Faith Meets Life: A positive spin on ‘stabbings' and ‘shootings'
This summer I bought a kayak. I've taken it onto a nearby lake a few times. I love the lake. I love seeing it in the morning when the mist is curling off the water like in a Group of Seven painting. I love seeing it in rainy weather when it is serious and grey under a matching sky. I love seeing it when the wind is up enough to give some chop to the waves. Even more, I love being on the lake when the waves put up some resistance, letting me know that I and the lake are not one. The lake just barely tolerates me in my kayak, with a sly grin, that could turn into a snarl if I venture out in the wrong winds.
This summer I realized again that the world is a place of incredible beauty. It's more than beauty. I think a better word for it would be glory, or better yet, Glory.
Another time I went to a blues festival. During a lull in the afternoon, the feature band for the night was doing a sound check. I headed to the front row. "One, two, three, four," and I was hit by a wall of sound. I could feel each bass note like hammer inside my chest. The guitar was like a well-planned storm. Tutu Jones -- "from Texas, and not just from Texas but from Dallas, Texas, and not just from Dallas, but from South Dallas!"
God's world is overflowing with astonishing sights and sounds. We are showered with them day and night. They hit like bullets if we let them. Before you pass by those faded late August leaves, look for a hint or two of grandeur. Don't be surprised if you get stabbed in the heart when you see the sun set next.
They say that most of what we learn during college years will speed the death of our planet. Why can't we sign up to learn more about what it would take to keep it alive and shooting us through with Glory?
Editorial opinions or comments expressed in this online edition of Interrobang newspaper reflect the views of the writer and are not those of the Interrobang or the Fanshawe Student Union. The Interrobang is published weekly by the Fanshawe Student Union at 1001 Fanshawe College Blvd., P.O. Box 7005, London, Ontario, N5Y 5R6 and distributed through the Fanshawe College community. Letters to the editor are welcome. All letters are subject to editing and should be emailed. All letters must be accompanied by contact information. Letters can also be submitted online by clicking here.
This summer I realized again that the world is a place of incredible beauty. It's more than beauty. I think a better word for it would be glory, or better yet, Glory.
Another time I went to a blues festival. During a lull in the afternoon, the feature band for the night was doing a sound check. I headed to the front row. "One, two, three, four," and I was hit by a wall of sound. I could feel each bass note like hammer inside my chest. The guitar was like a well-planned storm. Tutu Jones -- "from Texas, and not just from Texas but from Dallas, Texas, and not just from Dallas, but from South Dallas!"
God's world is overflowing with astonishing sights and sounds. We are showered with them day and night. They hit like bullets if we let them. Before you pass by those faded late August leaves, look for a hint or two of grandeur. Don't be surprised if you get stabbed in the heart when you see the sun set next.
They say that most of what we learn during college years will speed the death of our planet. Why can't we sign up to learn more about what it would take to keep it alive and shooting us through with Glory?
Editorial opinions or comments expressed in this online edition of Interrobang newspaper reflect the views of the writer and are not those of the Interrobang or the Fanshawe Student Union. The Interrobang is published weekly by the Fanshawe Student Union at 1001 Fanshawe College Blvd., P.O. Box 7005, London, Ontario, N5Y 5R6 and distributed through the Fanshawe College community. Letters to the editor are welcome. All letters are subject to editing and should be emailed. All letters must be accompanied by contact information. Letters can also be submitted online by clicking here.
