The church building was not old enough to be on the historic registry, but old enough that two or three generations had passed through its pews. It had seen better days but was by no means falling apart. The sanctuary was always well-kept and efficiently cleaned by the church secretary at least once a week, and the classrooms—though sparsely furnished—were miraculously well-ordered for being inhabited by children under ten for at least two hours every Sunday. Even the “youth room” for adolescents with its outdated video game consoles and heaps of board games with missing pieces had a certain homey cleanliness.               Every Sunday, without fail, the pastor would come in after the choir sang exactly two hymns and the church bulletin was read verbatim. He would open his Bible to a passage from the New Testament and read through his outline, always ending with an inspirational quote, a poem, or an illustrative anecd...

For all your life you have been told You can never pay for what you owe So you struggle and strive, work yourself to the bone Trying to pay back a debt not your own For Love does not ask for remuneration And Yahweh never wanted any kind of payment For the fullness of Love that He’s given to you, And He never claimed you owed Him any fruit He said you would show yourself for who you are By bearing the fruit that abides in your Heart, But He never asked you to prove your own worth And He never said you were under a curse ‘Twas religion who taught you and told you these lies That you had to make up for your previous life And prove that you had any reason for being By building up monuments to your new King Go and save all the nations! religion did cry, By putting them in bondage, adding to our lie, Like the Pharisees seeking out one proselyte And making him two times the son of the night Build up the Kingdom! religion commanded Using yo...

Tonight,                                                                                                              I had someone ask me if the pain were any less Now that it’s been six months since the loss, The biggest transition so far of my life, And I realized for the first time That this pain will always be this deep part of me, It will never be any shallower— Though perhaps it may seem so as I grow bigger— It will always be there ...

Once upon a time, once and for all, and before time itself was The Great Puzzle Maker, His fame renowned throughout the worlds by His ability to create puzzling mysteries able to hide the greatest treasures ever known in plain sight. The mystique of His trade buried deep in the complexities of design yet beautifully simple in execution and form hidden from all except those with the singularity of eyes. It was the Great Puzzle Maker’s greatest desire to build the most intricate of all puzzles, one that would defy all explanation--a puzzle that was deeply intricate, uniquely inseparable, and inescapably dependent upon not only the fullness of the design, but also each individual piece. Ego, the Great Puzzle Maker, wished that each piece have a choice. In doing so, He could create the opportunity for each piece to share the treasure inside and discover the boundless treasures of the other pieces and of the puzzle and also use the treasure for themselves. Ego’s intention was for each piec...

The signs of the end of the age have been here for ever so long, And I have been foretelling what I have sensed in my spirit, I am awed that men are not out in the streets exclaiming at this transition time, And I wonder if the ancient people were aware when Yahshua died That in that moment the entire world changed, Those in Rome and Athens, those in what would be India and England, Even in Jerusalem there were some who did not know… And today as great men pass on to other places and times, There are just as many signs Heralding the end and the beginning, A whole new world, a New Covenant is coming, And though like the disciples we weep at what is ending, We also have sight to rejoice at the beginning, For we will not be like Mary Magdalene going to a tomb to anoint a dead body, And we will not be like Simon Peter returning to his boat to take up former trades, But we await with clear anticipation the surety of Resurrection And the beginning of an Age ...

It was said that all the world’s a stage, But what’s the purpose of the Play If not to show the Love of Christ, The reason that We are alive But what is my role in this expression And can I get a full perspective, Am I a character in the Play Or is there more in vision’s way? I am the person on the stage My life’s full view for some wise sage To take and know Love’s fully beauty As it is expressed in me And who is greater here to know Than the one who’s lived it so, My life shows me just who I AM And the Love with which I made this man Yet I am the author of the Play, I wrote my life to be this way Put every detail, every nuance All the Truth both past and future I am also the audience Observing my life from great distance So I can see the Tapestry, The fullness of the Life I lead As these perspectives come to One I learn the greatest depths of Love And ever-growing, all-increasing, I see the Play is never-ceasing ...

Grief is a delicate balance Between touching a wound just enough To allow Yahweh to heal it And going so far into it That you find yourself weeping in a ball on the floor for weeks on end, Between examining the hurt and the feelings of anger and betrayal And letting bitterness and distrust grow, It is a tightrope I walk daily, And the tiniest things open wounds I didn’t even know were there Until I feel the pus oozing out of this gaping hole in the pit of my heart, Sickened by the feeling of this poison running through my veins, But encouraged that the wound has been lanced And the infection can be cleaned out Progress is painful, And allowing Yahweh to open wounds is frightening, But today I am not on the floor, And maybe that’s enough of a win.