Monthly Archives: July 2015
It is not so hard to learn the language of a people, the food, the customs. It is so much harder to understand a people’s spirit.
He suggests that imagination is the essential component of sympathy. To imagination, I would add faith, also—faith that what you feel is maybe not so different from what I feel.
What if that’s how wilderness ends? When we forget its inherent value and stop listening to its story, we attempt to master it in control of our own narrative.
Family members are lured to the kitchen by the aroma and we sit to eat. We feed our bodies and remember that they matter. I understand now that life is physical.
Then the boxes are labeled and slid into the corner, waiting ominously to be lugged onto a trailer. They speak a steady word: change is coming; change is here.
I am not going to a warzone. I am going to the house next door, treated in Syria’s conflagration as the westward gutter, collecting blood and people.
The water of Lake Superior is bone-chillingly lovely in a way that could only be considered refreshing to someone whose brutalized bones could use a good, algid chill.
Balconies are the only architectural structure I know of that can immediately fool you into thinking that you have the socioeconomic status of a character on Gossip Girl.
What GMOs have really delivered is vast amounts of wealth and power to a handful of multinational chemical and biotech corporations.
About a month ago, the Supreme Court announced their decisions on three cases in three different realms of society. All will have a significant impact going forward. Two of them—the nationwide legalization of gay marriage and the upholding of health insurance...
There was, however, mingled comfort and horror in knowing that if I hadn’t packed it, a Speedo vending machine was available in the lobby.
Today is Saturday, and though I meant to wake up early and take this run in the morning, life got in the way. Greasy, sloppy life, not thrilling, carpe diem life.
One never knows who might show up at the condo. One year there were seventeen people stuffed into the three bedrooms. Three people slept on the porch.
Carefully examine relatives for non-swimmers and set these aside for later use. Wrap swimmers in bathing suits and grease liberally with sunscreen. Use SPF 20 or higher.
I arrived healthy, in decent financial standing, having not seen a couple of long lost friends in years. I left flu-ridden, in slightly worse financial standing, having visited a couple of long lost friends.
My bird tried to fly away last week. JJ lives inside a cage inside a house, and I feel bad for him and his wings because it must get a bit cramped behind the iron bars.
For the first time in my life, I walk out of a church service, driving in silence back to my parent’s apartment. The next day, when I get home from work, I collapse wordlessly in my mom’s arms and sob into her shoulder.
As I mentioned, equality is huge component of our relationship, and this post is no exception. So, without any further ado, I give you the future Mr. Mitchell Kramer.
These books tend to be easy and engaging. They’re not about heavy topics, and they don’t make us think too hard or reread every other sentence.
More helpful in the sanctification process is comedian Louis C.K.’s bit called “Of course . . . but maybe.” It is irreverent and shockingly relevant to Biblical hermeneutics.
In Egypt, I experienced a profound sense of longing, both for the home I had left and for the land that God has promised me. I felt unduly blessed and absurdly limited.
I’m sitting in a chair at the ear, nose, and throat place. The doctor is sliding a tiny camera up my nose. On the screen in front of me is the inside of my nose.
There are some things you are just unprepared to handle—and seeing a six foot tall, naked (except for his white ankle socks) man covered in blood is definitely one of them.
We unpack the McDonald’s breakfast we picked up on the drive from Brooklyn. My roommates used this as an effective bribe to get me out of bed at 5:45 a.m.
I know that the muscled, emotionally stable mountain climber who woos intelligent women, writes bestselling memoirs, and dispenses wisdom to a crowd of intimate friends won’t ever materialize.
Part of the problem for me, I realized, was that I don’t listen for God’s voice verbally. I don’t expect to have a conversation with God in this way.
It gazed at me, seemingly serene yet still in obvious misery. Was it questioning its life? Was he brought closer to some meaning in its purposeless sheep existence? Do sheep go that deep?
Instead of being on intimate terms with the backspace key—my usual writing method—I scribble, fill the margins, and use enough arrows to spin my note pad in every direction.
Seeing them encounter the world at large while still protecting them from the worst of it is a balance of restraint on my part as much as it is on theirs.