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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Monday, September 16, 2013
Waking Jesus
They had already decided they were drowning and woke Jesus only to ask if it would bother him. Some decisions are premature, some questions superfluous.
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