Peace is not some passive thing, not a resolution to the news.
It is the disposition of a power position. It’s the transcendence of a bounded and restricted view.

Wouldn’t God’s healing in every aspect of my life be a more powerful testimony than any man-made cure?

My companion imagines I am contemplating the river. But I am absorbed in the One who dips us down in water and raises up new life.  

The impossibility of time marching is ours to bear, to embrace.

What we contemplate in our closed circles, sitting on our metal folding chairs, isn't meant to remain a secret, it is meant to change the world.

We are not helpless in the “looking on.” We who are indwelt with the Spirit are limitless, our petitions go forward as convoys of advancing help.

T

We were pioneers. The ones who loaded our belongings into the station wagon and headed across the plains.

The things most dangerous are not always obvious, but lurking just beneath the surface.

Beautiful people don’t just happen. They are forged in the hardest of hard moments.

God's love isn't complicated. It shows up in our everyday activities of mixing turkey with onion, in filling our homes with the smells of comfort and love.

There is a kind of rare beauty in a life lived in cadence body/mind/spirit. This is the apprehended wisdom of the soul…and I can’t get enough of it, particularly now.

Life without pretense. The longing for more moments like this one overcomes me as we continue our walk.

The life I want isn’t something wished for, but something willed with everything that I am.

Healing is something the body does when we align with the holy work of transformation in our lives. What are the things that heal you?

It was this relentless whisper, “Write about Baltimore,” that came to me like a long-lost friend past this week. That it has been ten years wasn’t even on my radar, until I noticed the date stamp when I went searching for the images—July 28, 2014.

We seek after the things we can explain or easily comprehend. But what of the mysteries that are an endless marvel, the wonders that can never be fully understood?

He doesn’t have a name. After four days with his long muzzle and grey/green eyes pressed against my cheek, I am still waiting for him to tell me who he is.

The sitting down to write this comes with revelation that I have had a surprising number of encounters with the supernatural. This one, above all the others, lives in me like some permanent alteration of my being, like a facelift on the inside.

As you can see by my expression, catching a football off a diving board is serious business. There are the calculations. The intense concentration. And the ability to balance until the timing is just right.

I awoke with this image in my head, of a lawn mower tied to a rope and hoisted down a steep slope. But it wasn’t some inexplicable dream. It was a scene from my past.