Faith, Fiction, Friends

Some 15 poets gathered at the recent Tweetspeak Poetry jam on Twitter, and early on tried to guess the source of the prompts. Some tho...

I can’t of anyone working today who doesn’t talk about crises at work. Opportunities seem to abound for missteps, mistakes, false impr...

The tunnel system underneath our campus at work stretches for about six blocks. It doesn’t follow a straight line; it bends and curves...

I am not worthy to ask my soul scalds my heart scalds my heart to talk with you, to be this close. I am not worthy. I ask yo...

I grew up in the South at a time when change had arrived, and was overtaking nearly a century of a particular way of life, a particular ki...

The street turned red, a deep red scarlet, after I spilled communion wine on the sidewalk in front of the hardware store. I ...

I was talking with my oldest son, who had asked copies of Dancing Priest and A Light Shining for a promotion he’s trying. “So,” he a...