The Lady in Black
peers out at me
as I peer in at her.
But does one see the other?
Is she watching me
as I watch her?
A mirror of herself
hanging in a silent world?
Two framed captives held
by space and time.
We meet between our worlds.
A silent moment exchanged.
Invited to tea
‘midst frozen chords.
Piano’s serenade –
sounds imagined but unheard.
Time has stopped.
a brief exchange
beyond the reach of time?
But future to present must turn.
My return to the world of blogs is the result of a confluence. A desire to grow as a writer, and a desire to unpack my faith journey over the past few years, specifically as regards the church. These two things have spurred me on in what I hope will, in the end, bless us both.
The landmarks of my journey are connected to recurring themes – community, the arts, worship, social justice, and freedom. They weave their way throughout my story and will provide the markers by which we’ll navigate. So you can follow one or all of these ideas as they progress.
I hope my journey may be of use to those who are or have been where I’ve been. My path has brought me from an early faith bound in legalism, to the first whispers of grace and on to a growing freedom in Christ. I’ve been “in the ministry”, I’ve served in the church and I’ve simply lived as a Christian. For most of my life I never missed a service. Until I did, and for a handful of years I hardly darkened a church door. And I feel compelled to state – those were not dark years. I was not living the life of a prodigal outside the church. They were enlightening years, and my relationship with God grew as a result. I have seen in every season the rise and fall of my own depravity and the heights and depths of God’s miraculous love.
I do not claim to be a scholar. I do not claim to be an authority. I am only a man sharing my own story. You are free to disagree with me. You are free to challenge my ideas, though I do ask you to be civil. That, when all is said and done, God may teach us both.
Four years ago I left my last words on this blog. So much has happened I don’t remember what prompted me to stop. Only that I did. But the path as it is so often want to do has led me back to one of my great loves – the written word.
So here I am. Fingers to keyboard and eyes fixed on the barren expanse of an open page.
One word follows another in what is at one moment a trickle and at another a cascade. These words mark my journey. They speak of who and where I am. They speak of where I have been and where I am going. They mark the meter of my passing. They share my sorrows. They share my joys. They tell of battles won and lost. They reveal my goals and aspirations. They speak of dreams. They are the persistent and deliberate beating of my heart.
For in these words…
in all I share…
in these stories is the fullness of all that I have been, all that I am and all that I hope to become.
And so I write.
I write to remember. My words bear the lessons of my years, and maybe there is a wisdom to be found in mucking about in old memories.
And I write to share. It is at times a selfish need for attention and validation. But most often, it is a gift. A gift I share with you. The honest ramblings of a soul stumbling after God in the darkness of a broken world. I can only pray that in them, you also find the shadow of His glorious light.
So welcome and well met. You too give me a gift in return. You encourage me. You inspire me. You make me better. You give me a reason to continue. After all, walking alongside others is always better than walking alone.