there are some nightswhen the sky turnsthe color of friendshipand fades into the crispdarkness of gratitude we ate with friendsdrank and talked as welland then walked awaydropping bit of hopelike breadcrumbs along the sidewalksand silent porchesfinding our way hometo our porch lightour beacon of belonging summer will comeand winter will followand footprints will fadebut not…
If you haven’t heard, Rob Bell has written a book. I haven’t read it, but he apparently has a lot of nerve claiming God loves everyone. What I have read are any number of blog posts, articles, and straight out rants claiming that Bell’s argument that Hell might not exist is not just wrong but…
One of the signatures of my life are pockets of unfinished things. I have shelves of unfinished books, stacks of papers to be gone through, any number of unfinished household projects, and – thanks to an attempt, at least, to finish unpacking one corner of the guest room in our house – a folder of…
First the news of Lazarus dyingbefore Jesus had time to get there —Then the image of Jesus cryingmust have giv’n the disciples a scare . . . He got to the tomb and called out his friend,with the others saying, “He stinketh” –they had no idea death was no end,Jesus said, “Death is not what…
I spent the morning and early afternoon at the Third Annual Jack Crum Conference on Prophetic Ministry at Avent Ferry United Methodist Church in Raleigh. My primary connection to the event was through my friendship with Ryan Rowe, who is a member of the church and the organizer of this year’s conference. He asked me…
it is a dark and stormy night the sky is angryflashing and bellowingyet refusing to dissolve into tears and weep its wayinto ushering in the dawnour middle schnauzerruns under the bed at the first sound of thunderI’m typing in the darkto better see the light showtrying to beat the deadline imposed by my itchy eyesand…
In the opening lines of Jesus Christ Superstar, Judas sings every time I look at you I don’t understandwhy you let the things you did get so out of handyou’d have managed better if you’d had a planwhy’d you choose such backward time and such a strange landif you’d come today you could have reached…
as I write, Ella, our Schnauzeris stretched out on the bed barking at the sound of our neighbor rollinghis big trash cans out to the curbshe cannot see him, only hear the rumble of the plastic wheelsand she is convinced her sound makes a difference even thoughhe doesn’t stop rolling along and no one inside…
The Fifth of April is an unusual first day of school, but today was just that for my students and me as we began our new chapter and sat down together for our first class in our new building. In each of my three English classes, we were also beginning novels. Here are their opening…
allergies are never mentionedin any of the gospel storiesno one called out to Jesusto ask for sinus reliefeven in the desert’s dust with my head as stuffedas a dorm dirty clothes bagand aware of the gatheringpollen storm I understandthe question – who sinned that this man should be this way? Peace,Milton