It’s easy to be disenchanted. It’s tough to walk around homesick with your nose to the sunrise, knowing Something is out there, haunting your loves and your pains. I woke up wounded on a summer night 1986. That wound, magnificently gashed too deep to see, will only fully heal when I’m in the arms of that relentless Someone. Caught up into a higher life, “being pulled into God, by God,” while still remaining myself.

That’s where the magic smolders eternal. In an ordinary prayer. That’s where I hear him singing.

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