I've long turned to writing as an escape from life. That fact alone has been enough to incriminate. The guilt of that came on slowly, but it's inescapable now. As my secret's been revealed more and more, the words I've kept inside, reserved for myself, where I believed I'd be safe from those who would judge me for not going
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I'm a PK (pastor's kid). So for many years I resisted anything that smacked of churchy Christianity. But stories could always circumnavigate my barriers. Jesus knew this too–the story was everything. When he asked which man did the right thing, everyone knew it was the Samaritan. Story sticks in the brain and causes the hearer to rethink their ideas in light
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Distraction – The day has just started and I haave 24 new emails. I don’t have time to fix that typo… The Wikipedia entry for distraction is here. It's basically "divided attention." " Here are 2 pics from that page. I fought to read today’s entry in Chambers’ My Utmost for His Highest. (I at least know this much, that
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What we do when it all comes down says who we are. And who you are is a writer. This work of words. All you do is this…this flinging. What are you really doing? Anything? Sometimes it doesn’t look like much. People’s huge, busy lives swirl around and you sit here alone. You take so much time for this, do
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Sit with me. Just one moment.” I sit, wondering what we’re looking at. Her hand covers mine and I recall my old selfish attempts to deny her—denials of home. Now we’ve come here to watch all these silent years pass between us and she’s exactly how I imagined my mom would be at this age. “Sit,” she says. But she really
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