strange and beautiful

when peter’s hopes weren’t fulfilled the way he’d thought they would be, he went back to fishing. he went back to what he knew. he went backward. i get that. the past is known and safe. i like known and safe. i like the past. i can easily understand what god was doing there and

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it makes a change

it’s good to see the water moving. to see water carrying sunlight and twigs under small bridges.  it’s good for nature to prove that frozen water thaws into spring. that sun will shine down through bird song once again this year. always winter and never christmas was realer than i’ve known it this year.  when

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where community ends

“perfection is overrated.” she said this quick before another thought and kept talking. i sat next to her in my living room and didn’t hear anything else she said. this woman had begun to symbolize perfection to me and i didn’t really even know her.  we were not friends.  we went to the same church

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enough already

i kind of can’t take myself anymore. i’ve been so gloomy and morose and guttural on this blog as of late.  well, i don’t know if one can actually be guttural, but it seems fitting. i have good things.  my life is good.  that used to be the name of this blog before i changed

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i am a traitor to jesus christ

the past two weeks have blurred into a smear of time. i am busy and i park the van and walk fast into the house.  my iphone falls out of my pocket and drops onto the cement. it shatters instantly. the glass looks like a spider’s web.  i am rushing.  i’m not present.  it just

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the highest form of flattery

we were next to the fireplace and her eyes were shut tight as she sang out to god. don’t let my love grow cold.  it was getting close to the end of autumn and when the song turned unexpected and the words sang to be clothed in white so she wouldn’t be ashamed, i felt

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you think you know someone

i never know if i’m going to offend someone when i say this. say i’m at your house and you offer me a cup of coffee.  i love coffee, so i take it gladly. but then.  then there’s this. “do you have any…sugar?” how’s this going to go? what will you think of me now?

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i like that you’re quiet

we’re watching the fire.  free firewood from the apple orchard.  my mother gardens with a woman who owns it.  come and take as much as you want. when we sat down at the restaurant and started to talk it wasn’t easy.  i had to remember that the words that come out of the mouth come

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of murderers and midwives

i pick up the knife and pierce what is right in front of me.  the practice of killing time becomes a habit and is it possible to murder a minute, an hour, a day?  could i leave months and years bleeding behind me? time arrives faithfully every second hoping for better treatment, for mercy –

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