Writing About Faith
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Hoping to be a different person tomorrow from the one I am today. Letting go of the need to suceed. I am preparing for Church Council meetings, it is an ongoing thing, and I guess I should not be surprised that the same questions of what we are going to do and where our future lies are once again raising their heads. The trouble is I think we ask both too much and too little of ourselves at the same time! I know that I am back on my old soap box if you want to see that see here.
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A blog for and about the integration of faith and writing. Email Lydia at writingaboutfaithfastmail.fm if youre interested in posting as a member. Tuesday, December 9, 2008. Leafing through a catalog. My mind began to drift. What is this I see. A man standing by a maple tree? Doubt it was the intention. For it was no one he represented. No lifestyle theyd be selling here-. These trees and hedges. Like a far off nursery rhyme. I wondered at this kind of man. Whos clothes were out of time? That it is we.CONTENT
This web page writingaboutfaith.blogspot.com states the following, "A blog for and about the integration of faith and writing." We saw that the webpage said "fm if youre interested in posting as a member." It also said " Tuesday, December 9, 2008. My mind began to drift. What is this I see. A man standing by a maple tree? Doubt it was the intention. For it was no one he represented. No lifestyle theyd be selling here-. Like a far off nursery rhyme. I wondered at this kind of man. Whos clothes were out of time? That it is we."SEEK SIMILAR DOMAINS
Thursday, May 7, 2009. After the death of her mother in 1977, Edie moved around the country after finally settling in Florida to pursue a life of quiet isolation. Edie had been dead for five days when she was discovered by her nephew. A daily swimmer until her d.
8216;s ending, seconds after it has taken place.
But I cannot tell the day,. The mind clears a bit. And I remember who I am,. What day it is,. And how little time I have,. To assemble myself and leave for work. This day is not unlike any other work day,. Not unlike years of repetitive practical habits. That propel me into this persona,. This predictable working life,. So unlike the life of the sleeper. Who travels by thought through time,.
When the darkened room is suddenly filled with light,. When the unexpected wave rises and crashes upon you,. When you cannot find the precise metaphor to describe,. To express the overwhelming emotion. Bursting from your heart and spreading to every sinew,. Awakening your body to its purpose,. Awakening your mind to the joy of existence,. To the bliss of knowing,. Knowing you are desired,. Knowing you are loved,. More than momentary infatuation,.
The Poetry of Russ Allison Loar. When the darkened room is suddenly filled with light,. When the unexpected wave rises and crashes upon you,. When you cannot find the precise metaphor to describe,. To express the overwhelming emotion. Bursting from your heart and spreading to every sinew,. Awakening your body to its purpose,. Awakening your mind to the joy of existence,. To the bliss of knowing,. Knowing you are desired,. Knowing you are loved,. More than momentary infatuation,.