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If every drop of water from every sea

were changed into a writer’s ink,

and every blade of grass were a pen

If the sky above were an empty page

and every person from every age a scribe,

they could not begin to convey


How deep and how wide, how long and how high

is your love – the love you gave us

How rich and how pure, how strong and secure

your covenant, and the blood that saved us

The wisest man could not explain

The universe cannot contain your wonders


If each grain of sand on every beach

stood for one promise you are faithful to keep,

and every star an act of your grace

And if every schoolchild stood up to count

for a thousand years, the final amount,

though it fill the vastness of space would fail to say


How deep and how wide, how long and how high

is your love, the love you gave us

How rich and how pure, how strong and secure

your covenant, and the blood that saved us

The wisest man could not explain

The universe cannot contain your wonders, Lord!


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Palming the Universe


You are beautiful, O God

above all artistry or design

You are décor never before imagined, spendidly alone

You were before anything else was known

outlasting every thing or being or ideal

More than real, more than living

beyond any picture or symbol, color,

sound or sight.

You eclipse all light.

Undefined by any wavelength of any extreme

you blow away the spectrum.

You outweigh all gravity

Bear up every weight

fill every micron of space

hold all in one place—

palming the universe.


Yet, you painstakingly

watch out for your own, you care,

Aware of our pitiable states and woes

You interpose, intervene

Weaving random strands of broken dreams

into seams of amazing art

You can thread through

the tiniest needle of the most feeble will,

to make new the shreds of lives frayed, hearts torn apart

But that’s not what makes you so loveable:

You wade through our stench

bear up under our crudeness

filter away our hypocrisies

dig through our clay and bedrock mule-headedness—

all with one intent:

to find your divine imprint,

your deposit of treasure,

your aroma of resurrected soul,

to refine, then hold

against your breast and breathe

‘This is mine, all mine.’

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I could read for a thousand miles, traversing a whole continent of ideas, cross mountains of lofty ideals or valleys of arguments won or lost, deserts of chilled-out mental overload.

I could do it a top speed, against great yet powerless opposing winds of doctrine, creating dust clouds of speed-reading and overusing, guzzling down gallons of dreams I liked and letting go of the others in the black exhaust of rejection. (more…)

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In order for a society to continue peacefully and cohesively, there are certain foundational principles and practices which must be respected and followed. The Christian virtues of love, mercy, forgiveness, and charity among them. The Torah-derived values of justice, fairness, and restitution alongside those. (more…)

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I think, for all the deprivations, neglect, verbal and even sexual abuse I suffered as a child, I am all the better for it. For when I move, the arthritis of forgiveness touches me every time; the fractured bones of grace guide my steps, and the growling stomach of divine interventions fills my longings – all in ways difficult to explain. I believe that when we all find a destiny higher than our gender, race, nationality, and even our basest or highest desires, little else will matter. Christ transcends all of that. And as a matter of fact, he calls us to a higher place which will outlast all historical injustices or corrections, to goals which will supercede the noblest or the most strident efforts, and to outcomes which will outweigh the most weighty or ominous of intentions.

So, even if I die as a complete unknown, as a pauper, or ignominiously as a Joe on Skid Row, I want the world to know that Jesus is and always has been my hero, my general, my savior, and my friend, that pleasing him was my constant undying wish, and that knowing any action in my life glorified him in some small was worth it all.

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A Tired Democracy

G.K. Chesterton said “despotism is a tired democracy.” I see a tendency toward fatigue in America today. We are tired of policing the world, weary of patriotism, exhausted from defending the family, ashamed of justifying the wealthy, red-faced over political wrangling, and basically sick of leading the free world. The Greeks passed the banner to Rome. To whom can we pass it and give our arms a rest?

What worries me about America is that we will lose our freedoms and institutions born from those freedoms not because they have become weakened, but because of their very greatness. We are made to feel guilty, somehow undeserving of the powerful pillars that hold up this temple we call home. We are made to think America is great because of her exploitation of people, races, and resources and not because of her leadership and stewardship; that our wealth comes from greed and not from our graciousness and magnanimity; that our liberties come from the licenses of government and not from the laws of God; and that our indomitable spirit comes from a stubborn unwillingness to recognize our debt to the environment and the animal kingdom and not from a legacy of uniquely-created beings charged with domination and given the ability to face down catastrophes and forge new frontiers.

A guilt-ridden nation is a helpless nation that will not rise to her own defense. Will we accept the fires of rage as a cleansing agent within our cities? Will we acquiesce to looting in the name of redistribution of wealth as a natural measure of justice? Will we offer up as a sacrifice symbols of greed to satisfy the drooling masses whose stomachs churn with envy?

Should we believe the lie that says there is nothing more powerful than an idea whose time has come, when that idea is destructive, horrific, and final?

I say we must not, and we never will.


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