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.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Jesus' Doubt
At the wedding, Jesus said his time had not yet come. Maybe he would have continued to say that had Mary not intervened. Maybe he was reluctant to begin, unwilling to risk what seemed to be the power available to him. Maybe they both knew that once it began, once it really was his time, there would be no turning back. Maybe at that moment her faith exceeded his own.
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