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Posts Tagged ‘life’

Without realizing it, time can pass while you are busy doing “things”. It has been a year since I posted in this blog. I have been busy writing elsewhere.

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While looking at other things, for other things, on my computer, I discovered that I have not posted anything here since October 2018. My last post then was me noting I have been with Word Press for ten years.

What this tells me is that I have been way too busy with other things to post here. Willickers.

In the interim, I have published three books. One on photography. Two that are fiction e-books available through Amazon Kindle. Oh, by the way, you can find my other books and e-books on Amazon by searching for “Dave Doc Rogers”. That is me. I have set up an author’s page and linked what I have published thus far there.

amazon.com/author/davedocrogers

Cheers! Stay warm and have a great day!

Doc.

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Okay. Today, I went to show a friend who is interested in blogging my pages. I have this one for writing my opinions and others that are newsletters or creative writing. In showing the theme I use and walking him through how easy it is to use (nice run on sentence there), I noted I have been at this with WordPress for ten years this month. Wow!

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My spirit is full. My spirit and mind are full of hurt from seeing a people lost and a Church of hate. These things ought not be so.  (more…)

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Daily I wake.
Daily I see your face.
Daily I am amazed.
Daily you persisted, grace.

My friend you were.
My friend you became.
My friend you remain.
My joint adventurer, same.

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We spend a lot of time wondering who we are. It is almost like there is an intentional efforts to skew our identities. And, there is. If we were to walk in who we should be this world, this life, would be dramatically different.

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People over time have looked at Christianity with a question: why a cross? Why would a loving god put anyone through that for someone else? It had to be a cross. It had to be the most horrific example of human cost, inevitable, public, painful, without repentance. The cross made a permanent marker, a line that could only be crossed once: death.

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