Once torched by truth...a little thing like faith is easy.

It is one thing to say you're at war with this whole world and stick your chest out believing it, but when the world shows up with it's crushing numbers and its predatory knowledge, it is another thing completely.

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.

I remember it as October days are always remembered, cloudless, maple-flavored, the air gold and so clean it quivers.

Fair is whatever God wants to do.

Routine is worry's sly assassin.

You can’t kill history. You can’t shoot it with a bullet and watch it recede into whatever lies outside of memory. History is tougher than that—if it’s going to die, it has to die on its own