T. S. Eliot
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Arriving late for Christmas day itself, like the magi that arrived much later at the door to Jesus’ home (see Matthew 2:1-12), I come bearing three gifts: two poems and a song. I have spent the last seven days savoring time with family between my son’s wedding and celebrating Christmas itself. If you have a
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For weeks now, there has been silence – the stationary pen that only marks the page of my journal when I nod off in bed. Some call it writer’s block; I call it “the dehydrated soul groping about in desert landscapes.” I feel like one of T. S. Eliot’s hollow men. I am a dried


