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In Cleveland this past winter, in the middle of February, we enjoyed a full week of spring-like temperatures in the 60s.
A rooster lives a few houses down from my house in Santa Fe.
"I'm sorry. That's against our policy."
Every day on my drive to work, I used to pass a crumbling brick church with grime-covered windows and a tiny patch of dirt and weeds out front.
Literal thinkers drive me crazy.
I don't know why God would kill a man who tried to keep the ark of the covenant from falling over—or why King David would think Uzzah's death was God's doing.
Promises like these from the Psalms are grand and wonderful.
On the Monday of the week when this country reached the point of literal children being held in literal cages at the US/Mexico border (or at least became aware of it), I found myself fly fishing on a river near another border: the Canadian one.
Years ago, several Israeli contractors overseeing the construction of the separation wall were prosecuted for stealing Palestinian olive trees.
Quinn G. Caldwell
Why can we so rarely manage to be the people we want to be, to consistently act the way we resolve to?