The Cooing


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 soaked through. There’s a child out there who needs my help. But he’s nowhere to be found. 

So I come back inside, sliding and sloshing in my own shoes as I leave 10 1/2 inch wet footsteps in my wake. 

As I start to dry off, I hear the desperation in the child’s voice, once again. This time, instead of looking out, I look within. 

I look in the oval mirror that’s hung in the hallway. And to my surprise, I see the boy who was well into a scream start to sob as he covers his turgid face with his two little hands. 

I had no idea he was still alive—the child within, feeling all my sins, sitting alone in the dark, wanting to be heard.

We speak candidly.

He tells me how much he misses me. I guess I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that. So I tell him how proud I am of him and that he is safe now. My inner-child waves goodbye and disappears. 

Then, it’s just I with my hands on my face, sobbing like a child not because I’m sad but because I’m set free. 

To my surprise, the window opens and so does the front door. A rushing wind fills my home. Instead of screaming, I hear a whisper—a strange comforting sound not coming from within, but from without. 

As I try to highlight the perfect pitch to his voice, he speaks my name with profound familiarity. It’s the cooing of the Holy Spirit that one hears when one of his own shatters the screaming silence from within.


Occam’s father shares a rite of passage with his son, who’s now of age to shave with a straight razor. As Occam learns the intimate art of holding the blade at an acute angle while performing short strokes against the grain to match the sharp curves of his face, he opens up about life choices….

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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…

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No sooner than he closes his eyes, he feels a sharp pain in the frontal cortex of his brain. His training has begun. The pain remains in the frontal lobe for over three hours with fluctuating degrees of intensity. Mentally, physically, and emotionally, he’s depleted of energy and patience to the point of insanity. He feels conflicted, wanting to proceed with his transhumanist project in order to be perfect and live forever, but his suffering is unbearable.

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