What if I told you about a country that executed thousands of its citizens every day? What if none of those citizens had committed a single crime? What if the facts didn’t matter because they had no rights to a trial? What if I told you that those citizens were the poorest, the weakest, the … Continue reading Choices
I was the girl in black, withering all away, the dreamer on the rack, beaten down with gray, the days were years, the years were centuries waiting for this day. All the yesterdays— those pale and hollow caves— all the tossing, turning ways of lying in the graves— the thirsts were flames, the flames were … Continue reading Alive
All words dress their tiny lines and curves in black, looking much the same. They blur together— grey streets across a page, taking us to bigger places. So why do some words— made of letters like the rest— stop my eyes, catch my heart, and drain me as if they bear the beauty of a … Continue reading Those Words
When God goes forth to war the mountains shake (ant hills to the great I AM) the bulwarks break (sticks before the battering ram) and justice hunts His foes as in days of yore. He breathes a word; the hosts of men (standing brazen in their glory) fall like paper to the wind, (trampled in … Continue reading Victorious
Banish, oh my soul, the doubt— the dizzy head, the shaky feet, the tip-toe-hesitate-back-step fear of falling. Steadiness comes— not in your ability to follow— but in His ability to lead. .
The space to be human shrinks— they spin and spin their threads of rule, stitching us into straight jackets, and if we move— even slightly— against superior judgment, the fury of the world falls— lightning and thunder, dogs barking at trespassers, madwomen screaming for heads on silver platters; they are human too but cannot believe … Continue reading The Lost Art of Grace
At the rodeo the wild cheers still to a hush the sun slips away leaving a blush sky at rest above the mountains the song begins the people stand a cowboy leads a riderless horse and the flag waves in the wind. .
The king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord and so is mine. It turns like rivers upon a word of His design. Though channeled dam-ward from the start, I will not fear. He can turn the trickle of my heart anywhere— but only if He wants. .
Mr. Robin— the gentleman in my yard— shirt of rust, tux of grey— standing still— thoughtful, grave— bowing politely before the feast.
You were just a boy when you came to us— a gentle soul— an artist— with a big smile. We gave you food and water and let you feast your eyes on blue skies, stone mountains, flowered meadows. We led you to the gates of life, unlocked them, pushed them back on creaking hinges, just … Continue reading Choosing Death
Gratefully His 