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.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Practical
God is not practical. He is unconcerned with expediency. Were we to judge by our standard he would be in a category with the fool concerned with beauty and goodness, who is uninterested in power, discounting its worth in favor of finding love in people and value in creation. Of course, God, being who he is, can afford to be impractical. And being who we are, we can too.
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