Bookcase
As the semesters and years roll along, my library—my store of knowledge—becomes more and more unread, and, in a similar way, the more I learn, the more I realize how little I actually know.
As the semesters and years roll along, my library—my store of knowledge—becomes more and more unread, and, in a similar way, the more I learn, the more I realize how little I actually know.
18. Use sunblock. 19. “Like” friends’ and acquaintances’ engagements on Facebook without texting your sister “I am going to die alone.” 20. Make your bed for once.
But there are some things I hold dear that you just can’t get in the greatest city in the world. And that’s where the stars come in.
Maybe my faith will grow strong, strong enough to have the message of Christ’s victory over death ring just as true and feel just as real as the body in the casket.
Now we’re approaching New Year’s Eve. This is my favorite holiday, in spite of the fact that every year it disappoints.
We are addicts to magnificence and depravity. If we can’t be the best we will compete to be the worst. If we can’t start the morning with the best cup of coffee, we begin the day with the worst.
The litany ends and we sing a few carols. Aunt Jackie sings the loudest and there’s a kind of hope pulling at the corner of her voice that makes you think that everything, all of it, is true.
Suddenly, I heard Kevin gasp. We stumbled blindly toward his voice until echolocation led us to a vine-covered mausoleum. The script was crumbling, but the names were unmistakable.
This childlike, seven-year-old-style “what if” that we Christians share on this paradigm-shifting day is bigger than a breezy optimism. This is a deep-rooted hope.
Sometimes, I grow tired of people pretending they do know. I grow tired of people claiming the time to kill, the time to give up, the time to throw away.