I find a motel on the side of Highway 40, one only faintly Batesy, hung with Christmas lights and accentuated with cute old Coke machines. I pull into the parking lot and wonder how this will go.
What a day for traffic violations!
Our hearts are restless until they rest in thee. –St. Augustine
qwuThe perseverance of the saints in La Côte-de-Beaupré, Québec
A philosophy professor talks about graffiti, respect, and a man in Amsterdam on a mission from God.
There’s an empty pool on the corner of Master Street that is filling up with rain. Every time I’ve visited Philadelphia, it’s raining and drizzly, and I’ve been lonely and scared. I wonder if this place ever brightens up, or if I just bring the weltschmerz with me each time.
For no good reason, I wake up at 5.30am. Jeff is the only other one up; he’s fully groomed, and pouring cocoa powder by the tablespoon into his coffee. Like his brother, whom I know from church back home, Jeff lights up at the opportunity to chat. He has that rare quality of seeming to be listening, even when he’s doing the talking. I don’t understand how that works. It’s the exact inverse of narcissism.
An American expat talks about faith, Stockholm syndrome, and how a country can become your church.
Two words I hate: “amazing,” and “stressful.” In themselves, they are inoffensive, but their present cultural ubiquity has made them hateful, like the Ugg boot or the shape of modern two-door sedans.
So you’ll understand that it’s no light statement for me to tell you that today was amazingly stressful. Read more