Bill Gnade on the Questions We Don’t Ask
It’s the sort of thing you learn in first grade: that funny little looping squiggle with a dot; the cobra coming out of the basket; the melting, dripping candy cane. It’s exactly that sort of thing. But it is not generally the sort of thing that changes the lives of grown men.
Yet when I sat at the corner table of Santos-Dumont, a quaint old schoolhouse turned café hidden on the edge of a southern New Hampshire town, I wasn’t thinking about grade school. I was thinking about discipline in the Christian life; whether it was necessary, and whether I had any.
A Sedate Lesson
With me were Dar . . .
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