I Really Can't Claim Ever To Have

To Think That Only Faultless People Are Worthwhile Seems Like An Incredible Exclusion Of Almost Everything Of Deep Value In The Human Saga. Sometimes I Can't Believe The Narrowness That Has Been Attributed To God In Terms Of What He Would Approve And Disapprove.

That Odd Capacity For Destitution, As If By Nature We Ought To Have So Much More Than Nature Gives Us. As If We Are Shockingly Unclothed When We Lack The Complacencies Of Ordinary Life. In Destitution, Even Of Feeling Or Purpose, A Human Being Is More Hauntingly Human And Vulnerable To Kindnesses Because There Is The Sense That Things Should Be Otherwise, And Then The Thought Of What Is Wanting And What Alleviation Would Be, And How The Soul Could Be Put At Ease, Restored. At Home. But The Soul Finds Its Own Home If It Ever Has A Home At All.

Well, But You Two Are Dancing Around In Your Iridescent Little Downpour, Whooping And Stomping As Sane People Ought To Do When They Encounter A Thing So Miraculous As Water.

A Narrow Pond Would Form In The Orchard, Water Clear As Air Covering Grass And Black Leaves And Fallen Branches, All Around It Black Leaves And Drenched Grass And Fallen Branches, And On It, Slight As An Image In An Eye, Sky, Clouds, Trees, Our Hovering Faces And Our Cold Hands.

The Only Obligation I Recognize Is To Say What I Believe To Be True [ ] And To Say It With Kindness. I Believe That Is How A Christian Conversation Should Proceed.