Someone else should have a turn feeling guilty about not reading Finnegans Wake.
Walking together through Sussex and To The Lighthouse.
In a course on contemplative prayer, I assigned just six books—and we read them each twice.
When I go backpacking, I pack light—no laptop, no phone, and especially no books. But reading Belden Lane, I’m tempted to begin toting a tome or two.
Recently my wife and I moved, and the time came to decide which books I could live without. I dreaded it.
One of the reasons I was drawn to Jimmy Carter, first as an emerging national politician in the mid-1970s and then as a biographical subject decades later, was the similarity of our backgrounds. Both of us were reared in evangelical households, he in rural southwest Georgia and I in Nebraska, Minnesota, Michigan, and Iowa. We are both the oldest in our families: Carter had three younger siblings, and I have four younger brothers. We had “born-again” experiences at an early age, Carter at age 11 and me initially at, well, three years old—but that is another story.