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.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Deciding Not to Ask Questions
There was no instruction, no preparation, no Q and A session, nor was there even much of an invitation. He just said, "Follow me," and Matthew followed as the fishermen had done. Maybe there was some explanation later, but I doubt it; and there were more Q's than A's would ever be available had they wanted to ask. Those who would have wanted preparation, who were expecting an introductory statement are maybe still waiting.
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