Finally understanding what it is to be baptized into Christ’s death.
01

Poetry
My father’s been dead for thirty years but when he appears behind my shoulder offering advice, or condemnation, or a quiet pride in something I’ve done that isn’t even thistledown or tiny shavings of balsa wood in the eyes of the world —“Albie, grip in the middle and turn with a steady pressure”—it’s measurable, if […]