I Have a Few Questions

I have a few questions.

How . . . ?

Is it . . . ? 

What  . . . ?

I scratch them on a page in my journal. One after another; they keep coming.

Through writing comes understanding. Not answers but illumination.

I scribble prayer.

(I wonder: is it okay to use such a common word alongside a holy one?

Then I remember: that’s the way this whole thing plays out.)

Grace for today.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.

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