A new book by a favorite writer who died 25 years ago is a great occasion. Flying, Falling, Catching: An Unlikely Story of Finding Freedom is Henri Nouwen’s account of a great passion he developed, in the final years of his life, for the flying trapeze. Who knew?
In the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, built over the cave where Jesus was born, there is also an arresting reminder of His death.
Lewis Carroll, author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, was a chronic insomniac who often felt the urge to write at night. Living as he did before electric lights were common, he invented what he called a nyctograph, or night-writer, along with a notation system of nyctography for writing without the aid of a light.
What are the elements of good spiritual writing? First, obviously, a deep and vibrant faith in God, such that the writing fairly glows with His presence.
Do you remember when the universal convention was to leave two spaces after a period rather than just one? If you do, then you’re probably as old as I am (70), or older. How did the change to one space come about? Who ever made this monumental decision?
I want to share with you a prayer that I’ve been praying lately. I’m not usually keen on canned prayers, but this one is a humdinger.
One reason for the great popularity of the children’s classic Goodnight Moon is that it’s really a prayer—a nighttime prayer of thanksgiving, a gentle, joyous litany of ordinary blessings.
Years ago my friend John had a life-changing encounter with the book of Habakkuk, an experience he recalls with deep gratitude to this day. At a point in his life when he was full of confusion and distress, in one great insight he moved from doubting God to praising Him.
My house overlooks the beautiful Muskoka River. Since moving here three years ago, I’ve made a practice in my morning quiet time of gazing out the window (or in good weather, sitting outside) to enjoy the beauties of nature, and waiting for—and expecting—something unusual to strike my attention.
In early December the Reverend Philip Croswell stood at the front window watching a light snow sift through the darkening day. At least, Alice assumed he was watching the snow, until he spoke.