Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
What if our souls were like butterflies? Yours and mine. Two butterflies. You and me. Soul mates. And just like butterflies, we were a little bit different from each other? Each with different colors. Different symmetrically patterned wings. Uniquely shaped and sized.
The main reason I’m writing is because the world is going to go nuts someday. And I mean totally, flipping nuts. I can’t even describe the level of nuttiness you’re about to experience.
When you drink your coffee this morning, DRINK your coffee. Pay attention to EVERY SIP. Really taste it. The Norman Rockwell book that’s been on your coffee table since the Punic Wars so that it’s almost invisible to you. LOOK at it.
My mother always told me to smile. Especially when I didn’t want to. She often told me to smile when I was sad, when trying on school clothes, or whenever I was forced to eat beef liver at gunpoint.
The electricity went out. I don’t know why it happened. It wasn’t storming. The weather was nice. All I know is I was watching TV when the lamps suddenly flickered and died. And that was that.
Dante’s Inferno is over 700 years old, yet its vision of Hell still shapes how we imagine the afterlife, sin, and justice.
Life is chaos. Not metaphorically. Not symbolically. At its core, existence is one long, tangled mess of disorder, uncertainty, and entropy. From the spinning galaxies to the storms on Earth to the mess in your kitchen—chaos is the natural state of things.
Five years ago I was in Huntsville when the world shut down. Five years. Almost to the day. I’ll never forget it.
So the idea was: After eight weeks of rigorous marriage training, couples would receive an official certificate, trimmed in gold, with their names on it. And this certificate would prove to the world, without a doubt, that couples were spiritually, and emotionally prepared to take the multiple choice exam in the back of the book.
“A lot of people might think the world is falling apart,” he wrote to me. “But they’re wrong. I’ve been on the other side. There’s lots of good people out there.”
I have no children. The closest I ever came to having a child was when my wife got me a goldfish for Christmas. His name was Gary.
I shouldn’t be braiding hair. But there I was. Giving it my best shot. We were in a hotel lobby. The 19-year-old sat with her back facing me. Her violent red hair in my hands.
Wake up. Start coffeemaker. Turn on TV. A panicky news journalist is saying America is doomed and only minutes away from exploding. And if not America, at least my house. Turn off TV.
Someone once asked the question, “what would you do if you woke up tomorrow with only those things left that you thanked God for today?”
Waffle House was warm and inviting. The parking lot was mostly empty except for a few muddy trucks. My wife and I had an 11-year-old with us. She is blind.
The radicals of the left sure do get animated about abortion. Put a measure on the ballot to legalize the surgical execution of their young, and more of them will show up to vote “yea” than showed up for the “save the Palestinians” rallies at Harvard last month.
Michelangelo’s statue of David draws four thousand visitors each day the museum is open. Which is about a million and a half visitors per year. They come from all four corners.
This morning I started thinking about you. Mainly, I was thinking about what you’re going through right now. Whoever you are.
For Ted, Autumn’s Mercy September comes softly, more gentle than the steamy and sultry days of August, a harbinger of Autumn’s mercy, when the windows fling open, once again, to welcome the invigorating, brisk wind laden with hints of earth and red delicious, as if in competition with the barmbrack fresh from the oven. The …
Here and there, I have gone. Some of those experiences have shaped me, but none of those experiences have defined me.