I love old boneyards. I really do. Not in a morose kind of way, though. It’s healthy, in fact. Let me explain what I mean.
I look around as heads begin to bow and white, black and brown hands reach out together in a sacred moment, and I can’t help but thinking that this is how it should be everyday.
Grace will lead me home.
Below me was the abyss.
I am a believer, but I am also an ecclesiastical exile.
Great Expectations Charles Dickens There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth. Our lives, like the characters of Dickens’ finest novel, are filled with great expectation. We likewise are often disappointed – in spite of […]