“There’s a showgirl in this hotel room. She’s transposed on the back wall, accented by a couch and a lamp. Next to her and all she might offer, my kind of more still seems pretty benign. I’m not craving the royal flush, the casual hookup, or the all-you-can-eat buffets below. My more is not Vegas more. It’s noble, moderate more.” Nichole Woo
"The sweetness of sugarcane stalks above, numbs me to their anguish below. Unlike my Father, I am slow to hear them, and quick to snap a selfie."
It was a bad hair day that lasted about 20 years . . .
"The knot cinches up tight in my stomach—so tight I can barely breathe." That’s the thing about knots: The harder you pull, the stronger they get. Me? I’ve spent a lifetime pulling.
Jesus . . . was homeless.
My recent run-in . . . left me grounded, under a pile of feathers and melted wax.
Leslie Verner cracks the door open to the connection we crave - at a time we need it the most.
This hamster wheel has left me soul-tired and gasping for breath. Just recently, though, I’ve crashed into something that’s stopped the spinning . . .
When I peek into my own heart, I see him sitting there too: My very own metaphorical money frog, snugly tucked away, under blankets of saintly denial.
Living in this space makes me ponder purpose anew. There will always, always be the next level, street crossing or conquest ahead. And for a few moments, I’ll feel I’ve arrived - as if I have purpose in my cross-hairs. But I’m starting to realize that in this game, purpose is ever-elusive.