So Much Has Changed (Jay DePoy)

In the quiet, summer heat, I find myself beside the river, watching the current flow toward a destination far from here. In the reflection of the water I can see an image of tranquil chaos, and the painful peace that has left me standing on the shores of the Grand River. I’m grateful for the overcast sky, shielding me from the wrath of the sun. In contrast with Robert Frost, so much has changed from the him they knew – he’s only less sure of what he thought was true. I once heard it said that the more a man...

Now I Just Cry

A few years ago I would have posted a long (religious/political) rant about the brokenness of our humanity. There was a time when I offered unsolicited contributions to the endless conversation about justice and mercy and Kingdom economics… Now I just cry.

The Last Word (Grace)

The recapitulation of redemption begins in a garden and comes full circle, to new beginnings. From a bleeding Eden to a tearless eternity, all things will be reconciled. No more crying, no more tears. No shame, and no cancer, No more funerals. No more fractured families, or undressed wounds. Jesus came to kill death, break brokenness, and destroy destruction. And when the legalists have had their day in court… when the pharisees have been laid in a casket… when the stone-throwers have met the Rock of Ages, the last word will still be – Grace. Grace. Scandalous grace. Mysterious grace....

The Color of the Sunset

she asked, “‘what color is the sunset, daddy?‘” it’s a fusion of orange and purple and black and blue. it’s the color of my heart as we speak the breath hanging in the air like a question unanswered. what color is the sunset, daddy? to be exact, i’m not sure of much of anything these days. but of this, i am confident: this snowbank is our couch. and i’d rather sit here with you. right now. this moment. than to do anything else in the world. it’s the color of tears; salty down my face an ocean on the carpet...

I Believe (I’ve Lost Belief)

I believe that I’ve lost belief in promises and choruses and confessions of faith and doubt that flannel graph stories of redemption can be recapitulated and monday follows a blood red sky and sunday never comes. I believe in angels in blue jeans. I believe in Ambria’s promises and Ashlyn’s nail polish and Mariah’s runaway tears. I believe in bonfires and purple skies and cartwheels in the front yard as Bruce Springsteen croons, ‘Hey little girl is your daddy home?’ and Ambria answers, “Yes.” I believe doves land on the porch when you least expect it. And that grace sneaks...