“In Memoriam: A Memorial Day Advent Series” – Part Eight: Ticket Stubs
A tiny scrap of paper that said “I was there” – long after the lights dimmed and the moment became memory.
Read the letter →A tiny scrap of paper that said “I was there” – long after the lights dimmed and the moment became memory.
Read the letter →A simple turn of the wrist, a rush of earned air – when effort made even the smallest freedoms feel unforgettable.
Read the letter →Before security lines and separation, airports were where love lingered loud—at the gate, in every goodbye and every return.
Read the letter →Before alarms and notifications, the setting sun was our only curfew – a gentle call home written in light.
Read the letter →A wild, fleeting freedom – when being seen wasn’t recorded, and liberation lived in moments that vanished as quickly as they arrived.
Read the letter →A sip of sun-warmed childhood – where patience, play, and a backyard hose turned water into something almost sacred.
Read the letter →A one-cent relic that once filled our pockets, our rituals, and our quiet moments—until we noticed it was gone.
Read the letter →A reflection on what happens when leadership confuses leaving a legacy with leaving a logo. It’s a love letter to the idea that true legacy is about more than just a name.
Read the letter →A letter from 2025 to the year 2126, offering hope, lessons, and a vision of humanity that transcends centuries.
Read the letter →A letter to the year 2026, written on the last night of 2025, sharing hopes for a radically blessed year.
Read the letter →