Article voiceover
I wake late. I slept well. I hear my family upstairs attending to their cares. Somewhere, a church bell calls strangers to prayer. I'm called to this poem. I'm already home. I'll soon ascend the stairs and greet those I love most but, for now, I'll take a few moments to break bread with my dearest ghost: Hello, father, Hello, my father's ghost, Should I tell my readers that your powwow bustle fell from its honored place on the wall as I wrote this mournful and joyous poem? Who should I thank for this eagle-feathered prank? Who threw my rhymes askew? Who lifted your bustle from the hook and draped it over my desk? I know it was just the breeze from the open window but I think of my friend who once laughed at my various disbeliefs and said, "Sherman, do you ever wonder why your life is filled with so much coincidence?" I smiled as I placed my father's powwow bustle back on the wall and then I walked upstairs and told my wife this story. She smiled and went on with her day. Why did this woman choose me? I don't know. But I'm mostly comfortable with all the mysteries. I'm good with today's spiritual lesson. And I'm grateful for all the blessings given to the world by whatever gives all the blessings.
As satisfying as a good meal!
When I was a young Christian, I would share/evangelize as opportunity and courage permitted.
As a young adult, my questions became agnosticism for several years. . .and strangers would chide/evangelize me!
Ever heard the term, 'hound of heaven?' Could you argue that. . .I dunno!
I am glad for your pen! Thank you for writing you.