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.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Carpenter's Son
He was only the carpenter's son. They knew his brothers and sisters, and his family lived just down the street. They thought he had no right to wisdom, and wonders should be beyond him. They just couldn't believe and so what they wanted came to be, and it was over. Nothing happened, just like they knew it would.
Labels:
belief,
faith,
Jesus,
perspective
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