Soul mist rising
On the morning waters
Light enlivening
Filling the day
Ever new
Glory of this newborn day


Sunrise mist over Lake Nicol, Tuscaloosa, Alabama


I feel one of the greatest lies perpetuated by humanity is that self worth and worthiness to receive love are dependent upon the degree to which one is endowed with or attains what society labels “perfection,” either physically, intellectually, or morally.

Spiritual perfection, the only kind that matters, is imparted through God’s grace alone (not achieved or earned) and received by faith, in humility and gratitude.

This is offered to everyone because all are loved equally regardless of how we measure up against society’s standard of “perfection.”

In the Subway

He lay there. In the subway door.

A threshold.  A flesh hold.

Doors opening. Closing.

The viewing. The open casket.

We all want that, don’t we?

Want people to say, “Doesn’t she look good?”

“He looks like he’s asleep.”

Our own deaths denied.

He didn’t look asleep. He looked dead.

Looked like he wanted to be.

Why? Why was he there?

Where were his family, his friends?”

How did it get this bad?

What is his story?

“…home of the free and the brave.”

Doors opening. Closing.

Heads turn away.

Back into business.

Away from facing fear.

Away from hurt and waste.

Away from smelling shame.

Doors opening. Closing.

Stepping over. Around.

Huddling near our poles.

Why doesn’t someone help? Why don’t I?

What keeps our hands from reaching?

From touching?

Where is the cool water?

Has hope left the train?

“Next stop, Broadway.”

A crowd gets off.

Doors closing.

This stop: Narrow Way.

Only Jesus leaves his seat.