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remembering mom

At 14 mom drove a cab barefoot along 5th Avenue. At 18 she was the swamp buggy queen, and got to kiss the winning driver. For 50 years she was a pastor’s wife, teaching Sunday School to teens and women and leaving secret notes in their Bibles.

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the story of our sorrows

What a story of human frailty it must tell, this book. And yet it is more than the story of our sorrows. It is the story of our security.

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Retrospective: 2008

At 14 she drove a cab barefoot along 5th Avenue. At 18 she was the swamp buggy queen. For 50 years she was a pastor’s wife, teaching Sunday School to teens and women and leaving secret notes in their Bibles. At 74 she is dying in my living room, remembering it all. Or none of it.

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Retrospective: 2002

God in his wisdom has called this godly father, husband and pastor to a perfect sabbath rest. Some of the things we depended on him for we will now have to do for ourselves. Or for each other. Or simply wait for God to do.

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the house that Jack built

Jack was a solid, faithful man, whose long struggle with cancer taught others how to live with pain and die with dignity.

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what God gave up for Lent

The sobering reality of Lent is that we have sinned. Our righteousness amounts to nothing. We are unclean and undone. We can’t even give up a doughnut when it comes right down to it.

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the day Santa died

Although St. Nicholas had rich parents and my dad had poor ones, both of them were gracious, righteous men, generous to a fault. I know good came to them and that they are and will be remembered that way. And I know I want to be such a man.

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on dying well

We have a lot yet to learn. But we are determined to learn it, and to extend grace with calmness and certitude in our final hours.

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when words fail us

If someone says their love is like a red, red rose, they run the risk of being taken as original. We are the poorer for it.

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of grief and grace

In the meantime there is grief. Awkward conversations. Unplanned silences. Unanswered questions.

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