A Convert Tries on the Angelus for Size
I was well-educated in the liberal arts and studied Millet’s painting of “The Angelus” in a cultural heritage course years ago. In the painting, the…
I was well-educated in the liberal arts and studied Millet’s painting of “The Angelus” in a cultural heritage course years ago. In the painting, the…
When it comes to acronyms and short-form expressions, it can be difficult to keep up with our culture’s rate of production. How many of our…
During this season of Advent, we recall the lyrics of Glenn Rudolph’s contemporary choral work, “The Dream Isaiah Saw,” and pray that a “little Child…
For the past 18 months, I have seen a man pass our house in his wheelchair every week. He has long, dirty hair, lots of bags, and a bandaged foot. The first time we saw him was startling. If you remember, I previously wrote about how we moved into a suburban-ish area. We were unpacking boxes when we saw him move slowly past our window. He stood out. He wasn’t a twenty-something jogger listening to an iPod, he wasn’t two moms pushing their strollers and chatting, he wasn’t our neighbor walking his dog, he was a sick, slow moving man who, very likely, did not have a home. We stopped what we were doing and peered through our window until he was out of sight.