poetry
the first poem I learned was for my father and was the first poem he ever learned: missing has anybody seen my mouse? I opened his box for just a minute just to make sure he was really in it and while I was looking he jumped outside I tried
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I spent the morning working on this slideshow. The music is from the "True Grit" soundtrack. Peace, Milton
poetry
My father, Milton Cunningham, died August 3, 2013. He was a little over a month away from his eighty-fifth birthday. What follows here are what I said at his memorial service last Wednesday, including a poem I wrote for him entitled "The Skin You're In."
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I spent another Monday in Raleigh this week -- my third one. The North Carolina Chapter of the NAACP has sponsored the events, which have become known as Moral Mondays, as a response to the damaging laws being passed down b y our state legislature during this session which include cutting
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I preached at our church yesterday. I went a little “off book” during the sermon, so the manuscript is the best recreation I could do. _________________________________ Luke 7:36-50 “Forgive Us Our Debts” A Sermon for Pilgrim United Church of Christ, Durham NC June 16, 2013 The listserv in our
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These past few days have been filled with grief in the lives of some of those closest to Ginger and me. Though their stories are not mine to tell, I have been touched as well and reminded again of how much death and grief are a part of life for
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Not from our home in Durham is the Liberty Warehouse, which once housed tobacco auctions. The building is not beautiful; it is, however, historic because it is one of the last of its kind still standing, a visual legacy of what our city once was. It is also on its
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I know I said this a review of Mike Stavlund’s book, A Force of Will: The Reshaping of Faith in a Year of Grief , but I’m going to start by talking about why Patty Griffin is a great songwriter. Trust me: they’re connected. I finished the book
poetry
if I count my way around the room we are twelve scattered across tables and couches, close enough to talk but all engaged by screens and books silent disciples of different causes I am facing one who looks troubled though I cannot see what she sees only what she shows
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Somewhere I have pictures. During the summer of 2011, a group of young people and adults from our church went to Birmingham, Alabama to help clean up after the devastating tornado that had dredged a path of destruction a mile wide from Tuscaloosa through the Magic City. We drove up
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it’s a quiet pentecost morning and I’m out of town on a side street of life where I ducked out of the drizzle only to find myself in hart and soul coffee everyone here speaks my language though silence is not my strong suit it strikes me that
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“Do you want to get well?” The whole story swings on that sentence. The story I’m speaking of is Jesus’ encounter with the man at the pool at Bethesda. Soon another Feast came around and Jesus was back in Jerusalem. Near the Sheep Gate in Jerusalem there was a