I have spent the evening
baking, not writing.
I have swirled my sadness
into the mix of
butter, sugar, eggs
because I know
what to do with
butter, sugar, and eggs.
Baking the same cookie
doesn’t feel repetitive;
why does writing
about grief feel
as though I am saying
the same thing
over and over and over?
I think I’ll have a cookie.
Peace
Milton
It’s getting down to crunch time in the baseball season, which means it doesn’t take much for my sermon to intersect with the Red Sox. Here’s what I said on Sunday. ________________________________ In the fall of 2004, I was the Associate Pastor of the First Congregational Church of
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Last week’s lectionary passage is one of my favorites. Here’s what I had to say on Sunday. __________________________ Right after Ginger and I got back from our trip to Durham last month, we noticed a plant that had sprung up along our back fence line. It was not there
I think this is the first time that thinking about prayer took me to both Robert Frost and ice hockey. Here’s my sermon for this week. ____________________________ My twelfth grade English teacher Ms. Morse is responsible, in part, for my love of poetry—particularly the poems of Robert Frost. When