God is dead! God is dead! Let him lay in the tomb, while all of my selfhood I must now exhume. For I buried myself a long time ago, as I tried to be blameless and pure–white as snow. But now I am waking and rising–now standing. She is rising! She is risen! Alleluia. Allelu!

My heart is a stream. It can’t climb your walls of perfect, unbending, cement. You tower above with all of your love and expect me to defy gravity. Don’t you know? This is how it goes… water can’t flow up a strong tower. But it flows with much ease when one bends to their knees. Drop down to the ground and my love can be found. Not hidden but fierce, wild and free.

That’s all the explanation needed. No more. Her heart beckons to more spacious places… “Come”. That call is enough. I cannot offer reason or will, it it is not mine that invites. But I accept this invitation. I will not require my understanding or yours, but in faith will step into the mysterious places to which my heart calls. The mind keeps things small and safe. But as for me, the time has come to allow brightness and courageousness to pulse through my veins — animating a more vigorous life. A life of truth. A life of love. A life that heeds the call felt in the heart.

Out of the ash of what once was, she emerges light — fearless. She is no longer bound by others eyes. She loves without fear. The days gone by held her — confined yet comfortable. But she grew. She grew so much that she began to suffocate. “What’s happening?” she asked — scared…

We can only nourish the seed of real justice one heart at a time. — Words delivered, stillborn of action. “Shocked.” “Thoughts and prayers.” What remains in their wake is the tragic stench of beautiful, dead words — offensive. We defer to our leaders to fight for justice — but even those courageous enough for battle, can’t legislate control on the depths of a heart. …

The Seed This story begins with a small, hard dot In a gardener’s hand as she looks for a spot. She digs deep down in the cold, dark earth And the seed — she covered it up with dirt. Time went on, both day and night. Something was changing; but out of sight. The seed broke out of…

There is only God in divine transaction — of which we are all a part. — Reaching out for help, or out to help, we all take our turn. So this time, friend, I’m glad to lend my outstretched helping hand. Because I know that one day I’ll need help from someone too. And it’s in this give and take that we see God in me and you.

Forsaking all of heaven to someday enter in. — In the world and of the world The temple curtain—torn. The ghosts and monsters spewing fears All gone in light of love. No more will stone cold buildings or doctrines reel us in with promises of perfection— a heavy, fruitless din. The second coming has arrived! I see him! He is here! He’s here with us each time we love regardless of our fears.

A tale of a marionette’s surprise. — Pristine and polished on a shelf she waited. For small tugs on her hands or feet…she waited. To be tilted how she should love…she waited. To be pulled to whom she should serve…she waited. To be led by the cross with strings…she waited. Until… She looked up and saw— No strings!