Drawing his neck upward, he wrenched his mouth open in a final, silent cry — the last gesture he would ever make. The bull’s severed head, pooling now in it’s own blood, stood upright by the stump of his neck in the dusty arena. The nearby ritual of the Malaysian priest was lost to me. All I could see …
Conflicted and Anxious
Dear Mentor, I really want to clearly portray the Life of Christ within me, but it seems that I slip up all too frequently. What’s wrong with me? …
On the Street Where I Live
I wanted to share with you a picture of my town. No, I didn’t use Instagram or some cool filter on my lens. We’d had one of those dust bowl days with wind gusts up to 35 miles an hour. And it really irked me. Something about seeing air – that is supposed to be transparent – …