Thoughts

There are things I want to hear, And there are things that are true; The voices I want to hear Are the ones I’m list’ning to But a mind that’s been tuned To a far purer spell Distills out the false And brings light to what’s well   The voice that’s now heard May still not be that loud But the heart tuned to hear Will it find from the crowd.

This is kind of a silly story with a message. It's not really serious, but it does have a serious ending. Junkster was a man who thought he had it all. He owned sports cars, a mansion in the most exclusive part of the most exclusive city, held the highest position in his company, and had married his high school sweetheart. Junkster would get up in the morning, look in the mirror, and tell himself, “Yes, you are the man.” However, deep inside, Junkster was sad. He wondered why he felt this way since he had everything he’d ever wanted. Then, one day, he learned the source of his sadness. While Junkster was preparing to sail across the bay in his hundred-foot yacht, a fairy fluttered from the sky to deliver a message. “Junkster, you have had great success in this life, but you are missing one thing.” Eyes wide, Junkster’s attention was rapt as he gazed on this mythical creature who would tell him about the secret things in his soul. “Yes, your life has lacked just one th...

He allowed little to pass through his mouth. This was not only because he lived alone. It was, he thought, better to remain quiet. Warnings had been issued from many sources showing that much talk leads to trouble. Indeed, privacy was his closest companion, and his gravest defender. Perhaps a better word now would be deceiver. He felt as much, anyway. Over the years, he had built his life on the premise that actions speak louder than words, and while he saw that this was true, he failed to recognize the danger of too much privacy: isolation. Everything he read and heard in the media told him to man up, to make something of himself through grit, and now that he had seemingly done this, he was alone with his accomplishments. Abstract trophies adorned the mantle of his mind, collecting the dust of stasis and time. In fact, he was afraid. He knew that none of the things he had achieved mattered now, and he felt the pride in them melt away and leave him exposed. “There is nothing left,” h...

I lean in and whisper The words I want to hear Out of fear With angels hovering above My heart before would have told me Don’t say it But that was long ago In fact, I’ve said it a million times In a million different ways Each time a shade different To convince myself Of the newness of my need This is the Judas kiss But by this time, I know not what I do After all, the man hearing me Looks so different now I find too late, then, That the one I’ve betrayed Is me I regroup, Mustering that fearful man inside Writhing in all my strength To shake down the guilt Just to have it crawl up again I look for light, but find none Then, I lift my despondence high And see a light I follow until it brightens To the full light of day And though I look as ragged as I did before I am not the same For no longer, when I lean in and whisper, Are my words for me I hear reply A million times In a million different ways Each time a shade different To convince me Of the...

This is inspired by William Blake's "Poison Tree," by Psalm 1, and by the story of Jonah and the branch God made as shade for him. Balsam was a source of balm, which was used to heal. The poem intended to show that our tears can bring life to ourselves and others, as when we sympathize with people who experience the same sadness we have felt. Though they ask you why you go Though you question, too, yourself, Though they wonder why your foe Rests content in your ill health You find peace, they know not why, While they rage against the breach And feel joy though you still cry As you pray with still soft speech For these tears in sadness wept Water ground that's dry with thirst In the soil this sadness kept Rouses life from what was cursed Then you rise to find full shade From a tree the tears did grow, Turn to offer what God made To the scorched who was your foe And in silence both you sit 'Neath a tree not of your make Mulling stories neith...

A question came up in my social studies class about prehistory. A student wanted to know how all the different species came into existence. We talked briefly about the Cambrian explosion, which prompted another student to ask about the origin of the universe. This led to a great discussion about cosmology that has since spawned other discussions about God, time, and origins. It just happened that I had been reading The Case for a Creator , by Lee Strobel, so answers to their questions were fresh in my mind. It also brought me back to a civil liberties class I took in college, in which we were required to simulate landmark Supreme Court cases. In one of these, we simulated Edwards v. Aguillard (1987), a case that struck down a Louisiana law—called the “Balanced Treatment for Creation Science and Evolution Science in Public School Instruction Act”—forbidding the teaching of evolution in the public school classroom unless it was accompanied by the teaching of creation. The central que...

A heart that’s filled with bitter things Is pulled and tugged by puppet strings By subtle fingers‘ lift it sways By fancy of another’s ways Its legs dancing all the faster, Governed by some callous master Who slumps its head so eyes drop down Plunged deep into its rage to drown Now missing what its life could be: Forgiveness that could make it free But all at once it lifts its eyes To see outside the crippling lies To see the world in all its length And walk within its feeble strength It lifts its arm and spies the cord Remembering unforgiveness stored Quick down again it looks to find Its legs led by some other’s mind So legs that though before hung slack Now activate to take life back The other arm now moves to shear The strings that kept it in its fear Its bonds in one synchronic drop Unfetter what it once would stop The master, too, dispersed from view, To let it rule itself anew This frame that bore a gaping hole It finds is filled again with soul It ...