All tagged chris congdon
I have a cool job. They pay me to write, and shoot, and edit, and to share great stories of inspiration and hope. Since I haven’t posted much else recently, I thought I would share this sample of what I get to do at work.
It’s an unnatural thing to do - to walk right up to the edge, and then take one more step.
read it . . .
Anger, sorrow and optimism after General Conference 2019. (and the worst urinal on earth)
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As the caravans form and move through Mexico, about half the US population is shouting “build the wall” and the other half is deeply opposed and instead says, “we should have a conversation on immigration reform”.
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Badly framed and poorly focused, shot from the window of a moving bus, I’m not likely to forget the fleeting glimpse, imprinted in my mind, of those people about to lose everything.
read it . . .
It's eerie at first – the amplified rising and falling of pitch. A human voice? A human voice.
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Talking points become shouting points and it’s a good thing this argument is online, or they’d be punching points …
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There is no pharmacological laxative as effective as the impending start of a mountain bike race.
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The saddle of a cheap motorbike, the deck of a riverboat, the open bed of a prehistoric pickup truck - in Africa, I’m happiest on the move.
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I don’t even see a church, a cemetery or a tavern, so I can only conclude that the place is free from sin and death. That, by definition, would make it heaven.
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Defending the rich. Someone has to. (They should pay me for this.)
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more white people looking at the wall.
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‘the hell happened here?
Ask it as a question or just state the obvious.
The hell happened here.
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As much as I hated doing so, I ran the stop sign. I only had nine blocks to go and I was racing a thunderstorm. I hoped nobody was watching.
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he’ll hide in the ditch and stay down until I’m past. Then he’ll cross the road behind me and sprint up on my other side where I’m not expecting him and just about the time I think I’ve made it …
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Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow . . . one step and one day at a time, with courage and perseverance, we work our way through the month of March.
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as I watch, the ball gradually fades to the left and squeezes itself between the pins in an apologetic way as if it is saying, “pardon me, sorry to bother you”.
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I feel extra-masculine manhandling barbed wire, driving my Dodge through waist-high weeds and stepping in cow shit. Those are the kinds of things us city boys only get to do in our imaginations as we’re watching truck ads on TV. I hope MSL notices how broad my shoulders are.
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it's the kind of conflict that is characterized as “low-level” and “local” and it hardly makes the news here, but it isn’t low-level at all for the folks living and dying at ground-zero
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