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His eyes were piercing. As we sat down, he began to tell me his story —of growing up in a small town in east Texas, of doing meth, dealing meth, of living life in the darkness of racism that hung as a heavy shadow over his Aryan community.
My parents should have named me Martha. I’m totally a Martha. I’ve never met a project I shied away from. Always felt at home with my head down, my focus narrowed to accomplish a goal, complete a task. That’s always been my specialty.
We all have a past. No matter who we are, no matter where we were raised, we each have a story, a history that has been etched into the seams and shadows of our hearts.
Have you ever bought a counterfeit? Have you wandered the streets of Manhattan and found a bottle of your favorite perfume or a beautiful designer bag for $20?
The pursuit of happiness. It drives us. It compels us. Sometimes it even tortures us. We all long to be happy, satisfied, fulfilled. Continue reading
Perfect. Such a nice word. If only everything could be perfect, life would be much neater, cleaner somehow.
The Merriam Webster Online Dictionary defines the word “perfect” as, Being entirely without fault or defect. Flawless. Satisfying all requirements. Being completely correct or accurate.
Sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Continue reading
So strange, I wondered.
As I was walking out the back door, heading to church, I looked down to see what appeared to be a thousand tiny spatters of red embedded along the bottom half of my garage wall. Continue reading