long winters stay

I wonder about you often. I think of you everyday. I ask my soul to hold on because I know you are near. But you aren't. You are so far away. I pray - oh my soul - do I pray. I long for the moment when you find your way to me, when we meet and embrace and the fires of our hearts ignite and the passions of our soul rejoice in the depths of loves deep fountain.

I sing for you a love song, will all my heart I sing and call out your name. I sing to the mountians, yet they are deaf. I sing for the hills, but my song echos off into the distant empty space. I sing for you and I call your name, but deafness falls upon the field of our love. Cold frost deadens the meeting of our hands. I wander into a cold night praying loves fullest flame will give life to my ever-longing soul. Give life to my heart, warm this coldness I feel. Will you meet me? Will you find me? Will this fire fade into blackness of the darkest coal?

*art

go with your gut

I was sitting in a coffee shop on Sunday, and a young lady sat next to me on the sofa. The place was packed and that was the only other seat open. She asked if she could sit and I smiled and nodded. I continued my business, trying to give the impression that it was no big deal that this cute girl just sat next to me. It wasn't a big deal, after all it happens every day. Right... Though it appeared to be the case, that was not the case. For about an hour or so I could not focus on what I was doing. I was constantly thinking about what I will say in order to strike up a conversation, find out her "status", and make a decision whether to ask her out or not. So I sat nervously thinking about what to say. It wasn't that hard, because she was feverishly grading what appeared to be homework, as if she was a teacher. So at a natural transition in my business I asked, "Are you a teacher?" That was that. She was kind and responded as if not to be bothered by my questi

what is it?

God, Is it proper to approach you first with a heavy heart? Or rather should I come confessing your goodness and love and holiness even if I don't feel like it? When I come with such a desperate heaviness it is hard to confess with my lips what I know to be true of you in my heart. I have read about your every-day-new-mercy, but I have also read your servant David and have seen how you accepted his groanings when he lay on the floor in despair over the heaviness in his soul. From where my heaviness arises I cannot with full confidence say, though I know my sin and its subsequent guilt are ever-present before my eyes. Though I rest in your forgiveness I tremble when I think of my hearts willful disobedience to what is righteous, to what pertains to wholeness. I know my heart and its vileness and evil, I know what hides in the shadows from the eyes of my friends. But here is my despair: that I yearn yet I do not know what for. There is a strange and dark cloud alive over me with a mi

A trip to The Shack

Andi, the lady who owns the Dunn Brothers coffee shop I daily frequent during the work week, asked me one day a while back if I had ever read The Shack . I hadn’t. She raved over it. My friend Austin consistently slammed, among other things, its cavalier Trinitarian theology, even to the point of alleging heresy. Fact is, I’d heard all the buzz, and had no intentions of reading it. Andi told me it was rock solid and would change my life. Austin told me it is like chaff to the wind. I trust Austin ’s theological astuteness (he’s a fellow Th.M. guy) more than I trust Andi’s. Austin and I think in similar Christian historical and theological paradigms. Any way, Andi brought it up again a few weeks ago. So as not to raise any issue, I told Andi I would “think about it,” knowing full well I probably wouldn’t. I had visions of John Eldridge’s ridiculous Wild at Heart running through my head. They’re books meant to make you feel good, but in the end they’re bottomless canteens. Th

Artifacts of a Life Once Lived

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