SCAR TISSUE

The muscle gave way. Like so much damp tissue paper rending in response to an overzealous lunge for a loose ball on the court. This, the destiny of someone at the end of his fifth decade playing basketball. Surgical repair is not the usual remedy for a torn gastrocnemius, commonly known as the calf muscle. Only physical rehabilitation in the hands of a physical therapist. Or in my case in the hands and with the stainless steel instruments of said therapist. When a muscle tears, unless it is surgically reconnected, scar tissue forms at the border of the tear, leaving the remaining healthy muscle permanently weakened and even more vulnerable to further tears. Hence, (I am told) the work of the

THE HEART HAS ITS REASONS

“The heart has reasons of which reason knows nothing.” -Blaise Pascal Where do we look to make sense of our lives? Our crazy, mysterious, puzzling, miraculous lives? I was recently talking with a friend who suggested that if we could all just be more rational and logical and scientific, that our world would be a better place. He’s not alone. It’s a nice thought, but I don’t find it very convincing. I certainly am not against reason. But the longer I live, the more mysterious life seems to me. The more of my past that I leave in the rear view mirror, the less I am certain that I really understand fully what it all means. The more years I’ve spent on this planet, the more puzzled I am even abo

THE STILL LIFE

Why ponder a fruit arrangement unless we’re stuck in a waiting room? The term Still Life, a flat-out oxymoron, conjures images of cut flowers, picked fruit and … you’re already bored. What if we found a deeper meaning while contemplating a genre that seems trivial? If God is in everything, where is He in a painting of produce? Being still surely won’t make us feel alive. We are compelled to be productive, to move, work and play. We obey the call of this world to live life to the fullest, to seize the day as though it’s our last! But every accomplished task cultivates the next assignment. Our work is never done and we wonder how resentment builds alongside our ambition. God marries the concep

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