Word: lordings
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America can be a very unforgiving place. It is not that we aren't taught to forgive. This Sunday, on Easter, millions of Christians will celebrate the embodiment of divine forgiveness, the risen Lord. The parable of the pardoning of the prodigal son is recapitulated as often on daytime soaps as in Sunday sermons. No, the problem with forgiveness has been that of all acknowledged good acts, it is the one we are most suspicious of. "To err is human, to forgive, supine," punned S.J. Perelman. In a country where the death penalty has been a proven vote getter...
...Hate can come easy," he says. "I am having a tough time, and I pray. It's not as bad now as it was. But there were several times when I found myself confronted with mixed emotions. You just pray to God, 'Lord, help me. I need some help with this anger.'" He takes solace in one other resource unavailable to those whose forgiveness is removed entirely from faith. The night his wife died, Mitchell Wright talked to his son Zane. "He asked me when Momma was coming back, and I told him she couldn't." But, he recalls...
This gave him the best possible qualification for painting the great and the good. He simply took them at their own valuation, producing vivid epitomes of social standing as he did so. His portrait of Lord Ribblesdale, for instance, remains the definitive image of the late-Victorian equestrian male: superbly grave and self-contained, tall as a tree, and yet with a touch of carelessness in the flare of his buff hunting waistcoat and the dashing arabesque of paint with which, in a single loaded stroke, Sargent conveyed the fold of his breeches--a gesture as assured...
...stands tall against the gray London sky. Pigeons peck their way through stale breadcrumbs at the base of Lord Nelson's column in Trafalgar Square. Beefeaters--the red-coated protectors of the queen--escort crowds through the Tower of London into centuries past, when tyrannical monarchs severed heads and placed them on sticks to line the wooden bridges over the River Thames. Streets blur with red and black--the red of double-decker buses and the black of box-like taxis. This is the London everyone knows. But there is another London, where the neighborhood green grocer and ironmonger putter...
Hold on. The number on her jersey is not some power grab at now vacant Airness but an allusion to the most important person in Holdsclaw's life. It refers to the 23rd Psalm, the one that begins "The Lord is my shepherd," taught to her by her grandmother June, who's been closer than a mother since Holdsclaw was 11 and her parents divorced. "I told her when she was little, anything you want, ask Him," says June. The Psalm provides this provocative promise: "Thou anointest my head with oil." So there's more than crossing Jordan involved here...