Kernels of gold sowed in sweat. Embodied husks designed to protect. Multicolored grain, a heavenly harvest. The plague in the Garden— one locust started— the Reaper ransoms to forget.   A rotted ear only hears the screams of its own dissection, an eternity of introspection. Rows of corn restless with guilt. The cup of wrath…

Christmas for Ginny has always been the most important day of the year. It’s a magical day when anything is possible, like the unprecedented miracle of God taking on human form; it’s when a supernatural star led the Magi to the infant God-man, lying helplessly in a symbolic feeding trough; and it’s when men met God face-to-Face in a humble manger to worship him and feed from him. Ginny loves Christmas for both its majestic beauty and historical truth. She understands, however, that this sacred day has been tainted with folklore and commercialism, but experience and wisdom enable her to see these gilded traditions as a way to bridge the gap between the sacred and the profane. For Ginny, a gift for someone special on Christmas is a reminder of the greatest Gift ever given. So naturally Ginny wants to give Brad something special for Christmas. But she, too, finds herself without two pennies to rub together. Then, suddenly, an idea flashes across her mind that makes her eyes water, feeling the internal warmth that comes with giving wholeheartedly.

A poem about a collage of experiences from Christian teenagers battling the temptations of living in a fallen world. Feeling torn in two, playing Pangea with Lily Pads: the kingdom of God vs the mud of the flood under my feet. One thing I look forward to— dangling my toes over a lazy lake sitting…

Christian apologetics exists to defend the faith from erroneous although imaginative arguments. It’s no wonder why apologists hold human imagination with severe suspicion. But as implied, it’s not the imagination itself that should be held in question, it’s the irrational and/or unscrupulous use of it, which has a tendency to smuggle in self-serving desires, which…

The silence—a ceaseless chiseling. There’s a child screaming. I run to the window to look outside only to find the relentless tinkling of rain ricocheting off the top of metal cars.  I come back inside. I hear it again. This time I run out the front door not caring that my favorite shoes are getting…

Strokes on canvas come to life. Entangled particles of love explore. Earth orbits a dying sun— mere reflection and mortal strife. A villa with a view not easily ignored.   “For by grace you have been saved through faith.” Soil of Vine rich with trust. Proverb and parable collide— good deeds like talents buried turn…

The withering of the imagination to the point of poetic impotency at the hands of reason (logos) clad knowledge-seekers during the epoch of the Enlightenment left a void in its philosophical wake. But as we know from experience, human nature has a way of redressing itself by swinging the proverbial pendulum back toward what it…

Nathanael grabs the spear. He shuts his left eye to place his prey in his cross-hairs, then releases the javelin with Odyssean accuracy. But the creature parries. The spear gets stuck in the heart of a warrior in a painting that the king had commissioned 15 years prior.

Not your Precious Moments figurines

but sleep-deprived warriors

with holsters for concealer and coffee.

Quick on the draw to conceal lines on their face

and savor the passing whiff of a fresh pot percolate.

The story of Salvador is complete! It’s taken me 20 years to write it, taking time off in-between to attend several prestigious seminaries to educate myself on the seminal topics of the novel, such as psychology, theology, philosophy and ethics, which have all influenced its themes, such as suffering, hope, doubt, despair, courage, paradox, faith,…