We passed Columbia, the state furnace, inhaling hot garnet air as if straight from Aunt Bea’s oven.

We spend vast amounts of time and energy crafting a thesis in our heads of how life should play out. Then Almighty God spends an incredibly brief amount of time blowing our thesis to bits.

But in God's shadow I had been dazzled by the detour, amazed at the fraternity, and flabbergasted by the depth that comes from simplicity, from serving in a village that was shabby, green, and pulsing with life.

Because outside of God's shadow I was just a gaudy plastic float filled with stubborn air, drifting off like a blind Jonah in search of Plan B, manipulating circumstances and wondering why I kept waking up in my very own Tarshish.

Briefly, I tried to imitate her. But, I had only the form, not the substance.

He mounted the board in roughly the same manner as a walrus wound mount a balance beam.

The Lone Ranger is a pagan child. If I ever have kids, I'm home-schooling 'em.

We're all gonna become overweight sponges if we just soak up spiritual data and never get out into the world to be squeezed.

As if it were a guest of honor bowing out prematurely, the sun sank wide-eyed and mischievous, to where staring was permissible and admiration was the only option, a pastel departure as wondrous and unique as fingerprint.

Above the dunes of Pawleys Island a choir of sea oats bent westward, tickling the sunset and waving g'night.