As the son of my father, I love old hymns and gospel music. I’ve done my best to emulate is ability to sing every hymn in worship without having to open a book. One of the results of growing up with those songs in my head and heart is I learned to both love and…
Down all my decembers I have sung about bleak midwinters this is the first I remember snow falling in Bethlehem — even as I sit in the sunshine of a sixty degree afternoon. The weather of my heart has seen mostly grey days of late; in the fatiguing fog of grief I find comfort…
I love bathrobe shepherds. For all the pageants and grand tellings, there’s something about our kids in wonderfully makeshift costumes gathering together around the manger at the front of the church that tells the story best of all. I mean that last sentence with as little sentimentality as possible. They get it right, as they…
I’ve spent another hour or two this evening sitting my writing spot in our house trying to find words to all that is swirling around inside. For a fair part of the time I have been listening to some of the songs that make up the soundtrack of my life. Similar to last night, I…
The last couple of days have left me overwhelmed by and grateful for all of the affection and attention that has come my way. I am a fortunate man. Sitting tonight in the upstairs room that is my “office” and going through the pockets of my mind trying to find words to describe at least…
the road between here and there is familiar; we’ve taken it so many times the car could drive itself, as they say — we’ve come this way so often I no longer think in the chapter and verse of exit signs . . . instead, I mark our progress by landmarks — mostly song, food,…
I’ve been sitting here for an hour or so trying to figure out what to write today. I’ve finally decided to just sing a long. Peace Milton
At certain intersections of my life I have been aware of a clear memory of my father at my age. When I turned forty-one, I could remember Dad at that age because of one the persistent fragments of memory was the birthday card I wrote for him that year: life begins at forty at least…
The barrage of ice and snow that runs from Texas to New England has brought us only rain the last few days, still the heavy blanket of grey clouds, the persistent drip of the drizzle, and the still shortening daylight have been their own perfect storm for me. I have worked hard to be industrious…
The day has been grey, cold, and rainy here in Durham. If I were in Boston, there would be snow on the ground, adding a little poetry to the gloom. When I arrived at Cocoa Cinnamon I had a hard time finding a seat because the little room was packed with people who had brought…