Dear Sin, You keep on knocking on the door, tempting me in every way you can. I have broken my bondage with you, I have chosen to let you go; yet you keep coming back.
Have you ever wondered how much a cloud weighs? It’s a strange question, I know, but it’s something that came to mind one Sunday as I was taking in one of my favorite sights from the window by my bedside—a blue sky dotted with puffy, snow-white clouds.
One of my most vivid memories of college was my Sunday morning routine. I would wake up at 7:00 a.m. to attend a rehearsal before the early service at my local church, where I played the cello in the ensemble.
To start a fire for an outdoor barbecue, I was instructed to arrange the charcoal pieces close together, so that when the briquette—a compressed block of combustible material like sawdust and woodchip—was lit, the flames would spread from one piece to another quickly.
I always feel a tinge of envy whenever I see a doting father chatting and laughing with his child. I have never had such happy memories. When I was 11 years old, my parents divorced after my father had an affair.