Life will fill in
the hidden parts of the mind
the blank spaces now full
with either good or evil;
most likely evil, unless
we know the one who removes
all evil from its throne.
He dictates our lives.

That is what I’ve feared.
Stating my life is not my own
even if it already isn’t
gives away the appearance of power.
I like to seem in control.
But I must turn over the reins.

For there are colonies in my mind
that must be forcibly removed
places darkness has encamped
and will not leave except by force.
There is a knife, and sutures
to reorganize my futures.
This is not the way I wished,
but the way that things must be.

–

For until pain is severed
from the thought of pain as treasure
there is no way to enact holiness.
For I must come to terms with all
the things that I have been and learned
and many of those sins must be destroyed.

And one day, with bad ties severed
and when right loves are remembered
I will call my Dad, e-mail my bros
forget lost pain, and dance some more
for the bigger, better Father
will remind me life is, whether
we decide we will acknowledge it or not.

And despite the listless wand’ring
and my heart often desponding,
I will praise the Lord and follow all my days.
For removal of my darkness, ever ‘curring, as a timeline
is the joy that I have sought through painful haze.

And the purifying filter
is the Spirit that has moldered
as I uselessly filled up my anxious days.
But now with knife, stitches and blanket
I have found a new amendment:
Sanctifying love is all I want.
The clean, well-organized, young love
that lets us go where go we must,
no money, car, nor place we love
above the fact that sanctifying
love has taken dark parts of our mind.

And that is the way we change;
the love of God affects our brains
affects our hearts, and we will see a brand new way:
for if we are now his sons, then
oh, the Lord our God’s grace beats,
for we have now, and then, and soon will be
adventurous, young and lovely,
unnatural, yet, clean, and
wondrous lives.

Many of the words I would use to write about passion have been co-opted by romance, sports, art and other endeavors. These situations have passionate language associated with them because they all are an avenue to touching the great life of the soul; that moment where a curtain is torn down and suddenly everything seems larger, more real, more solid, more alive. And all that surrounds you becomes elevated: this is a life, and it matters. Every one of these things can induce that feeling, if only fleetingly.

But they point well. They point to a love greater than game 7, or a career’s work, or even a life’s love. There is a love that transcends all of this, that offers us unlimited access to that great life of the world, both now and forever; and instead of relying on a collection of men, or women, or men and women to come together in a particular way at a particular time, it depends only on one man, who has already done something. We are our only barrier to an unlimited store of the life that never ends. And this life of the world is so vital that one man not only gave everything so that we could have it, but he finds us and gives it to us—when we know not what it is.

The Packers don’t do this, and neither do The Mountain Goats. And a lover may often seek us out in our distress and distraction, but there is only one savior who always does. The great life of the world, brought by the great light of the world, to us.

This is the passion that I seek. And every sports game, and every song, and every love that passes through my senses is but a flickering image of that greatest love, so powerful that I can’t stop it, so vast that I can’t comprehend it, so beautiful that I can’t look upon it fully now. But then, one day, we will see each other as we really are, and there will be no sun or moon, for the light of the Son will be the only light we need, as we live in the passion of the world, forever.

There is laundry to be done
in these newly-vacuumed rooms.
Tomorrow the floor will be dirty,
but the clothes will be clean.
I won’t sweep again ’til next week.
No intercessor will slow the dirt,
nor speed up my schedule.

My bed is barely made as well
covers roughly tossed toward
the head of the thing, hastily
No one will ever see today’s bed.
I have satisfied my cleanliness.
There is no intercessor between
hospital corners and what I do.

I have spent the day humbly:
Routine things that add up to
a full life before matrimony.
I intend to live a bright line
’til someone notices the gaps
and I theirs; and walking with,
We, each other’s intercessor.

A history is writ with words
and most of the arts as well
I’ll always want to be the most important
and then I’ll want to be a little more.

And if I control the words, I have a good shot
and no one here can take that thought from me.
I will use the words like other men use weapons
I will win out when the books are set to read.

But who cares about our history in future,
and who will look at this art when I’m gone?
Will it even matter that I won out?
’cause my soul will have completely moved on.

And the time I spent corralling empty headlines
will pale quickly to time spent making good
and every man I knew who is now different
has a better art and history than books could.

But yet I chase down fame and modest fortune,
still ever being formed into His man.
I know the truth, and yet do not act on it
as much as I, someday, now wish and hope I can.

This my benediction, written on my hands.

I ran two miles at an 8:15 pace today,
the fastest miles I’ve run in 10 years.
It took eight months of training, and
a great deal of physical discipline.

I didn’t make it, or summon it; instead
I found it. It was a gift that I had lost
forgotten in the march of other gifts
developing music, writing, reading
disciplines all; to the Lord and not,
each able to be used for his glory
or for my own, and sadly the latter
more often than the former cause.

But this gift shines brighter with
each polish given it, and I have
spent many, many days polishing.
This is an upward trend, hardfought
but upward, and I run all with a calm
that lets me decide to sprint, or
stay the course, and neither cause
a loss of control, or unnecessary pain.

At least, today, for it is a general pattern
and not a steady line. But the Lord,
giver of both gifts and motivation to polish
sees us through Christ, forgiven; and we,
sons and daughters, always coming home:
an upward trend. Not fast. But at least 8:15.

Forgetting a password
would not be so frustrating
if there were not six others
to try before acknowledging
that I remember it no longer.
Then I’m required to make
a new one.

The old one is erased,
but you will definitely enter it
next time you lose a password,
along with all the other old ones.

The thing doesn’t open now
but we both still know the word,
and say it to ourselves
in times of trouble.

The steadfastness of my relationship with Jesus was historically dictated by the highs and lows of my emotional life. The emotions ran the show, and Jesus was along for the ride. Over years, Jesus’ work in my soul has slowly tipped the scales in the other direction. I’m used to my emotions and my spirituality wrestling around in my soul.

But the wrestling is of a different type right now. More than ever, my outlook on things is like that of Jesus; this allows questions that have previously been sated by pat answers to reanimate. How is the Lord’s lovingkindness better than life? What does the joy of the Lord consist of and look like? Why does God put up with not just evil, but people mocking him? What are Christians supposed to do about that? How does having these questions increase the Gospel? Does it?

And I want to know the answers, because He is my God. He is the way things are. He, when he decided that this is where my soul would go, knew this was coming. He knows the answers; He is the answer.

Even when I don’t understand yet, because I do not know. But I seek to know.

Hope isn’t magic. Hope is made of work.

Hope isn’t a shortcut. Hope is sometimes the longest possible way.

Hope isn’t an unfounded wish. Hope is taking punches and coming back.

Hope isn’t naive. Hope is the realization that we can get bitter or get hopeful.

Hope stays alive, if we want it to.

Life talks so much these days
Our culture built on chatter
A quietness agreed upon:
treasured, a deeper bond

for 2011

To capture the feel of the year
I would take the whole color wheel
spread it across several states
and so tell the stories of shades.

Oklahoma starts hunter then slate then as sky
and the road, dashboard crimson and sun
Auburn seemed washed out, pale linens sun-dried
yet she warmed into pastels with time.

But no blacks, and no whites,
just a canvas of colors
painted via the keeper of lights

Not a year of stark differences
a bouquet of experiences
a turning, a growing in God

I have learned how to live
in myself as adult
and I’ll even do dishes
while still wearing Converses
Adult doesn’t mean “settled down.”
I will walk with you all around town.

If only for company,
to say that we did it
for the adventure
and the realization:

“the best days of my life”
were the ones that I thought
and the ones that  I am having now.
The future will have them,
that’s no contradiction:
Every “best day” is right then beloved.

I will keep loving nows
and the past and the future
for all of these are who I am.
These colors mix well in this can.