Like a house in the rain, books were havens of permanence and protection from whatever it was that as a child I needed protection from.
People will buy snake oil from anybody who seems to be selling it in a persuasive way.
I am such a person of words. I've spent so much of my life trying to get it right, say it right, say it eloquently, say it truthfully, say it honestly, that when I hear it said in ways that none of those adverbs would describe I find myself so repelled that it almost shuts my mind off.
You hear as many things as you would imagine. I hear voices of people I loved once. I hear moments that took place. I hear silences.
... the world can give you these glimpses as well as fairy tales can--the smell of rain, the dazzle of sun on white clapboard with the shadows of ferns and wash on the line, the wildness of a winter storm when in the house the flame of a candle doesn't even flicker.
Preaching and writing - it's the same. Whether I'm writing to speak or writing to be read in a book, it's the same thing.
If what makes you happy is going out and living it up and spending all your money on wine, women, and song, the world doesn't need that. But on the other hand, if you give your life to good works - you go and work in a leper colony and it doesn't make you happy - the chances are you're not doing it very well.
To believe in Christ is to give your heart to Christ, which means not to affirm things about Christ, but it's like what you mean when you say, "I believe in my friend."
The preaching is part of the reason I don't go to church. Plus, I don't know, it was never part of my tradition.
I say, “You may be right, but don’t knock it until you’re tried it. Don’t say, ‘I think it’s worthless; therefore I’m not going to spend any time looking into myself the way one who prays does.'” Maybe that’s an even worse mistake than praying might be.
