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“Harm, fairness, community (or group loyalty), authority and purity…these are the primary colors of our moral sense. Not only do they keep reappearing in cross-cultural surveys, but each one tugs on the moral intuitions of people in our own culture.”* * Quoted from “The Moral Instinct” by Peter Singer, New York Times, 2006. Read more
It’s the gown that weighed her down The costume she wore was the cause for her to drown “She slipped,” they say but she didn’t leave the water “She was mad,” they say, “did it herself.” but for this demise, someone’s to blame Read more
Long ago, my mother sought to teach a shirt to iron itself. Read more
they have come like warriors an army blackening the land wheat and barley vineyards devouring every leaf and branch Read more
Fall fountains of sun brimming Bronze leaves burning In summer’s dying light But not yet Her aged hands hold on For one more day In the apple orchard Where it all ended anyway Read more
His hands resting on his bended knee Remember Pounding the gavel that justice be done Throwing the ball to a little one Clasping others when deals are done Wrenching machinery to make it work Shaking the hand of a friend Read more
Flame of far celestial fire, lighting every high desire, promised gift of Christ’s ascending, still a heavenly flame descending on each soul with Spirit gifting, Read more
I have known enough saints to know they fall just like the rest of us. They fail to see the mud globbed on their feet and leave their footprints on the Persian rugs. They slurp their shakes. Read more
She was one who chose the best, her Lord, and blessed the children with Him. For me she was my gray Rose from God, teaching me that to grow with thorns is still to grow in grace, knowing thorns are temporary, to be borne while letting God spread the sweet scent of His salvation to a scentless world; a world she was moved by, a world she moved in return. Read more
Sword mistress who taught me to hold my blade Always ready for defense or offense. Sword mistress with weakening arm and weakening eyes. Sword mistress of the faultering foot. The unsteady voice. Sword mistress finally sheathed. Detached from the belt. The hiss of my saber drawn from its sheath ​Is the memory of your whispered encouragements. Read more

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