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.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Al Welsh
Al Welsh died. I'd always expected he'd be given a Nobel Prize. That he never received one means only that someone overlooked the wonder of him. He could always ask why and what does it mean, and how can I help. He was a complete person, satisfied in himself and in his relation to God. He was, like Jesus, known by those who knew him best as a teacher. He was a learner as well. He was a wonderful man, a very kind and faithful friend.
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