God
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1. WritingThe act of pressing words onto a page is akin to listening to one’s own pulse. It is confession without penance, conversation without interruption. Sometimes the words echo back, sometimes they dissolve into silence—but the page never judges, only receives. A therapist who never bills by the hour. 2. ReadingBooks are the only form
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If you were to choose a tattoo for yourself, what would it be, and where would you place it? For me, I’ve already found meaning in the two tattoos gracing my fingers. One is a King of Hearts, with a crucifix at its center—a symbol of Christ’s sovereignty and sacrifice. The other simply reads “surrender.”
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I live in a roomwithout a heart—not that I’m gone,but it feels that part. They used to come,“Grandma’s new place!”—a pool, a clubhouse,wide-open space.But had I knownit was a guise,to strip me bareof dignity’s prize,I’d have stayedin my home, my own,where the hallway’s wornby children grown,their racing feet,their candy smears,walls alivewith fleeting years. There, my
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He’s sitting there, teeth clenched in his mouth,mouthing the last line of a Madonna song—a virgin, cherry popped—and it spirals: Hostess pies,lunchbox dreams,Twinkies, deep-fried in a skillet,sizzling next to a T-bone, rare. A dog flashes by, socks on its paws,German Shepherd, retired police,once ate a cat—had to put him down.Dad comes next,cancer stole his voice,then
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What movie or TV series have I watched more than five times? There are likely a few contenders, but one stands above the rest: Chariots of Fire. This film entered my life in the 1980s, a golden era when I was in the prime of my youth—running track and cross country, chasing fleeting romances, and
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Daily Prompt: A Letter to My Hundred-Year-Old Self Dearest Me, Happy Birthday! Today, you turn 100—a century of breaths, heartbeats, and steps guided by a hand greater than our own. As I sit here, almost 50 years behind you on March 10, 2025, I can only marvel at the life we’ve lived. Half a century
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Ever feel like Noah? Some voice from on high says, “Get to work,” and there you are, hammering planks together without a clue why, while everyone else is sipping coffee and flipping through their phones. You do it anyway, nod to the sky, and next thing you know, you’re floating—flood all around, nobody in sight,
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Through the Potter’s Hands I have been poor, I have been rich,I have held love, and I have watched it slip.I have known life, and I have met loss,Children close, then distant—a breath, a reach, a fading echo. These are the moments that have shaped me,some I recall with clarity,others still whisper their lessons in
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I hear you. And I mean, really hear you. In the grand blueprint of life, the most ambitious DIY project any of us will ever undertake isn’t just built with wood, nails, or stone, but with choices, relationships, and the wisdom we gather along the way. Your words ring true—no project worth its weight is
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“The life that I have known is gone, but in its place, a strange new music plays.”— Adapted from W.H. Auden His head bobbed gently, resting against the cold windowpane of the train as it carved smooth, silver lines across the waking landscape, steel wheels humming beneath steel tracks. Dawn crept in slowly beyond the
BB Grey--musings 