Things we pick up along the path
Sticks and shiny pebbles
Memories of bird song and laughter
Smiles and tears and morphing clouds
Camp fires and songs we love
Of these we compose
Our mosaic lives
:- Doug.
Mosaic artist: in a sense that is my work. People come to me when their lives have become shards. Dad has just gone into the nursing home. Mom is forced to new tasks when she just wants to be a wife. Bills are unimaginably high. The children are helping—in pieces. Nothing makes sense, pieces of our lives are scattered. My work is to help these people piece together the beauty and goodness out of the new truth of their lives.
:- Doug.
The cross calls us to divine humanity, to touch and be touched, to soften, to be kind and heartful. To turn, return.
:- Doug.
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