When Crickets Cry

by Charles Martin

Seconds before, God had painted the sky a mixture of black and deep blue, then smeared it with rolling wisps of cotton and sprayed it with specks of glitter, some larger than others.

A lot of dead writers feed my mind with their ever-present whisperings.

“I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something. I will not refuse to do the something I can do.”

No, I’ll not weep: I have full cause of weeping, but this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws or ere I’ll weep.

While I could understand and explain the physics behind a rainbow, Emma saw the colors.

You stir man to take pleasure in praising You, because You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in You.

Puzzles forced me to look at something from several angles before I moved on, to look again, and again, and possibly again because each piece—no matter how small or seemingly insignificant—was critical to the whole.

want to get in the business of making God-shaped cheeseburgers.”

anything in this universe reflects the fingerprint of God, it is the human heart.

“Lord, You’re the only one here who knows what You’re doing, so we ask that You come hang out with us a bit. Be the guest of honor at this table. Fill our conversations, our time, and our hearts. For”—Charlie pointed his voice in my direction—“they are the wellspring of life.”