It's been six months. Six months since hospitals, nursing homes and assisted living began restricting visitors. That means I can't go to the hospital.
I think that any place where I would need to be armed is most likely a place I shouldn't be going anyway.
I haven't preached at a church that wasn't my own for a long, long time. I think the last time was in Kenya.
It would be just me, to say a final prayer of committal, something very important to the daughter.
My days may be numbered, but I cannot and will not take one of them for granted.
The memories that make us either cry or laugh are so much better when we can sit and share them with others.
I've always liked the idea of crawling into a tent for the night. It feels snug. Secure.
It feels like this is going to go on forever.