Yes, yes– many opinions are announced everyday around the internet-sphere about Joseph Kony and Invisible Children's viral video. Judgements have been diversified, no doubt about it. Some tear down, some defend, and some compromise (bless the souls who desire reconciliation, for they may never see it). I have been deciphering... Continue reading

“There are always those who take it upon themselves to defend God, as if Ultimate Reality, as if the sustaining frame of existence, were something weak and helpless. These people walk by a widow deformed by leprosy begging for a few paise, walk by children dressed in rags living in... Continue reading

O deep thought! O endless wellspring of consideration! Upon me you plague pensiveness daily. You turn my desire to be obliviously mute and my consciousness to be activated. I writhe in pain in the evenings, imagining heads of children hacked, sawed at by machetes. Yet, I eat. I go about... Continue reading

A introductory ramble I wrote for my Bildungsroman writing project. What do you think? Leave some love. -Preamble- In a thousand years, no one will remember my name, or how to correctly speak my dialect of language. In one hundred years, my face wont be recognizable but in handful of... Continue reading

I asked Ben the Coffee Pot chef once, "Ben, give me five words. Five words from the top of you head. Right now." ambiguous - paper - unicorn - boiled peas - cocaine So with Ben's five words I began a stream of consciousness essay. That is when you write... Continue reading

So we protect our hearts. Which is good. We should. But how do we have committed community during this time of uncertainty? Can we foster a type of community without the commitment or is that just a facade of masked insecurities? So we end up lonely. This is not kind... Continue reading

“For it would surely be ridiculous to wish wine well; if one wishes anything for it, it is that it may keep, so that one may have it oneself.” -Aristotle 021 Raisin Bran and Vanilla Yogurt [Continued] Blaeeck. I slapped a dollop of creamy vanilla yogurt down into the bowl... Continue reading

There is something restful about an old house. Something somnolent that exists in the space between raw tangibility and pure thought. In particular, something that doesn't occur in my apartment or in those newly built homes down by my parents house. What I mean by this poetic interpretation, is that old homes don’t need to pretend to be something that it is not. They are simply what they were built to be. KB homes and apartments try to emulate the coziness of historical dwellings. Continue reading

My best friend Grayson is heading off to Europe for the majority of 2012. This is a short tribute to him. 03 Sometimes There’s a Bean in Your Ear My friend Grayson is a storyteller. It’s what he does best. Using his hands, he can draw you in and with... Continue reading

The following chapter is from a collection of personal short stories that occurred from 2008-2010. Leave a critique. 28 Hues of Colorblindness The campus was barren of human interaction. It is a desolation that is quite common between the end of the spring session, marked by graduation, and the start... Continue reading

In my 'ideas' dedicated yellow notepad I found a short note messily written in the middle of the page. I'm calling the divided church together, to move beyond denominational ecumenical facades into a 'One Holy Catholic [universal] Apostolic church; not catholic, not protestant, not orthodox, but one. The unity that... Continue reading

I see everyone everywhere, in the faces of strangers. What I mean is that I precieve a familiar face at a store or restraunt and then soon realize that they are in fact a stranger. My most educated guess is that I miss those friends and acquaintances whose mirages that I see about. Some moments I find myself unintentionally following a stranger for just a few seconds in hopes to learn that they are indeed the apparition that saw. However, that has not been the case. Continue reading

Back in 2009 I attended the Gallery opening of Keith Carter photographs at the Wittliff Gallery on the 7th floor of Alkek Library. A place that I spent evenings pretending to study while we regressed into children in our conversations and play. Wittliff was a place I could take the... Continue reading

Dallas Willard, from the introduction of Knowing Christ Today. [Vauge title is you ask me] Today Christians and non-Christians alike stand within an itellectual atmosphere where politically dominated authority is the primary force at work, and almost no one any longer knows the meaning or application of Non sequitur, "It... Continue reading

MY LOST YOUTH by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Often I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is... Continue reading

Enter the new midwife. The three days after the rooftop morning, I would encounter Abraham’s children: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. I was defaced with confusion, especially after the miscarriage of my little 'g' god. I had seen all religious variations of vanity, especially in the service of the western church.... Continue reading

My child, do not mix reproach with your good deeds, or spoil your gift by harsh words. Does not the dew give relief from the scorching heat? So a word is better than a gift. Continue reading

Sometimes you expect God to be historical and abstract, sitting regal outside of time; dependable when it comes to philosophy or theoretics. You believe this until tragedy strikes. In a unpredicted moment you desire God as an instant solution to the local problems of your heart. It may seem disappointing to lose that God, the little ‘g’ kind of God. You may mourn and spiral into bitterness. But I promise you this: everyone has or everyone will. Continue reading

I met a man the evening of the rooftop morning. Skin tinted brown with a nose bigger than mine, he enunciated English thicker and heavier than I did. He wore a red polo shirt with the collar wavy from over washing, miming the gestures of his graying hair. The man could stare you down into a humble posture even with a little bit of flab around his chin; as if he had lived more life than you did–more pain, more fear, more love. He was a Israeli man. He kissed a Palestinian man on the cheek; the second man I met that evening on the rooftop of the hotel. Continue reading

"Many that live deserve death. And some die that deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then be not too eager to deal out death in the name of justice, fearing for your own safety. Even the wise cannot see all ends." -Gandalf from J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the... Continue reading

Culminating into a beautiful letdown, that was the inciting event of a radical movement challenging my framework of the identity of God. As if I saw in Solomon’s bricks a mirror image of what my heart had become: hardened and dense with arrogance, merciless to feelings, and–much like a brick–finite. Very finite. Continue reading

I was pregnant with anticipation when I reverently pressed my fingers against the oil smoothed stone. And when electricity didn't move through my body, I experienced a miscarriage; giving an early birth to a long dead god. The little ʻgʼ kind. The moment, solemnly frustrating in nature, was like Abramʼs father (in the Hebrew Midrash; מדרש) who just realized that his idols whom he carved were not powerful enough to destroy themselves, saying “they were carved by my own hands.” Continue reading