Is longing enough? You don’t often believe so. And maybe too unbelieving, too afraid to admit, you strive to feel something you don’t, something real again of this living water, and a love for his life. Something that may not have happened exactly, though you do remember and it persists. Its truth seems to have expanded the bowl, beyond your
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“If I dismiss the ordinary — waiting for the special, the extreme, the extraordinary to happen — I may just miss my life.…To allow ourselves to spend afternoons watching dancers rehearse, or sit on a stone wall and watch the sunset, or spend the whole weekend rereading Chekhov stories—to know that we are doing what we’re supposed to be doing
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“I love, therefore I am vulnerable.” ― Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art Yesterday morning, as the children’s pastor shared from Psalm 119, I felt tears well up. She simply spoke the uncanny truth I’d been slowly realizing for months: “The word of God,” she said, “…is a miracle.” It was the weight of the statement,
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Every time I go to a journalism class, invited by some guy at NYU or Columbia, after the class is over, and I’m about to leave to go to dinner somewhere, somebody comes up to me. “Mr. Talese, can I have your address? I’d like to write to you.” I say, “Listen, I’m here now to talk to you, but I’m
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