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Digging for Gold
Vincent was too busy excavating the ruins of his ministerial calling. I’ve been reading the letters of Vincent Van Gogh. Thinking about the courage of the artist to stand against the crowd, and yet remain soft enough to be vulnerable to life, to what is. And I remembered a concert I went to during my freshman…
“…hopes of putting down roots….”
An excerpt from my memoir The Edge of All the Light You Have. My family moved to Wake Forest, North Carolina, in 1966 so that my dad could attend seminary there. The small town clustered around the campus of Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary. The seminary sat dead center, and what little traffic there was flowed…
“…go to the limits of your longing.”
“It’s all I have to bring today…,” Emily Dickinson once wrote. Thank you, Emily. Because I have nothing of my own to offer on this end-of-summer morning. The days are shortening. The world is spinning off its axis. I am so, so tired. I send my bucket into the well, and all that comes up…
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