i have realized that i am short on time. these limited hours in a day are full. there is a house to straighten and that book i want to write and those books i want to read and those other things i said i would write and this blog that i like to write. it makes me
each night the starry sky waits above us. whether it’s obscured by city light or goes unseen by eyes that won’t look up. it’s waiting there. we drove the kids to southern ohio and saw the stars again for the first time. we took them to the caves. they crawled into the furthest recesses and
they told us to wake up and take our bibles out into the woods. they’d tell you which verses to read and the only requirement was that you had to be by yourself. i’d never done this, but each morning i went. i looked around and one by one my friends disappeared in between the
i drive down ohio roads. i drink in the rolling southern ohio landscape like water. i don’t know what it is about coming up over a slow curve to find a white, paint-peeling church with it’s faithful buried along side of it. it does my soul good. i spend the day barely indoors. there is
i’d like to say something serious. really, i would. but i can’t. there are problems of pride and humility to solve. there are confessions to be made and stories to tell. but i just can’t right now. there’s barely any summer left. the forecast has seven yellow suns lined up all in a row. these
i really don’t know what to tell you. i don’t have words and the words i have i don’t like. i feel like detroit. all the people are gone. the people who come around aren’t good enough. and the ones who never left? well, i’m tired of them. dissatisfied detroit. will any word ever be
these summer days are being sewn together. the thread of time pulling days side by side and making a patchwork quilt of life. i hope it covers you, child. i want light to leak from our pockets every minute. i want to look at your face and feel sweet freedom from responsibility. i want to
“let’s stay here for a few hours at least.” so much of what i’ve hoped for this summer is right in front of me. berries on a branch. sunshine. children close and concentrating. mazzy is crouching low and finding what others miss. “is there more at the bottom, maz?” i lift up heavy branches and
“the vision god gives is not a castle in the air, but a vision of what god wants you to be. let him put you on his wheel and whirl you as he likes, and as sure as god is god and you are you, you will turn out exactly in accordance with the vision.
i left my camera with his motorcycle. i didn’t bring it on purpose so i’d be all there. so i’d be in the moment with my dad. and i missed the shot. we walked the river and there was another group of people there, too. people boarded into vans and brought out on an outing.