Sublime

Yannaras,

We arrived at the olive oil mill in Maussane two months early. The new crop of olives wouldn’t be gathered until January, and that was the time to buy oil at its most fresh. Luckily, said the manager of the mill, last year’s crop had been plentiful and there was still some oil left. If we would like to have a look around, he would pack a dozen lite

Given my limited time, though, I’ve had to think about how I might reinforce my bonds with them. So I’m building separate lists of my memories of each of the kids. I’m making videos so they can see me talking about what they’ve meant to me. I’m writing letters to them. I also see the video of my last lecture—and this book, too—as pieces of myself t

The artists without children are delighted by all the free time, for a time, until time itself begins to take on an accusatory look, a judgmental cast, because the fact is it is hard to fill all this time sufficiently, given the sufferings of others.

Nothing can stop the passage of time, but when we take refuge with God, in God, then time takes shape; we are able to count our days and make our days count. Finding meaning in time and finding one’s secure place are intimately related in this psalm.

When the gates open at last, Herr Friedrick Thiessen feels as though he is returning home after an extended absence. He spends almost every night there, and during the day he sits in his rented flat or at the pub with a glass of wine and a journal and he writes about it. Pages and pages of observations, recounting his experiences, mostly so he will