A few summers ago, when working in Maine for a summer, I found myself going to a small methodist church down island.
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Last Saturday, my friend Lydia and I were walking in the park when we stumbled upon a Christmas Party.
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Dear God, today I feel weary. I feel tired and lowly, humble and small.
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There’s a creek behind the house where I grew up. In the heat of the summer, sun dries up the bed until there’s a shore of clay and sand for all the neighboring kids to play on.
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I used to be one to shy away from loss. I think if today I had to deal with the grit of loss and leaving, I would shy away still.
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