born and raised twice in the bay, I preach Jesus and him crucified
Most of us have a moment when the floor goes soft. It is not always dramatic. Sometimes it is three in the morning and you cannot stop running the numbers. Sometimes it is a phone call that rewires your whole week. Sometimes it is just the news, which has a way of feeling like rising... Continue Reading →
I have spent most of my life being almost chosen. As a kid I felt it before I had language for it. Someone else came first. I was the fallback, the one people arrived at after the person they actually wanted wasn't available. I told myself it didn't matter. It did. The pattern followed me... Continue Reading →
I think most of us come to the Beatitudes with a pen in our hand. We read the list and start checking. Poor in spirit, working on it. Meek, trying. Pure in heart, not quite but I am getting better. We turn the Sermon on the Mount into a performance review, and we walk away... Continue Reading →
Lange, Dorothea, photographer. Eighteen year-old mother from Oklahoma, now a California migrant. United States California, 1937. Mar. Photograph. https://www.loc.gov/item/2017769788/. My own family history follows that same migration route. The old man watched the boy from across the parking lot and he knew what the boy was before he knew his name. He knew it the way... Continue Reading →
There is a nameless weight most of us carry. It is not the weight of effort, though the effort is real. It is the weight of outcomes. You said the right thing to the right person at the right time. You taught the class for the third year in a row. You sent the text... Continue Reading →
Phillip W. Martin 