Remember Me Not For The Ill I've

My Prayer Is Spasmodic, Occasional, Desperate. It Has A Great Deal To Do With My Children's Physical Well-being - That When They're Traveling In The Air The Plane Not Crash, Things Like That.

At Least To Look Back Over Their Own Lives, As I Have Looked Back Over Mine, For Certain Themes And Patterns And Signals That Are So Easy To Miss When You're Caught Up In The Process Of Living Them. If God Speaks To Us At All Other Than Through Such Official Channels As The Bible And The Church, Then I Think He Speaks To Us Largely Through What Happens To Us, So Listen To What Has Happened To You-for The Sound, Above All Else, Of His Voice.

For Outlandish Creatures Like Us, On Our Way To A Heart, A Brain, And Courage, Bethlehem Is Not The End Of Our Journey But Only The Beginning - Not Home But The Place Through Which We Must Pass If Ever We Are To Reach Home At Last.

Of The Seven Deadly Sins, Anger Is Possibly The Most Fun. To Lick Your Wounds, To Smack Your Lips Over Grievances Long Past, To Roll Over Your Tongue The Prospect Of Bitter Confrontations Still To Come, To Savor To The Last Toothsome Morsel Both The Pain You Are Given And The Pain You Are Giving Back--in Many Ways It Is A Feast Fit For A King. The Chief Drawback Is That What You Are Wolfing Down Is Yourself. The Skeleton At The Feast Is You.

. . . [t]o Live Not With Hands Clenched To Grasp, To Strike, To Hold Tight To A Life That Is Always Slipping Away The More Tightly We Hold It, But . . . To Live With The Hands Stretched Out Both To Give And Receive With Gladness.