Like the people gathered at the foot of Mount Sinai we are afraid to see God's face. We are frightened lest we hear his voice. We would rather remain distant, safe and unsure, wanting to know but unwilling to listen.
What is it that scares us so? Are we afraid of what he will look like, this God we call Father; or of what he will say, this God we call Love.
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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