In the course of my duties with the Henderson Daily News it’s not uncommon to rely considerably upon my own memory or recollection of events and conversations. To this end I also use a small voice recorder but, I admit, I use it more for confirmation than anything else.
A few days ago I was following-up on an interview I’d done with a local man and, when I quoted back to him a substantial portion of our conversation, he looked at me as though I just turned water into wine or something.
“How on earth do you remember that entire conversation?” he asked. “That was more than six months ago and there’s no telling how many things you’ve covered or people you’ve talked to since then.”
I just shrugged and used the old “photographic memory” excuse, but the truth is there’s very little my memory has in common with a camera, just ask my wife. I forget things all the time. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve forgotten the lunch or cup of hot tea she’d prepared for me, I’d own this newspaper.
Continue reading “the Persistence of Memories”
So the manufactured greeting-card holiday of Valentine’s Day has come and gone, leaving in its wake half-eaten boxes of chocolate and hothouse flowers wilting in cheap vases.
Continue reading “Love is a Choice”
I used to wait. I used to write letters, I used to sign my name.
I used to sleep at night, before the flashing lights settled deep in my brain.
During the course of the average workday I will field hundreds of emails, phone calls, and text messages.
The sheer volume of information I have to process, interpret, and relate on a given day sometimes leaves me a bit “tired in the head” by the end of the evening.
I long for quiet.
Continue reading ““…we used to wait…”“
I was born to an unwed teenage mother who was soon abandoned by the guy who got her pregnant.
To this day, I have no memory of the guy whose DNA I carry. In fact, my younger brother never met him in person, because the coward left before Mark was born.
When I read verses in the Bible about being forsaken (literally: “to relinquish” or “to denounce”) it is very easy for me to empathize with what theological concept is being taught.
My brother and I were unwanted by our “biological father” and suddenly very inconvenient to our 18- year-old mother.
But there’s still much more to this story.
Continue reading “God, as an adoptive father”