The Holy Spirit still breathes fire

In the coloring books and flannelgraphs of my childhood, the disciples of Pentecost stood erect with red teardrops upon their heads. They looked like rows of lit matches. My religion teacher wore her hair in a low bun that covered her ears and told us that on Pentecost, the Holy Spirit arrived like a violent wind. The rest of the class was wondering if she actually had ears under that black hair, but I was wondering how those flames stayed lit. Wouldn’t they blow out?

Daydreaming about God

Sometimes I like to sit and daydream about God. I might be under a tree at a park, watching the shadows shift through the leaves, or in my office, listening to rain splatter against my windows, or even behind the wheel of my car in a parking lot, with people loading their groceries in cars beside mine.

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