Hallelujahs and Amens were ordinary parts of the Sunday morning service in the tiny country church. So was the swish of a flushing toilet.
Two weeks ago, in a small Texas town, a mother closed her car door and walked away, forgetting about her child in the car seat. Five hours passed. Finally she remembered. Her little boy would have turned two this month. And we say, “I would never do that.”
The FBI director, James Comey, announced yesterday that his bureau would not recommend that Hillary Clinton face criminal charges regarding how she (mis)handled classified documents while serving as secretary of state. Even though she had been "extremely careless," Comey said that her actions were not worthy of prosecution. In other words, Hillary goes unpunished.
There are parts of the Bible I don’t like to read. No, it’s not the boring genealogies. Or the staccato proverbs. These parts are different. They don’t put me to sleep; they awaken within my conscience a beast I prefer to let slumber. The more I read them, the more he growls. Bares his teeth. Roars.
We go into hiding for various reasons. We’re running from something or someone. For some, it’s a husband's fist. Others an outstanding warrant or tyrannical parents. Some of us are just trying to stay alive to see another sunrise. We know that if we stay, death by another's hand, or our own, will likely come. Whatever the reason, when we run, we nurture at least a spark of hope that, one day, we’ll be free from what pursues us.
For more years than I care to remember, a stalker has cast her shadow over my life. She trails me to work, spies on me at home, skulks nearby when I go out on the town. Never is she far away, and never does she slack in her pursuit. She’s a different breed of stalker, however, so reporting her to the police will do no good.