So many promises made by people

who think they know what they mean,

as they attempt to nullify

the beautiful journey of being.

by making assault on the foundational

aspects of what really makes us "be"

and forcing some long, drawn-out narrative

that's somehow meant to cure me.

It's like we've forgotten the novelty

of freedom, and long life, and of

the purposeful pleasure of

being relieved from the

meaningless feelings they shove,

like peddled drugs

synthetic loves

man-made chemical plugs,

true and utter uselessness.

we've replaced the dirt with linoleum

and hung an idol on the cross,

dismantled the meaning of sacrifice,

and now try to justify why we feel lost.

we've looked at the world, we saw God through it

we've intentionally defamed his name,

replacing our worship with television,

our desire for deity with fame.

And as the sins of our souls rot within us

and pour from our mouths like black-tar,

He loves us, still loves us enough to have died

and keep the promises made to our fathers.

How could it be that this love would sustain

a wretched and dying creation?

Unless through His love,

we should find ourselves dying

to the sin that our bodies were formed in.

In a true act of worship,

and deep recompense,

repentance, the turning to light,

we find ourselves planted streams of cool water,

our souls in a land with no night.

By Grace!

By Grace!

By Grace, He loved us, and in so doing

we may turn to Him,

in every desperate hour of need,

we can grow up and die to our sin.

So now that light of love burns brightly

a flame that cures impurity

and acts as a lamp for my feet

on the narrow path that I now walk

to victory.

The early morning crying

turns to laughter in the afternoon

as a hundred fifty bodies work

and warm up to the room

and their parents left, they're all alone

but summer's coming soon

and a celebration's planned for later

so there's not too much to do

movement throughout

walking in lines

to pre-determined destinations

like living on a battleship

with strict un-waivering expectations

and they make their own society

speaking their own language

layered underneath the rules

and constant observation

an energy spreads among them

and they find their hidden joys

while the good ones sit in silence

and the bad ones play with toys

somehow it seems no one looks up

to question why they're here

everybody's just waiting

for the end of another year

but somehow there still flourishes

a garden, and it grows

like the flowers in the cracks

on the pavement in the road

and they all will gather knowledge

and at some point be aware

that the childhood they miss so much

was created for them there

anxious and bitter

a pill makes it better

but God doesn't just

work on neurotransmitters

The sycophant

is hateful to himself and those around him. Striving and clawing at power he strips down his own identity, and that which was there as a child is hidden or killed as a sacrifice to the demon of covetousness. He agrees with those in power, and changes with the season, following behind and picking up the crumbs they leave him, knowing in his heart that he will always have this station unless by chance his leader dies and he might rise through intimidation.

The coward

never hurts at all, until the night comes down and he lays awake in bed writhing against the right and wrong, but in the day in safety stays and hides under the shadow. Defining righteous justice as that which can protect him. And so he does as he is told to measure his survival, all the while callous to those who suffer beside him. He will clamor and put down the ones around him in his need to ensure that the might of the mighty fights to hold on to the assets he brings.

The fool

does not know better, he wanders where he will. Feeling like he leads his life, though he never tries to live. Every wind of doctrine blows about his mind, confounding and arousing a shallow curiosity brought down as expertise of things he'll never see spoken from the mouths of other fools behind a screen. Each and every moment of his minor perception is carefully crafted to lead him in a direction away from light and life and honor, and he never will know better.

ever moving wheel

endless with a purpose

and I, standing on the precipice

can only arrive at information

by looking down at the dirt flying by past me

because the sky in perfect motion

works in patterns I can't see

I can feel it

moving me as I walk upon it

I can feel the ease of infinity

pulling me

God looks down on what He made and sees me

I look down at what he made and see Him

God directs the hearts of His children

I direct my thoughts toward Him

I am a lost and wayward body laying dying on a spinning earth

but in me is the life that God breathed into all the world

and in me is the Spirit of Promise

and He moves in with fervent potency

as time unfolds, fulfilled prophecy

and the spinning wheel winds down

to be halted and held by the hand

of the King who returns.

ancient savage wisdom,

oft sought and offered pleasure

built up upon concrete,

devised in wandering hearts

opened to infinity, an ever deeper insight

into the darkened wasted soul

of those whose eyes are cast on flesh

redundant repetitions

regarding not their sources

not knowing that they fight against

a changeless, unmet need.

the sky is just above them

the earth is just below them

the trees are nothing more than

what they've always been.

unopened hearts disgruntled,

cleaving one to another

in desperate fleeting contact

and momentary pleasure

obsessed with naked bodies

and manufactured poisons

and lies sprawled out on paper

recited by beautiful voices.

running madly, angrily

hating That Which They Refuse To Acknowledge

killing one another

unwillingly killing each other

in the search for temporal power

giving up glory

in search of some small honor.

and I am one of them,

through certain circumstance;

although within me dwells the Truth,

which sought me from eternity

who brought me into eternity

who is and was and is to come,

to burn and take all suffering.

so now, no longer savage

though the body wars with God

and tries to throw itself into the fire

at every opportunity

just like everybody else's.

Where do you get your ideas from?

Who are you?

What do you believe?

I say that a person is incapable of knowing who they are unless they are committed to doing certain things. Behaviors that have no outward utility or consistent application float away in the wind and become a history of confusion and often, carnality. How could you know yourself if you don't believe you mean anything to anybody? How can you know yourself if you don't see the impact you have on the world. How can you even exist if you don't hold any effect over anything?

What would there be for you to observe, if not the effect of your actions on others? I believe that to live without purpose, belief or responsibility is to be utterly lost and slave to base impulse. That experience goes beyond pain or depression. It literally makes you nothing.

Where do you get the narrative of your life from?

I am learning to get mine from the Bible.

Salvation is a true experience that a person goes through when putting their life in the hands of Jesus Christ. Truth is uncovered by the analysis and living of His life. There was a man, who was born immaculately, who lived a perfect life, who was the incarnate God who walked the earth and displayed a magnificent power to give life, He was hated by the blind and loved by the needy, He was killed by the established elite and He defeated death perfectly. In His wisdom he explained to us who we are and who He is, In His love he modelled righteousness for every generation that followed Him. In His grace he willingly died at the hands of the ignorant, taking our deserved punishment in our place so that we could be with Him in glory. The accounts of Jesus' existence and the experience of those who knew Him were so cogent, and powerful that they both uprooted the established religious structure at the time, but brought an exceedingly potent truth to the story of creation and acted as the distilled aspect of the message that God intended for mankind from the beginning. What was thought to be a need for religious activity and legalism was discovered to be a commandment of love.

What was thought to be a God who was separate from creation was proven to be a God intricately involved in the lives and thoughts of His people. Recognizing that the Old Testament was written in preparation for Jesus and the gospel and the Church confirms the existence of YHWH as the God of all creation. The testimonies and eyewitness accounts of his corporeal existence and resurrection lend credence to the established theological doctrine revealed to the authors of the New Testament. And the experience of the immediate change that happens in the heart during salvation and the output of a fruitful and sanctified Christian life that is manifested despite one's original nature, as facilitated by the Holy Spirit is proof enough for your's truly to be utterly convinced of the need for Christ. I was once (and recently) nothing more that a lost, hurting, and dying soul trying desperately to fashion my own god through false worship and exploration into my own dark heart. It led to addiction, sickness, heartache, debt, loss, and put me far too close to an early grave. I thank God for the deliverance that came with salvation and for the roadmap to fulfillment and purpose that is the Holy Scriptures.

I exhort you, look inward and recognize that you are inherently flawed. Understand that without God a person can do no good thing. Realize that the wages of sin truly is death, and that Hell follows shortly behind. The word Gospel means 'good news', and I encourage you to see that. Seek God, repent for your sin, turn fully to Him and find the truth that you have been running from. You need Him.

Dark room, all alone

thoughts of the day unravel

successes and failures

and all of life's treasures

combine putting the man on trial

in his lonesome desperation

and refusal to correct himself

he sins again in agony

despite the harm he does himself,

and cries.

so many scrambled values igniting in his mind

how many blessings kept from him

because of how he spends his time

and oh that guilt, that shame

that lack of sense of purpose

the coldness of a man who sleeps in shadows

the anger of that man who sees the light

the trials of a man who does not know how

to cultivate a righteous life

but oh, that sun, will come again tomorrow

and the banner of the cause will somehow rise

and the call to arms will beckon him to prosper

and he will choose whether to live among the Wise

who guides him only when he follows

and who does not tarry in correcting

the faults that lie at the bottom of the heart

of a man who tries to decide to fight

daily facing the fear of loss of life

he, who avoids the knowledge of what is right

so often just to keep from moving

out of the shackles of

cold wet darkness

in which he is most comfortable

and he waits for it to happen

as though he must take no part in it

as though he could never accomplish it

as though it were all on his shoulders to bear

and so he waits for it to happen

and does nothing

and he waits for it to happen,

and does nothing.

It is quite possible that no one but God really knew him. This slow old man standing across the counter avoided direct eye contact as he placed two items to be purchased in in front of me. Having passed through the litany of first impressions and prejudiced notions about what I think he is, he lingers in my attention, maybe even just a half a second longer than is typical with this sort of interaction. One comes to realize when in the face of hundreds of strangers each day just how fleeting life can be. Entire persons, some beautiful, some not as much (to me anyway) passing through like a river, over a 9 hour period; ceaselessly moving in the door, through the store to checkout and off to the car. An assembly line designed subtly by minds much more focused than mine on efficiency.

And here was this man, buying a drill bit and a candybar, shuffling through his wallet to find the $4.29 he owes for the lot, having neglected to round up his change for charity. Counting out pennies now he mutters some quiet apology for how long this is taking and I quickly assure him that everything is just fine while glancing to the side at the line that was now forming. In this space of time, so many meaningful questions could be asked, so many statements of love and care, some good will established between two people but I just looked at him with impatience in my heart and a banal expression of non-threatening joyishness on my face suggesting that I really wouldn't mind if this took all day.

It takes effort to care about people. It's one thing to be kind and attentive, and to do your job in a professional manner. Those are important attributes in a healthy and productive life. But to care, actually care. Well I'm not so sure I even know how to do that. This guy in front of me may be so used to being invisible that this interaction would hold no bearing on him, even if it were his last. I wondered how little thought, how little time or devotion might have been spent on him, or the person behind him for that matter. And yet through this near-pity I still notice the uprising of impatient anger, the goal-oriented "I'm just trying to do my job" attitude that sort of molds my personality here at work and there isn't a second that I'm on the clock that it doesn't feel justifiable to think of these people as "customers". Nothing more than small separate goals accomplished through short scripted interactions. No relationships, no feelings, just "hello", "how are ya", "goodbye".

He actually looks at me:

"Looks like I'm gonna have to break a fifty"

"Not a problem sir,"

money is exchanged, and our hands touch briefly causing me to instantly think that I need to use some hand sanitizer, which I will promptly do as soon as I'm done here. His change is $45.71, I have to open a roll of quarters and a baby starts to cry from the back of the line. Some of the faces are becoming noticeably upset at having to wait more than 120 seconds to get through the checkout and I can't tell if they're upset with him or me.

As I reach out to give him the money he looks me dead in the eye and closes both hands around mine, folding my hand into a tight fist with the money inside. He doesn't smile, or say anything, he just puts a finger over his lips making this now an incredibly private moment despite the eyes of strangers on us.

It was the nicest thing a person had done for me in a long time.