The urge to write has hit. It actually started last year with random phrases of spoken word poetry running through my mind pre-work out at the YMCA. I jotted some of the better ones down. A few weeks later a friend told me they felt writing would be a part of 2018. Another friend said a similar thing a few months later. Two other friends have started writing their books now in 2019. There are so many voices out there it's rather daunting to begin. The nudge was there again earlier this week so here I am...trying. Easing in and testing the waters. I'll start off with one of last year's offerings. Poem #1 profane the holy halls of comfort with sacred words that scorch souls and set them burning Transcendent One who tickles time and minds with mirth come breathe on us again the burning breath of love catch us up in your deep kindness and spit us back into the darkness burning embers of compassion aflame afire with...
So often that's how it felt. Imogen Heap's lyrics captured it so well - you don't care a bit. For much of my life it felt like I was just a speck of dust on a cosmic carpet about which God cared not at all. Of course I knew the truth and could parrot it back to any of my fellow Christians who asked - but that deep down know it in your bones kind of confidence was lacking. If I'm honest sometimes it still is. Maybe that's why faith and love are more of a journey, a progressive revelation I lean into with the coming of age and wisdom. When I look at all the awful things that happen in the world, all the hardship and suffering it can be easier to get lost in despair than hold on to hope. Is there really a supreme being out there that has a plan? A being so audacious that they gave their creation choice and let the consequences of that enormous gift play out? If I was a supreme being or creator that's certainly not how I would do things. Entrust choice, knowledge a...
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