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One afternoon, when I was in fifth grade, my father bent down to pick up an ice cream freezer in the carport of our home in Lusaka, Zambia. The freezer was well-used and I have fond memories of sitting on a towel folded across the top of the gears as
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." I&
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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
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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 old
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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