Weekend Review: Scapegoats, Nuns, and the Kind Freemans

Another week of 2016, burned to the ground. Burn baby, burn! But before we sweep out the ashes and start the whole shebang over again (Sunday is coming), let's take recap this week's good links.


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I've been finishing up Sunil Yapa's book, Your Heart is a Muscle the Size of a Fist. Set in the World Trade Organization riots of 1999, Your Heart moves with a staccato pace, and explores the relationships on both sides of the teargas. If you're a fan of fiction, of social justice, and of well-written stories, you won't want to miss Your Heart is a Muscle the Size of a Fist. Trust me. (Rated R for language and violent content.)


What's with all this talk of Trump winning over the Christians? According to Ross Douthat, "Trump is losing the most active believers, but he’s winning in what I’ve previously termed the 'Christian penumbra' — the areas of American society (parts of the South very much included) where active religiosity has weakened, but a Christian-ish residue remains."

Do you know Emily Freeman? She's one of the good ones, a writer bent toward creating space for your soul to breathe. And in this season of political turmoil, she's teaching us how to pray for kindness.

What happens when one drunk-driving, illegal immigrant slams into a car full of nuns, killing one? Don't miss this piece at Mockingbird about scapegoating, nuns, and the power of forgiveness.

Who wants to learn better writing habits? Check out these 10 writing tips from original "Mad Man," David Oglivy. As always, Brain Pickings supplies the goods.



This is beautiful in every way.

Thanks for reading along. I'll see you next week!


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Good Links: The Irish Music Edition

It's a lazy Saturday here at the casa de la Haines. My parents--good folks who make their home in the River Valley an hour south of here--offered to keep the children for the weekend. So, instead of waking to the low rumble of a small circus and the constant call for "juice, blankie, breakfast, books," we woke to the delightful sounds of birds chirping outside our window. I'm almost unsure how to handle the sense of serenity in the house. It's near enigmatic.

We have loads of what southerners call "runnin around" to do today, what with church obligations, a wedding, and even more church obligations. But, for the most part, Amber and I get to run around together, holding hands and acting like dating teenagers again. We may score some pastries and eat a slice of cheesecake for lunch. We may drink a fully-leaded Coca-Cola. Who knows what glories the day will bestow?

This morning, I'm thankful for parents who give respite when needed. Yes, my folks are River Valley dwellers, but I don't hold that against them. They're the best.

Speaking of respite, consider kicking back and enjoying a few good links, and a load of good Irish Tunes. (After all, this was the week of the Irish, right?).


***** LINKS:

Read of how an Israeli man sang love to my wife.

"Yet, it is also a fact that we are finite (finite energy, finite vision, finite capacity) and cannot possibly carry the burden (at least not in any deep, meaningful way) of everything." ~Winn Collier

"This is death. The creeping, spine-tingling silence of hushed voices and a room full of people who don't know each other that well. Someone laugh, I want to say. Someone talk louder. Aunt Margie would hate that we're all being so proper." ~Andrea Burke 

If you missed my little discussion of the Two Fasts, take a listen.



I'll be writing more about this soon.