And if the winds howl among the great trees and distill again to leafy whisperings, may I hear its music. And music, turn upon me gently and be a kindness to my soul. Its my own conviction that all things human are things at once beautiful, at once ugly, untamed, hidden, awkward, and real. The more we truly know Christ, perhaps the more raw and uncivilized we may become. This is an excerpt from my journals.
Poetry can only give pain a garment.
Christ alone heals the great wound. This is as transparent as I can yet be. This is personal. But this is the stuff of what I do and what I am. We've hidden long enough.