A Familiar Accent in an Unfamiliar Place
People from small towns almost never tell you the name of their town first. They always start with the nearest big city and work their way inward.
Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
People from small towns almost never tell you the name of their town first. They always start with the nearest big city and work their way inward.
Four guys. Four ordinary guys. Our band arrived at the Oxford Performing Arts Center theater early for soundcheck.
The theater production crew was waiting for us. The soundmen were huddled onstage for a pre-show briefing. The ushers were looking over seating charts. The ladies in the ticket booth were smiling. The beverage vendors were icing down the Mick Ultra.
I like Pennsylvania. They’re nice here. They say “yous” and “yinz” and “soda pop.” They have Appalachian manners, a steelman’s work ethic, and potholes big enough to swallow Peterbilts.
Nature’s beauty evokes a deep emotional response that many interpret as a connection to God. That divine connection was evident on a recent trip to the Dakotas.
In a couple months, my wife and I will be deposited in a French airport with nothing but backpacks and walking shoes. We will traverse 500 miles on foot, hiking the breadth of Spain, from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to Santiago de Compostela.
“If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me fast.” (Psalm 139:9-10)
God is the God of the universe, but he’s also the God who is sitting next to you right now.