It will never be easy, no matter how beautiful the flowers are blooming or how wonderful the view from the cemetery is.

What will the neighbors think?

Perish means death. To be cut down. Not only to be pruned, but to be cut down.

Like calling a king a fox. Not letting others call you a chicken. Calling a war a war.

Somehow it makes me feel a little more connected, a little less helpless. Even though I know that’s a farce.

What’s wrong with giving while expecting something in return? We wonder what’s in for us.

It’s no fun to hear the truth when the truth isn’t pink and glittery.

Simon Peter had a rough day. Things didn’t go like he had hoped.

Remember the first time you came home after going to college? Starting a family? Will they notice you’ve changed? Will they see me as who I am now?

As much as we might need angels this year, we aren’t quite ready for them yet.

We long for peace, and yet, don’t know better than fighting. That to be a peacemaker, you have to come from a place of strength. And that’s where it gets interesting.

There is hope in song. Sometimes, really, the only hope left.

Nobody asked them whether they were ready to be witnesses. The authorities forced them.

It started with a weird feeling in my stomach. I miss the smell of wooden pews. I miss the sound of turning hymnal pages. I miss feeling the church feeling.

Two friends are walking down a street. It’s something they used to do in a group of 13 or more. Just a week ago. Which seems like a life ago. Now, it’s only the 2 of them.