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Recently I watched my two-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter at play. She toddled up and down the side porch, stopping to eat a bite of the apple slice her mother had given her, fingering some Play-Mobile figurines, pausing to gaze out across the small side yard. She’s a bright kid with a large vocabulary, compliments of her seven
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“And what is so rare as a day in June?” That line from James Russell Lowell popped to mind early this morning as I sat on my porch. A week of fiery temperatures, muggy afternoons, and evening rains had finally birthed this beautiful blue panorama. The old homes and old trees of my neighborhood were
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“Enemy-occupied territory – that is what this world is,” wrote C. S. Lewis in “Mere Christianity.” “Christianity is the story of how the rightful King has landed, you might say landed in disguise, and is calling us all to take part in a great campaign of sabotage,” he continued. One needn’t be a Christian to
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Only a dad with a tired face, Coming home from the daily race, Bringing little of gold or fame To show how well he has played the game; But glad in his heart that his own rejoice To see him come and to hear his voice. Only a dad but he gives his all To
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