“Works of art are not born in flashes of the imagination, but in daily fidelity.” — Albert Camus (quoted in Stephen Dunn’s Walking Light) The beginning of pollen season is killing me here. I found the above quote as I was reading Dunn’s book and waiting until it was time to take my next Benadryl….
the lingering light of springloses to the descending darkdespite our best efforts to hold the night at bay (there’s no way around it) the only way to daylightis to live through till dawnwhich all works fine untilI tell you this is metaphor (it is a poem, after all) the dark is undauntedthe dawn’s in no…
One of the photographs of Jesus I keep in the wallet of my mind is of him looking out over Jerusalem. The sun is burning the last bits of blueout of the Palestinian sky as it sets, making room for the night. There is enough light to see the tearsrunning down his cheeks as hetalks…
Today was a long day. I watched as one of our students learned the very hard way that actions have consequences. Big consequences. In this case, they will have to find another school. The details are not my to tell, for both personal and professional reasons, other than to say they did serious enough damage…
The lectionary passage today was Matthew’s account of Jesus being tempted in the desert. In Reading Jesus, Mary Gordon talks about Jesus’ experience in the desert demonstrating how he was growing into who he was becoming, which stuck with me. sunday sonnet #21 He had been forty days without foodwhen the Tempter showed up for…
When I was youth minister at University Baptist Church in Fort Worth, Texas many years ago, I started thinking about Youth Camp around this time of year, beginning to work on a theme for the week and to recruit adults who wanted to go hang out with the kids for a week. I loved going…
“It is finished,” Jesus said, and then (according to old King James) he gave up the ghost. I know I’m getting ahead of myself, as far as Lent goes, but unfinished things have been on my mind and I find myself looking at that sentence once again. Like any pronoun that begins a sentence, it…
One of the informal rituals of our marriage is Ginger asking me, usually apropos of nothing, “Give me three reasons why you love me.” And I do. I have a long list; this is not a difficult challenge. Sometimes, she rephrases the question: “Why did you want to marry me?” Again, easy answer, which is…
Ash Wednesday showed up early for me this year because I was given the chance, thanks to my friends Lori and Terry, to hear Garrison Keillor tell stories. Though I have listened to him on the radio for thirty years, I’ve never heard him live. Monday, he showed up unadorned, without any of his Prairie…
This poem is in response to Random Acts of Poetry over at The High Calling. word play I love the way words yearn for one another:the way they join handslike children on the playground,the way they laugh at each otherclimb up the slideand then crash into the leaves; the way they spoon togetherlike loversin the…