
Hush, Little Bird
Her voice was not strong. But it was powerful in softness, clear in tone. After dozens of services hearing her struggle with melody, she sang in perfect harmony.
Her voice was not strong. But it was powerful in softness, clear in tone. After dozens of services hearing her struggle with melody, she sang in perfect harmony.
The story tells us that when God sees Adam’s loneliness, he decides to create another creature, but not an equal.
Every letter must only be assigned a single sound. Every sound in the English language must be represented as a letter. Each letter should be based on a regular Roman glyph with minimal, intuitive diacritic use.
The repetitions of my life—days, stories, conversations, sounds, meals, images, kisses, hugs, dreams—are like interlocking houndsteeth, but somehow unbound by form, unbridled by geometry.
I believe every crushed spider, on some level, represents a failure to respect and love the world we’ve been given.
The reason I think about Samson often is that he was a legend, but he seems just as human as the rest of us. He was selfish, deceptive, and disobedient, and yet, we remember him as a hero.
Deep in the those woods, where the Severn River winds through White spruces and Balsam firs, I wonder if any of the trees are old enough to have lived during both Jack’s lifetime and my own.
It’s really a reflection on what it means to be part of anything, both by birth and by choice, something universal, but told with a strong Dutch-American “accent.”
You have to choose a direction every single day and hope you’ve chosen right.
While we were talking, your mom shouted from upstairs that we should go outside—there were northern lights showing.
I thought that I would feel more in touch with nature after. Like I had somehow participated in an older way of living, or taken on some inherited, but forgotten role in the forest. But instead I felt sick.
I had actually forgotten that I could just go buy a pet.
His dangerous trip had unearthed something remarkable: a fully functioning ecosystem that had survived without sunlight and with barely any oxygen for millennia.
But that Saturday, while I was still in bed, I got another call from my mom. I knew from her first word the reason she was calling. Very early that morning, my grandfather had died in his sleep. I wept.
We see the world as if we were a child actually in the home of Gasazi, not as an adult or some disembodied gaze.
This is where we are. The reduction of a decades-long debate with life-changing ramifications to a billboard. Or a bumper sticker. Or a sound bite.
I recently took a picture of a dumpster while scouting a location for work. My coworker ‘s reaction was basically a polite, but baffled acknowledgment: “ah, yes, that is a dumpster.”
The difficult task we’ve all received is—like Vonnegut—seeking the slippery truth buried in muddiness and mess.
There’s a song I’ve had stuck in my head for over a year now. And not just the music—it’s like the idea of the song is stuck in my head.
Every day since then, when I wake, the first thing I experience is that ringing.
And I invited my dad to join me. At the time, I wasn’t sure of the precise reasons I did it, it just felt right. In retrospect, I think I understand it better.
Only 10 percent of American teenagers could name the world’s 5 major religions.
And this scares me. Really scares me. Because our brains are wired for forgetting.
Sometimes my mind gets stuck on things. For the last five years or so, it’s been stuck on a person: Jai Paul.
Because when it comes to people I know who are both 1. my age and 2. genuinely proud of our country, the list grows thin.