Fatty Bolger, a Local Hero
Perhaps Pippin is right, but none of the friends call Fredegar Fatty anymore, and those chaps know something about heroics.
Beyond the Scoreboard
Here, on a little patch of field in a North Texas suburb, I found life being played out in simple but significant ways.
Emerson’s Grief
Wallie is gone; no visible scar remains. Mourning provides no lesson, no answers, no closure. The poet is not decrying grief for its lack of utility.
Sore Mouth Pond
In this way, “idleness as such is by no means a root of evil; quite the contrary, it is a truly divine way of life so long as one is not bored.”
The Census Taker In a Church Pew, Part 5
Her heart is for those little ones, that they might come to know The One who became a child for our salvation and for the glory of God.
A Son’s Journey to His Father
Men often reflect on their relationship with their fathers during these coincidences of milestones; a similar thing often happens when a son reaches the age his father was when the son was born.
My Failed Wild Garden and Inner Utopian
Rational ideas create hell on earth. Just ask a kulak. Or just ask the lettuce plants in my garden.
Hand-Cranked Ice Cream Against Despair
Whether the experience goes beautifully or our best-laid plans go awry, hand cranking ice cream with a few dozen kids is a whole lot more powerful than dithering in paralyzing despair. As always, and as we so often forget, the light wins out.
The Hidden Sorrow of Mother’s Day
Our mothers and our children will always be part of our lives, in life and death. Surprisingly, grief does not dominate our existence, it informs it.