FacebookTwitterGoogle+DiggPinterestBloggerAt the school just up the road, the room is packed. It’s National Anthem Day, and the gym’s awash in a sea of red, white and blue. I slip in

Overhead on a blanket of night, they shine. A thousand thousand stars, pinpricks of gold sprinkled near, scattered far.  They’re all shining, bearing witness. I breathe it in, all this

The headlines have been full of it. With things heating up in what some call “the big sandbox over there,” the nation is looking to President Obama, his minions and

Sitting there at the round corner table, small lamp spilling gold across the page, I quiet. He speaks, that shepherd boy of old; speaks for me: “Restore us, O God;

Mr. Schrock came wired with it. In an odd twist of fate, genetics or some inexplicable cosmic mutation, he was born with a unit in place. Why he showed up

The results that returned were crushing. It was cancer, widespread and malicious. Roaring in like a wildfire with a searing heat, flames devouring, it blazed right through, and in several

It was a photograph of Jesus, a portrait created by a young girl who’d died, gone to Heaven and come back. Jesus, He with the eyes shining kindness. Shining love.

He’d awakened, miserable. “I couldn’t get to sleep,” he said, scratching an arm. It’s so itchy.” Sure enough. On legs, arms and chest, red blotches had broken out. “That’s not