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 10, 2012
Our Best Attempts
We are not unlike John the Baptist. People asked him, as they do us, who are you and what are you doing. All he could say is who he was not and what he was not doing. Still he was trying to do what seemed best, and trying to do it well, even though it was only shouting in the desert. Even that God could make important.
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