A disheveled man. A half filled coffee cup. A spiral notebook & a pile of papers. A counter in an empty diner, in the middle of the afternoon. Sitting alone, it was evident he wanted to be undisturbed. As long as the bored waitress looked up from her glossy magazine & kept the sludge coming, it was well. He was known as a good tipper, so his presence-however gruff-was tolerated, even welcomed. To an outsider, he appeared borderline crazed; but that was an illusion. A tragic snap judgement. The diner counter was his office, much as the wall street warriors blocks away had their corner fiefdoms. It was where some of most famous passages were written, where scenes had been blocked out. He diagramed scripts, much as his teacher/wife did to sentences with her classes. It was home, no movie magic there.
Women of God can never be like women of the world. The world has enough women who are tough; we need women who are tender. There are enough women who are coarse; we need women who are kind. There are enough women who are rude; we need women who are refined. We have enough women of fame and fortune; we need more women of faith. We have enough greed; we need more goodness. We have enough vanity; we need more virtue. We have enough popularity; we need more purity. Margaret D. Nadauld
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