The streets in my neighborhood near downtown Austin provide a sanctuary for me. They are silent and serene, almost forgotten, and as I walk along them, old arching trees tickle the rooftops of two and even three story homes. The trees provide a wonderful canopy where I often seek refuge. And appropriately, if these streets are my sanctuary, then these trees are my vespers, my mumbling prayers during calm hours of the night floating somewhere above my head. They fill the space around me with breath and haunt me with promises I cannot name. Unspoken and wise, the trees soak in and sooth my soul connecting me with something bigger than myself. They call to me, and I am drawn to them by holiness. [read more]

turning, turning, my stomach tumult
a palpable fear and confusion exalt
old wounds from my youth
a father’s lie to a truth
quivering, pissing, butterflies to asphalt

Currently reading, again, as a reprieve from life otherwise, and I have found incredible commonality with Kathleen Norris. Her words, these almost feathers as a friend once labeled, reach down into my heart and they pull. They enter, like light, and bounce around in the hollow recesses of an almost maturity, and they illumine places that I have yet to explore. Then as if called home like the prodigal by the Spirit, they return to the surface, and with them, they bring a love and longing for Christ as I have never known.

Consistently, the seasons change as though moved by edict, and yet even today, they bring with them the mystery of the gospel. Feet wiggling in chilling discomfort. Neck folding from warmth. I marvel at the paradox as I sit, reading a book, beneath the incomplete shade of our aging live oak tree. [read more]

these lows, how they scare me
soaking through to spongy marrow
caustic and abusive thoughts
trickle slowly down my furrow

so I’ll pen them to their grave
that they may know her sting
and we’ll share in our pain
this fear now enveloping

There’s this voice that stirs within me
that I have come to recognize
as something more than emotion
mending peace behind these eyes
[read more]

You called today offering advice about getting a job and making subtle mentions towards responsibility.

Fuck you.

You quit being my father the day you walked, and with that, your freedom to speak into my life was lost. Quit calling me with your condescending advice about what job is best for me, what you think about how I spend my time, or how you think I should live my life. You don’t know me, and you never have. You already got what you wanted out of me. You got your football season, your dignified last name, your private college degree, and your vindication against a failed life, so quit calling me.

You may feel vindicated, but I feel fucking used, and I hate you for it.

A tiny little toad, as brave as can be
just hopped into my room
and aroused my curiosity

Seeking perhaps, a reprieve from concrete
A safe place to hide
At a gentle giant’s feet

But it’s me now who’s found what I’m looking for
So thanks for your bravery, little one
You’re the reason I open my door