…stories and poetry to touch, teach, & turn the heart toward truth.



lest I should lust
and enlarge the list
of all that I’ve lost
in the loop of sin,
I must trust at last
in the love of my Lord
in his loyal liberation
of my flesh from its fits



To Conspire

True conspiracy

To cleanse corruption

Is a science—soft

For the wise and noble.

Conspiracy theory

To corrupt the clean

Is a game—hard

For the ignorant and ignoble.

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We Are the Future

My friends and brothers

My children’s children

We are the future.

Impoverishment may come

Oppression may strike hard

We fear the future.

We are the creation of God

He has called us to love Him

We serve the future.

Tomorrow is not promised

Your journey is not known

We know the future.

Don’t stop seeking your purpose

Find true life in God’s commands

We need the future.

Though untold sadness may arise

There is hope we must not forget

We have the future.

Join with me to see a better world

After this world has passed away

We love the future.

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True Healing’s Truth


Trust me with all,

I won’t tell a soul.

Tell me your secrets,

I want to know you.

Let down your guard,

Don’t let fear control.

Open your arms,

Let love trickle through.

Like white birds in snow,

Don’t let truth elude.

You might never know,

You missed what was true.

A tree without leaves,

You’re caught in the nude.

Your life signs are veiled.

I’ll chisel your bark,

For life hid within,

For love to reveal.

Your heart isn’t dead!

For true love it grieves.

The truth you can win,

Would cover your skin.

The rays of green spring,

Could warm you all through.

‘Neath love’s gentle sun,

Your heart could embark,

And never turn back,

To fall like cold snow.

Open your hands.

Let go of the lies.

You’ll be ready soon,

For true healing’s truth.

Life’s not about you.

This freedom is true.

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A False & Futile Reality

I allowed myself, over many years and through many self-serving practices, to create a dreamworld in which I thought I could escape from what I considered undesirable. This was a world where nothing existed except for what I desired. If I chose to remove God from it–which I usually, if not always, did because I envisioned myself as the god–I simply chose to ignore what I knew to be right.

This was my world, and it was my law which was given the illusion of power. I even allowed my world the luxury of believing there to be no consequence for sin. The only sin I declared to exist was that which I did not want, and its consequence was simply to not exist.

In my world, God was the transgressor, because He was the One telling me that what happened in my world–the very existence of my dreamworld even–was wrong. He insisted that I would suffer consequences in the real world–His world–for my rebellion. In stubborn, idiotic incredulity, I simply created counter laws in my world which dismissed his laws. I was a rebel.

As a jealous and selfish little god, I was quite territorial of my imaginative haven of rest. The more God impressed Himself on me–infiltrating every bulwark I raised to protect my little world from His assaulting love–the more desperate I became to protect myself–and my little world–from being removed from my imagined control. The deeper I went into my dreamworld, the longer I could stay and avoid the undesirable truths of God’s holy reality.

Many years later, and only slightly wiser, I began the strenuous and lengthy process of deconstructing my safe haven of denial. I quickly learned that this is very difficult work–nearly impossible. The first step I had to take was to admit, even to myself, that I am a completely lousy imitation of a god. The real God is no longer wrong. I am the one who was wrong all along, and I am needing to readmit that every day.

The things I allowed myself to do with such illusions of freedom in that world are being forced to cease. They do not want to be abandoned…at all! The little god in me–what the real God calls my flesh–still lives under the illusion that he deserves a place of royalty in my heart. He alone believes I owe him some twisted form of loyalty, but what he doesn’t realize is that, compared to the real God, he doesn’t have even half a leg on which to stand.

Even yet, he was the god of my secret world for so long that I sometimes get lost in the real world, and find myself wandering shamefully into my not-so-secret, less-than-private world of secrecy and escape. When this happens, I often find myself bewildered and sickened by my own foolish ignorance. How could I go back to a place that leaves me feeling so miserable? Worse yet, how could I let my flesh be a god to me, when the real God literally gave His life to free me time and time again from all the misery I suffered so long when I would try to hide from the truth?

God’s truth is so beautiful, that it invigorates every inch of me with awe, love, and hope. Even still, that measly old god, called flesh, seeks to preserve every possible claim he can over my old world–my old self. Between his stubbornness and the steady encouragement of his accomplice, the devil–who is at the same time his worst enemy–my little world of selfish pleasures has managed to remain year after year, day after day, haunting me.

It needs to be ended. I am ready. I am desperate for the real world, the one in which the real God is always God, and His goodness and truth are allowed to be alive in the real me at all times.

I am ready for complete sanctification. I am ready to be holy. Dear God, please make the real me emulate the real You. Help me to forever abandon my futile attempts to control. This is my most beautiful dream. This is what You desire. Give me the desires of Your heart.


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Beauty out of Fear

I am cold, not wanting to forget it.

I am tired, not wanting to admit it.

I am used, not wanting to remember.

I am done, but life goes on forever.

I’m afraid, crippled by reality.

I’m wounded, a war-ravaged city.

I’m controlled, no one’s but my own.

I’ve begun, but I’m all alone.

I’m in pain, but lies disguise the truth.

I’m trouble, as foolish as my youth.

I’m a fool, but have chosen nothing better.

I am dead, smoking gun and scribbled letter.

I’m bitter, not wanting to forgive them.

I deny, but shame is still my anthem.

I’m guilty, but humility is weakness.

I am lost, but love this wilderness.

I worry, but nothing will improve.

I’m stubborn, my pride won’t let me move.

I chose this, but how do I unchoose?

I would win, if I knew how not to lose.

I give up, no reason to go on.

I am new, the old ‘myself’ is gone.

I’m redeemed, I know now why I’m here.

I’m broken but fixed, beauty from fear.