LETTERS

Junkyard Advent (Sunday #1)

Today’s Advent reading: …now it is high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed. The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light.—Romans 13:11-12 Word of the…
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Vox Clamantis in Suburbia 11/16/2020

The runt Aspen tree in our backyard is almost bare now. The wind and cold have thieved the green and gold away. I say thieved, but that’s my perspective. The runt Aspen would say her leaves were not taken, but given. Nature knows better. My daughter’s Aussiepoo has been our guest this weekend. His name…
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Vox Clamantis in Suburbia

“There was a part of her she hadn’t yet allowed to be born because it was too beautiful for this place, that was true.” —Denis Johnson, Jesus’ Son Our favorite local weather personality’s first name is Merry, like Merry Christmas! Kudos to her parents for that. Merry told us this wind would blow in this…
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His Cousin’s Keeper

“You’re a piece of work, Bryan.” That’s what Tom said after Bryan announced plans for his new podcast: For Such a Time as This. Bryan had been born again again about two years ago and ever since had increased in zealousy for Jesus to the point where he was losing friends and winning enemies—not Jesus…
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The Masculine Diaries Day 4

He eased open the sliding glass door leading outside to his back stoop, stepped out, sat down, and breathed in the gathering dusk. He looked down at his calves, certainly not the cannonballers he’d dreamed of long ago. He’d actually looked into calf implants while at college, not seriously but curiously. That was a time…
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The Masculine Diaries Day 3

Tell her I wasn’t scared. That was the line, clear as day, that he woke up seeing. What it was tied to—dream, vision, nightmare—he had no clue. He wasn’t shaken. Heart rate? Non elevatio. No beads of sweat on his brow. It was quite the opposite actually as he felt, well, the word is placid,…
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The Masculine Diaries Day 2

His yardman said Your tree is dead, beetle-killed, bark beetle. He really wasn’t a yardman so much as a friend, a good man who helped him each fall and spring with turning on and turning off his sprinkler system. His yardman friend added This was Mother Nature’s doing, nothing you could have done to stop…
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Dear Winn – 11 April 2020

Dear Winn, Its been summerish here all week, sun shining bright, temps flirtin’ the 70s, and the second wave of kids in our neighborhood all out in the streets goofing off and riding bikes in that no-consequence no-hands carefree summertime mood of mind. And while its been beautiful to see, its also been disorienting because…
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Dear Winn – (does anybody really know what day it is?)

Dear Winn, I could have put a date stamp on this letter, but time has blurred on me, pal. I’ve lost track, seriously. Just the other day (maybe Wednesday? I’m not sure), I looked at the kitchen calendar multiple times throughout the day in an attempt to anchor myself, lash myself to the mast of…
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Dear Winn – 21 March 2020

Dear Winn, A strange dawning today, my friend. About a foot of snow fell on Thursday, that wet, heavy snow that lingers long. Everything this morning is flocked, quite christmassy. Plus, our neighboring town of Palmer Lake lit their “star” yesterday—a grand astralation of bright bulbs on the side of Sundance Mountain which you can…
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