There is a slowness to the winter sunrise An unhurried separation of the darkened sky and shadowed land Purple and yellow and orange and red spread their blurring edges like a healing bruise A spilling of paints on a table of dark blue
Some Christians have extended the idea of total depravity morphing it into a form of utter depravity, staining even some good things in the world, things that can be celebrated and enjoyed, with sin’s brush of joylessness and brokenness. I have certainly been guilty of this, and it shows all too often in my countenance and approach to some of life’s simple pleasures and enjoyments.
Below is a poem about growing used to the process of sanctification as I get a bit older. It's called "The Man" The Man There’s a man who lives inside my house He looks a lot like me, except older He walks slouched by the incessant weight of cynicism and sits sunken by the burden... Continue Reading →