How would you finish this statement: “I hate… ”? If your mother was like mine, you learned at a very early age to be careful how you used that word hate. Never, for example, would I entertain the thought of inserting a person’s name in the blank after hate. You don’t hate people.
Sit in a room full of moms, and mention the day they became a mom,
And you’ll hear the noise level rise.
And the looks in their eyes,
And the depth of their sighs will tell you: The stories are about to begin.
People who are close to me—(I don’t mean close to me relationally, I mean, literally ‘close to me’)— know that I wear hearing aids. I wear them because, several months ago, my wife told me, in so many words, that I needed to have my hearing checked. It seemed to her that I wasn’t ‘hearing’ her very well. I told her I could hear her fine; I just couldn’t understand what she was saying.
He said, ‘Light,” and the light came on. Just like that. Simple, for God. And His face lit up. And all of heaven must of noticed. And God surely must have smiled, as he said “Good.” Day after day, God created…
often wonder what He thought, and what it must have been like?
Thirty-three years old, and just getting started in life, and yet?
He found himself on that long walk toward Jerusalem … to carry That Cross
I read a quote from Ernest Hemingway once that I thought was so good that I wrote it down in a book of quotes I keep. He said, “I learned never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that feed it.”
I guess they found it; the van, I mean. A few days ago, people I’ve never met, nameless, faceless people who didn’t even know me Did a rude and insolent thing. They stole from me. They took my car. Actually, they took my van. Drove it, as if it was their very own.