The hand was stretched out before me, palm up.
I searched through my assets, frantically counting up my balances, determining what I could do to satisfy the demand. Nothing. Nothing of substance to present as a token of my credibility, any promises that I would pay when I had the chance mocked and rejected.
And so my collector wiped clean my holdings, picking up every representation of value and worth I had held on to so dearly, handling my goods like they were a hindrance to him. And banished me from the game.
How fitting that Tax Day falls between Good Friday and Easter.
The day our accounts are investigated and the burden of our debt is weighed makes many of us worry about paying off what we owe while others grumble about the authority that demands payment. That day when “each of us will give an account of himself to God.” (Romans 14:12)
We are a culture that has to have it all: all the intensity, all the feels, all the best.
We vote small town folk into superstar status. Everyone gets to be a hero -- just check YouTube for the most recent. We vie for rankings that supersede normal reckoning -- remember how a 4.0 used to be the best GPA possible? And let’s not forget the Big Mac is now considered average.
Darkness is pushed back as a spotlight blares on. It's over my head and I am in the middle of its sharply defined circle of light.
Laura England Miller