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Kilmurvey House
by Bryana Joy
I’m not in Ireland today, but the grey sky in West Texas has been pouring steady water for over twenty-four hours. When I went running down the flo...
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Abilene: A Letter To My Children
by Bryana Joy
[I wrote this reflective letter last month as part of a final project for the Fall 2016 Semester Honors Discourse in Cultural Theory, taught by Dr...
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Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
by Bryana Joy
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Budapest
by Bryana Joy
It’s been pretty quiet around here. I came over to the site to check on things and was a bit startled by how long it had been since I’d said anythi...
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The Little Drummer Boy: A Love Story
by Bryana Joy
I learned to love Jesus at Christmas-time. I mean the kind of loving where your heart dances right over some of its beats. Where you become the sor...
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On Rubber Bands and Rejoicing, Dark Though It Is
by Bryana Joy
So the rubber band that you wear to make you stop speaking useless words? – I can’t keep it on the same wrist for half an hour. I always wondered a...
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On Sudden Celebration and Making Ready for Advent
by Bryana Joy
We were in the library when it happened. We had come over the crisp and dusky concrete walks in our overcoats and our hats and converged there und...
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Sometimes
by Bryana Joy
While I'm adjusting to a new schedule and a new city, and all out of time, here are some words by someone else, that underscore the music in the w...
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On Recent Adventures and Remembering the Bread
by Bryana Joy
"I’m going away from my home now, like a bird leaving the old nest, and I’m fond of home. This room with its four plain walls has opened out into ...
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On That Always Aching Wound
by Bryana Joy
“OH MY GOSH, I want him to stay little!” a little girl wails in a viral video that has been making its rounds this week. Sadie has just learned tha...
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What If We Are Alone? [A Marsh-Wiggle Speaks]
by Bryana Joy
Our lives are staked on such simple things, aren’t they? Because it isn’t only true that no man is an island, it’s vastly more true that no belief ...
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On Suffering, the Russian Soul, & the Kingdom of Heaven
by Bryana Joy
It’s become a byword, the Russian tradition of suffering. Apparently everyone knows that misery permeates the works of the great writers and merits...
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