, pushing wet sand. i can’t count the sand on the seashore and i can’t number the stars in

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on the contrary

there really is nothing new under the sun.  everyone has a story and even though my story is different than yours, somehow the human story holds a thread that rings true no matter the details. we value the wrong things.  we make it up as we go along.  we admit that we can’t do it

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city mouse country mouse

we woke up early and headed out to conkle’s hollow.  my three hikers.  one of them barely up to my waist.  we didn’t know what we were in for or what we’d need for the time.  we didn’t know what we’d see. i fill up the swimming pool in the backyard.  it’s too hot and

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he won’t give up

in my mother’s garden there is whiskey. strawberry whiskey.  it sits in the sun alongside the flowers.  she makes it every year and we sit in the flowers and we toast another year gone by. celebrating.  it’s was a theme of my childhood.  rejoicing in the everyday.  my parents, and many an addict, are proponents

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spring weddings

flowers splay and the air coming through my daughter’s bedroom window is painted pink with magnolia blossoms. out there spring has roared. how does quiet make such a noise on the landscape? i walk with children under the dogwood branches and the holy spirit is like that.  he comes without sound and when he leaves

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