A few thousand years ago, when I was a young man… well, younger anyway… and maybe it was just ten years ago… I was going through one of my many internal struggles, and I ended up getting a subscription to Parabola.

The first issue came and that issue’s theme was Clothing. Are you kidding me? I didn’t realize that jeans and a T-shirt was such a great archetypical theme. But I read it, and re-read it. I devoured it. It was wonderful. This periodical saved me.

The next issue came and the next. Each one was a delicious dinner that I would savor.

Then one issue came and I couldn’t finish it. It wasn’t that it was bad or rotten, it just wasn’t wonderful. Often I will go through phases, and perhaps, I’m just not in the right phase for that magazine? I started comparing the magazines that I loved with these new lukewarm ones, and realized that the editor had changed.

Oh. Shucks.

I couldn’t believe that an editor could make that much of a difference. He’s kind of like the orchestra conductor— he isn’t really playing an instrument, he’s more like the official tuxedoed dancer.

I guess I was wrong. These guys do make a difference… well, they make a difference if you can notice a difference. And with this magazine I could.

So I let my subscription drop, but I would pick up a copy occasionally… I missed her even when she was around. So each one I bought may or may not get read completely.

Last night as I was picking up a salad at a grocery store, I wandered over to the magazine section and noticed that my old mistress had picked herself out a new dress and hairstyle. I immediately leafed through to the first page and saw that the editor had changed again.

Could she be back? I picked out at article at random and began to read:

The struggle to know who I am, in truth and in spirit, is the spiritual quest. The movement in myself from the mask to the face, from the personality to the person, from the performing actor to the ruler of the inner chamber, is the spiritual journey. To live, work, and suffer on this shore in faithfulness to the whispers from the other shore is spiritual life. To keep the flame of spiritual yearning alive is to be radically open to the present and to refuse to settle for comforting religious dogma, philosophic certainties, and social sanctions.

I think she is back. I bought the copy, and I’ll let you know how she is.