sugar maple

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

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i got nothing

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

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blueberries and the will of god

“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

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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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rainbow sprinkles and the devil

i lose perspective. the colors blur and i can’t tell green from yellow.  we set out the chairs and we practice the songs.  but what does it matter when no one is singing? that’s when it’s helpful to hear a small four-year-old voice say from the back seat ~ “mom.  the devil wants to burn

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i am adam lanza’s father

in the story of goldilocks and the three bears a young girl walks through the forest and finds an empty house.  seeing there is no one inside she goes in.  i turn into the parking lot of my daughter’s school and feel a bit lost in the woods myself.  this scene of parents and children walking

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