Hands knead the sprained flesh where rib number five has worked itself out of line and out of order. Ugh. Getting a massage used to be more pleasure and less work. Breathe in . . . breathe out . . . breathe through . . . The massage therapist continues along, digging out the past trapped in my body, like an archaeologist mapping a new site. Left knee cap – Cracked in 1982 while running upstairs to the light booth in Hammond Hall at Rice. Coccyx – Shattered by fall down a mar

Like most folks who work in the arts, I hate auditions. Spend a little bit of time with an actor, singer, or dancer and you’ll get a wagon-load of horror stories under the category “auditions”. It’s not much fun to be on the “other” side of the audition process either, sitting for hours watching terrified humans parade before you trying to show you their very best under lousy circumstances. The horror of it as a director/music director/producer is that you know almost inst

The miracles of the church seem to me to rest not so much upon faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly near to us from afar off, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always. – Willa Cather, (1873 -1947) U.S. novelist, poet and journalist. Growing up on the southern plains in the Texas panhandle, I have always appreciated the insights of Willa Cather. What she describes in such

This past Sunday was in the midst of Memorial Day weekend and in between all the grilling, drinking, graduations, and festivities, I spent some time thinking about freedom. It is a regular part of the vocabulary when talking about sacrifices made by members of the American military to speak of the “fight for freedom”. And I am grateful for their service and faithfulness to our nation. Still, there are other ways to “fight” for freedom. In my sermon at Mira Vista United Chu