I saw him looking down last Sunday – and I could tell things were not right.  Sitting in the back row.  Quiet. 


We chatted and . . . . .



. . . . . .  and I could hear it.   I could see it.  That quiet, small pain – the pain that says “sit with me” it asks no more.  It does not want words, it does not want sympathy – it just wants presence.


Just shared quiet, just a someone there.




Not a time for words.


So I smiled, and pretended not to see the small flicker – I made small talk and went my way.

Asking is . . . . so messy, loving is . . . . inconvenient at times.



And it tugged at my heart.


and I ignored it.






It wanted to keep me up, but I slept – better than I care to admit.












But in the morning the thought presented itself again.



And I promptly quelled it.





Till this morning.

When I saw him again, and I knew – I could no longer pretend I did not see what I had wanted to hope I saw.  The clues were there. 



And this time we talked, we shared some silence, he talked and I listened. 



We cried together. 

We prayed together. 





We sat on the old pew in my kitchen the kitten played with our shoestrings.


And I want to tell you this.


Dare to ask, to listen, and to love.





Dare to care, to care about the people God places near you.












To listen and to exhort. 


To stay up late and do life.



What a good hard thing it is to be broken.

What a good hard thing it is to see a brother broken.

What a better thing it is to see a brother seeking out the only one who can help him.



Read Duetromeny 8, and understand why God take those He loves to the desert.

Read Psalm 13 and understand that God is good, even in this – whatever your this maybe.


Do not let your pain and brokenness be wasted.


Read Psalm 51.




And lean into the only One who can help.



*Written June 5th, posted today


I stumbled across a video on Facebook today, on a wall I have not visited in well over a year. 


So much water has flowed under the bridge.

Journals have been filled, filed, and finally burned.


I’ve felt myself board up windows – and close off whole wings.



Not to preserve what was, or to forget what might have been – but to leave so that I may someday joyfully cross the threshold anew.



And so with distance and time the shore you sailed away from blurs, and the parts of yourself that you left behind there have faded.



Have you ever lay in a warm bed and dreaded touching a cold floor – only to have the floor not be as cold as you thought?

Did you even consider touching an electric fence – and felt the anticipation of the shock you would receive grow within you – and in finally touching it, find that you had anticipated a much larger jolt.

Or eaten something that looked horrible and turned out to taste wonderful?






That moment when you were expecting one thing and found another.


It takes your breath – and unexpected joy – a joy you thought aborted, and buried, can sometimes burst and flow freely.






I don’t know what to call it – it differs from closer, it’s more.


Maybe it’s healing.







Maybe it’s grace.









Did you ever come to the end of a story and find that the author has left you holding a few loose threads?


Only to turn the page and find an epilogue?








































Road trips, business trips.  Long drives and long flights.  Scotch and cigars, broasted chicken and mashed potatoes.  Staying up late, getting up early. 


Unexpected and unlooked for job offers.



New gym membership and summer bike rides.







So much is going on these days.  I feel a change coming.  Something has shifted, something deep.


A desire for discipline is growing within me.  I see all these skills and a future of possibilities witch are only possible with discipline.



I want it. I want it more than I want the future it could unlock, more than I want the fruit it would yield.  And even as I type I realize that no . . .  I want the fruit of discipline – mere possession of discipline would not satisfied me.


I want the freedom it allows.


But to possess that freedom I’ll have to die to all manner of desires.




And again I see I have typed something I don’t mean – discipline is not the death of desire – discipline is desire which does not control.


The freedom to want and say no – not to not want but to want and want something else more.




To have and understand and submit to a greater pleasure, a greater fruit, a greater goal.










But I see I’m rambling again . . .



Enjoy some Rodrigo y Gabriela