All reality is filtered through the importance of this day as it is being lived. The present makes demands that make past and future unavailable. Maybe such concentration of the present and close by is a factor in our relationship with God. Maybe God, at times, seems uninvolved in our sphere, a bit too remote to be important.
My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
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