Nostalgia for the still, small voice of calm

If someone, perhaps some deacon or caretaker, had asked me why I had slipped inside the church, I might have replied that I wasn’t really sure; that it had simply seemed like a good idea at the time. Some of it might have been nostalgia. I had come here as a child, Sunday after fidgetyContinue reading “Nostalgia for the still, small voice of calm”