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.
Friday, March 13, 2015
Stuck
Betsy is, of course, right. I have been stuck in what seemed wise and reasonable, where I often get stuck, though not always so badly. I have been listening more to my fear than she has to her heart. I wish there were never the need to trust, but when there is I wish I could do it with more ease.
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