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What Remains Pure ~ The Only Things That Cannot Be Corrupted

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  What Remains Pure The Only Things That Cannot Be Corrupted There’s something in us that keeps trying to build things that can’t be corrupted. We form communities. We organize structures and systems. Begin movements. And underneath it, there’s a hope that if we do it right, if we’re careful enough, sincere enough, principled enough, it might hold. That this time , it might stay clean. But over time, something always shifts. We may have the best of intentions. But anything shaped by human hands is also shaped by human desire. Which raises a question that’s a bit harder to answer than it seems: What (if anything) can actually remain pure? This is Part 1 of a two-part series. In this one we'll explore what cannot be corrupted. In Part 2, we will move into the harder question, what it actually looks like in real life to let desire be corrected. Denver answeres the question with remarkable clarity: “In the ‘Sunstone Conference,’ I w...
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Human Nature: Served Four Ways

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  Four short pieces on insight, authority, imitation and the utter strangeness of Human Nature. Breaking News: Local Human Accidentally Mistaken for Deity After Saying Something Smart A small reminder not to confuse good insight with authority. It started the way a lot of misunderstandings do: with one sentence. Not a dramatic sign. Just a decent thought from an ordinary person. Witnesses reported it was “insightful” Some even said “profound” One person described it as “exactly what I needed to hear” That’s when the trouble began. Within hours, the speaker, hereafter referred to as The Human, was discreetly promoted to a position they never applied for: Unofficial Source of Truth Phase One: Admiration At first, it was harmless. People nodded. They took notes. They said things like “Wow, I’ve never thought about it like that before.” The Human, still under the...
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There Were Victims and There Were Students

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  Healing, discernment, tools and fear  Recently Stephanie Snuffer gave a talk that really resonated with me. As I've  pondered it, I've realized it has connected to things I’ve been trying to sort through for a while now, particularly when it comes to healing, growth and how we actually learn to live what we believe. This post is (in part) an attempt to work that out more clearly. Also, in a bit of irony that isn’t lost on me, I write as part of my healing process. Which is funny, given how hesitant we can be about therapy. Apparently I’m perfectly willing to do the work…. as long as I don’t label it too directly. So now I have a collection of drafts to prove it. This one is jumping the line, thanks to the current conversations and a little bit of pushback that made it harder to ignore ~~ There’s something I’ve been noticing more and more. We're not opposed to using tools to improve ourselves. In fact, that pattern is woven into how we already live. ...
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Peace, Be Still

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  Who Is the Accuser? The other day I woke up already losing. Even before I moved, I could feel the storm gathering deep within my body, the kind that doesn't just visit but seizes the entire day and threatens to wreck everything in its path. Every nerve screamed in protest. The intensity was such that I broke into a sweat, waves of nausea rising as I became trapped in a vicious cycle: the fear of vomiting only heightened the pressure in my head and neck, which in turn sharpened the pain further. Layered upon this physical torment came a crushing anxiety that wrapped itself around my chest. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do” I turned to my familiar protocol with a kind of desperate discipline: a high dose of Excedrin powder, a long hot shower that lasted until the water ran cold, ice packs pressed against my skin until they melted, and the Cefaly electrode humming on my forehead while healing tones played softly in the background. I moved through these ste...
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In The Iris Of The Storm (Spoken Word / Poetry)

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In The Iris Of The Storm  There’s this live performance ~  Iris , Goo Goo Dolls, their hometown, Buffalo, 2004 ~ July Fourth. A free show. Tens of thousands. And right in the middle of it ~ the sky just opens up . No cover. No break. No “let’s wait it out” Rain comes down in sheets - equipment frying, band soaked, crowd melting into the music ~ but they don't leave. They just…. keep going. Johnny Rzeznik’s voice slicing through the downpour like steel wrapped in silk, the lights catching every drop of water like starlight falling the wrong way. And somehow, in that chaos, the song feels realer than it ever did on the radio. That image - it’s been living in my chest lately. Like it’s trying to tell me something about what that song’s really saying Vulnerability ~ unedited. Exposure ~ with no guarantee. “I just want you to know who I am.” That’s not just a lyric. That’s a dare. That’s a confession. That’s t...
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Somebody Save Me

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When We Stop Pretending There are moments in life when the soul runs out of ways to manage itself. The usual strategies no longer work. The explanations feel thin. The image we have maintained (even the image we've maintained before God) begins to crack. What rises in that moment is rarely polished. It's not usually a tidy prayer or a carefully reasoned confession. It's more often a cry. A plea. A reaching outward from the point where self sufficiency fails. Scriptures are remarkably honest about where repentance often begins. It doesn't begin in poise or impressive spirituality. It begins when something real has broken through our illusions and we can no longer comfortably remain as we were. The Cry That Rises Out of Hunger Enos doesn't describe a man casually deciding to become more religious. He describes a man in whom something had sunk deep . The words his father taught him didn't remain at the level of information. They reached into him and...
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