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.
Friday, January 27, 2012
A Mission for the Church
Despair seems so prevalent. For whatever reason, a number of people are alone and lost, thinking no one cares. No one stops. No one hears. They feel they need not be, and then wish they were not. Maybe, along with everything else, it is the Church's mission to stop, to listen and care, to tell them they are not alone, they are loved (and not merely by God).
Labels:
Church,
loneliness,
love
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