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.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
God's Bread
Gold told Moses he would send them bread, but when in the morning it was there on the ground they wondered what it was. It did not look like bread. It had not been made as bread was. It may not even have had the taste of bread, but God is sometimes like that. Things are not what they seem and words change their meaning with very little notice.
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