Life Out Here
My life story reads like an atlas, and here it is. Broken down by state. In all its archival glory.
Your Jesus who dons a red cap and brandishes the American flag on the steps of an earthen fortress to demand the restoration of God’s nation is not my Jesus. Your Jesus cover boy of your eleventh hour attempt to wake sleepers dead to the demise of God’s chosen democracy is not my Jesus. Your […]More
Dear Friend, When I was young, one of the high school football players collapsed on the field and under white hot stadium lights, surrounded by hundreds of hushed onlookers, died of unforeseen heart problem. I wish I knew the details; maybe those who remember better than I do can enlighten my own recollection. Now, in […]More
Dear Friend, As a writer – and, therefore, an avid muser – and as a fellow pilgrim living through the Great Pandemic, the New Civil Rights Movement, and my own season of change, I can tell you that I’ve been quiet for the same reasons I should not have been quiet. My mind is weighted. […]More
Before I met your dad, I sketched your name on notebook pages. I didn’t know what I’d name a girl, but I knew I’d name you Izaak. For “laughter,” that everything-is-alright feeling I treasure of my girlhood memories. For the sake of being different. I guess it is the English major in me who needs […]More