No miracle happens without a witness. Someone to declare, Here’s what I saw. Here’s how it went. Make of it what you will.
People fear miracles because they fear being changed—though ignoring them will change you also.
The surface of everything is thinner than we know. A person can fall right through, without any warning at all.
....her life would be a giddy crossword, working down from some clues and across from others.
When did it come to Davy Land that exile is a country of shifting borders, hard to quit yet hard to endure, no matter your wide shoulders, no matter your toughened heart?
My sister comes on like a box of nails, but her devotion to the mythic is profound.
Make of that what you will.
We and the world, my children, will always be at war. Retreat is impossible. Arm yourselves.
Then Israel Finch got to his feet and pointed the light at Dolly. He told Tommy to hold her arms, and Tommy roared as if they were the funniest words in his reduced language. Realizing his cut wasn’t...
We see a newborn moth unwrapping itself and announce, Look, children, a miracle! But let an irreversible wound be knit back to seamlessness? We won't even see it, though we look at it every day.
Nothing could quiet a happy crowd of kids like Mr. Holgren's unannounced appearance -- he loved superintending; he was made for it. So when he marched in that morning with a determined look on his fac...
Someday, you know, we're going to be shown the great ledger of our recorded decisions-a dread concept you nonetheless know in your deepest soul is true.
I loved that kite, that cinnamon hound. We were old friends. I had soared and laughed with that kite. It got me out on the perimeter. I felt I had failed it somehow, and rune too, even though he would...
I breathe deeply, and certainty enters into me like light, like a piece of science, and curious music seems to hum inside my fingers.Is there a single person on whom I can press belief?No sir.All I ca...
How could we not believe the Lord would guide us? How could we not have faith? For the foundation had been laid in prayer and sorrow. Since that fearful night, Dad has responded with the almost imposs...
Once in my life I knew a grief so hard I could actually hear it inside, scraping at the lining of my stomach, an audible ache, dredging with hooks as rivers are dredged when someone’s been missing too...
Yes, yes sir—routine is worry’s sly assassin.
A line only gets grace when it curves, you know.
I experienced an unspooling sense of freedom—genuine antagonism is something I’ve rarely encountered, and it felt good to respond with honesty instead of obsequious scraping.
Many a night I woke to the murmer of paper and knew (Dad) was up, sitting in the kitchen with frayed King James - oh, but he worked that book; he held to it like a rope ladder.
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