Home of the Brave
“The Star Spangled Banner” is frequently a painful listen. At an octave and a half, the range is just a bit too wide to be comfortable for a typical singer.
“The Star Spangled Banner” is frequently a painful listen. At an octave and a half, the range is just a bit too wide to be comfortable for a typical singer.
This movie, and this blog, could be a testament to how much this all hurts: life, and time, and how they just refuse to stop moving on. We all have a time we’re trying to get to.
My life is just as real, just as full, and just as much mine as it ever has been and ever will be. I may not know what it will look like in a year, but I know that God knows.
I am a 5’6” (and ¼”) self-contained universe bumping against the fringes of being-hood. There is no purpose in questioning a slab of reflection for answers only found beyond it.
I have a tattered, taped-up copy of East of Eden that I’ve read somewhere around ten to twelve times. Whenever people ask me my favorite book, I’m quick and decisive.
We should vote and be thankful that we can, but we also need to ask: how can I regain a love of politics when politicians represent parties instead of people?
What’s left if and when we stubbornly hold onto a strictly individualistic notion of our identity, expression, and self? I think we risk ending up alone.
During the first week of school, not a single one of you would laugh at my jokes. Now, some of you kind of do, probably just because you’re trying to be encouraging and nice.
When I moved to Boston, I had a dream about the church I would attend. I would get there by public transportation, because I like to believe that God is green.
One way I feel Easter season’s lack of spiritual resources is in the lack of church music about the resurrection life to come, what we are “practicing” for.