The loading dock area behind the West Union at Duke, in which my restaurant is located, is also where we go to throw away our trash. The singular term no longer applies because of the way we are expected to separate and organize our refuse for disposal. There is a giant dumpster where the garbage…

It’s not so much the wordsas the way they sometimesline up, the way they areplaced on the page —single syllables can speak,tear open false healings,deep calling to deepwith faith and familiarityboth brand new and ages old.I saw these four words:our own best lightsat the tail end of a sentenceabout being true and I wondered wheremy…

I’m a collector. Not a keep-it-in-the-box-so-it-will-be-valuable-someday kind of guy, as much as I like to keep things around for a few days (weeks, years) before I let them go. Things like grocery store receipts, ticket stubs, random pieces of paper that somehow ended up in my pocket. I have brochures and postcards, old magazines, business…

I had a camera once that could take pictureswith everything in focus, from front to back,each detail crisp, sharp, and identifiable.I can’t do that with my own eyes, as I learned again this week, driving throughDuke Forest, the variegated veil of fall flavorscascading down from the tree tops to street level.I pulled to the side…

Remember when Alanis Morissette told us irony was “like rain on your wedding day” – which is mostly sad and not ironic at all? Well, it’s not raining here in Durham, but I have my own offering of irony: I’ve been all set for a post on Sabbath for several days and haven’t made time…

This came into my field of vision this morning and I thought it too good to keep to myself. From Wallace Stevens — “Ask Me” Some time when the river is ice ask memistakes I have made. Aske me whetherwhat I have done is my life. Othershave come in their slow way intomy thought, and…

I stood one brilliant autumn afternoonat Quincy Market and watched a manjuggle a bowling ball, a tennis racquet,and a chainsaw with the same ease asthose of us who watched drank ourlattes and ate our cannolis; I wonderedhow he practiced – what was it likethe first time he revved the engineand threw the saw into the…

Years ago, I wrote a lyric for a Communion song called “Here’s to the Day” and the last verse says gather in close cling to each othersing to the night you don’t sing alone This has been a day when I have been reminded, again, that life and faith are both team sports. We are…

Dad and I sat at breakfast yesterday and talked about the old hymns that fed our hope and faith in these days. This is the one I have been singing tonight, though not quite David Phelps. O Love that wilt not let me go,I rest my weary soul in thee;I give thee back the life…

it’s not what you know it’s what you don’t knowor what you’ll ever figure outthat takes you out where the wild things grow and makes you wonder what you’ll have to showfor all the days of being devoutit’s not what you know it’s what you don’t know that hints at what grace can bestowas love…