Pining Red
Yesterday I stumbled across a picture of a red pine and realized I had never actually seen one before.
Yesterday I stumbled across a picture of a red pine and realized I had never actually seen one before.
“Do you know Father Gabriel?” she asked me.
There is no way around this: I just don’t like Boston cream donuts.
If I have no plans at 7:20, I’ll watch the Braves game. Three hours later, I’ll wonder where my day went.
Every wondrous realization of truth begins with making your imagination big enough to hold it.
The churches that speak out hatefully against gay people—as well as the churches who, smiling, offer the poisoned chalice of church community only at the cost of any possibility of lifelong romantic love—miss out incalculably.
We succeeded in passing our first day without any emotional crises. Success!
The trip was never just the photos.
If I’m only painting for me, I’m not painting at all.
Her expression tightened as she said, “At least you had a couple friends in the city.”