A tribute to our fathers--both living and gone--and a call for us, their sons, to sing for them on Father's Day.
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Summer was a magical time. It was an age of gun sticks and all day bike rides, of heavenly visits from the ice cream truck and knothole baseball games, of girls with cooties and secret clubs, and of a world becoming bigger than a ten-year old's eyes and mind could grasp.
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In the beginning, he had a name. In that name was an understanding of who he was. But that understanding has been forgotten.
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A Morning Prayer that starts your day off in a state of thanksgiving
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I would be haunted by the thought that this once powerful being, all along, had been waiting for my arrival, waiting to take me into a realm of distant meaning, into a gothic world where lamentations of our ancient ones are sung.
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