Run.

They're just sitting there. Just sitting. Why are the police just sitting there? They are not leaving. They're not even moving. What the hell? They are just sitting, not moving, just talking. I have to go. Like, now. I mean, I have to leave because if I don't they are going to come looking for me. Shit. Why are they still there? I have to go. I have to go now. I have to leave. Damn this bag. Damn. Damn. I can run. I can run right past them to the house. I can run through the alley. I can run in the shadows. God. These damn cops. So abrasive. I have to go. I have to. If I don't they're going to come for me. Shit. Shit. Shit.

He and She.

The effervescent beauty with which she filled the room took the breathe directly from the peoples lunges.

If they had been standing in a fairy tale forest, which in their minds they were, this was the moment when the blue birds and furry little animals would have come along side of her. For this would have been the image of the fullness of creation bowing to the most beautiful woman in all of time. For in his eyes he could see her as nothing less.

Sadly enough, the human language has not one single word with enough grandeur or splendor to express to the world the love that they felt in that moment.

In that forest the trees did part and the clouds did burn away allowing their brother sun to shine upon the sister of love.

And there, in the thicket, calling through to the clearing he was standing. The one in which was placed all of the Unspeakable ones favor. The one who had been given the grace and the pardon and the courage necessary to love this sister of light.

And there, in the clearing, they strode hand in hand, heart in heart forever more

#7

He unlocked the door and walked in, stomping off the left over snow that was caked onto the sides of his shoes. Tossing his keys into the bowl he slipped off his shoes and hung his damp coat on the hook behind the door. His loose change tinged and clanged in the coin dish as he opened the refrigerator and grabbed a cold beer.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was one of those nights when every song and street sign and car turn signal and gust of wind made him think of them.

He carried his un-opened beer and grabbed his pipe and the book with the broken spine and sat down in his father’s leather chair near the big window. But the book just lay lifeless on his knee while the pipe sat smoldering between his lips as he sat there in the dark. The quiet and the darkness and the snow made his mind slow. His beer sat opened on the wood table, sweating rings.

She would have asked him to put a coaster under it, but she wasn’t here now. She wasn’t there to tell him to smoke outside or to not waste money on beer or to not stomp off his shoes in the house. But now only his footsteps filled the halls and dirtied the floors. Only his breathe stole life from the house that once was theirs.

That night, a year ago now, he had thought it would be best for them to leave the recital early that night. It had been snowing lightly that evening and he wanted them to get home before it got any worse. He was a member of the parents committee and had volunteered to stay and clean up the gymnasium. So he walked them out to the truck and buckled up Jenny in the back and kissed Elizabeth on the mouth and waved as they drove away.

He was just about to lock up the storage closet at the middle school when his friend Will ran up to him and said that he needed to come quickly.

When Will was driving him to the hospital he wasn’t shaking or talking or a mess. He just sat there and watched the city lights pass by wondered what he should get his brother for Christmas. Then they got to the hospital.

It was not supposed to happen. And I mean that in a very literal way. You see the truck driver had gotten lost and was having to make a u-turn back onto the interstate. That truck was not even supposed to be near there. But it was. And so were they. And that is why it was not supposed to happen. That is why he should still be singing songs to his little girl and holding his brides face in his hands and kissing her mouth.

He got up slowly from his father’s chair and walked down the hall to the bedroom. He undressed slowly and lay all of her pillows along her side of the bed and then climbed in. For a while he just lay there with his eyes wide open, thinking, wishing.

David and Goliath. (1 Samual 17:38-51)

The sun was edging into the west and the desert was beginning to cool. The young man stood, draped in armor and exotic metals and chains and weapons. His legs quivering under the weight, a spear in his right hand. Tall men in with beards and robes and tunics and rings standing all around him.

"This is too heavy, I cannot face him like this."

So piece by piece, with brothers mocking him, he stripped away the armor and the spear and the sword. The shining pile lay in the sand with no warrior to claim them. No sword or spear could save this boys skin. No metal could protect this youths soul.

Clouds were forming in strips on the horizon and were hiding the sun. The sky was orange and red and yellow and pink. Of brilliance was this display.

The boy, with armor stripped, picked up his staff and walked slowly to the stream. Kneeling slowly he dipped his hand into the cool water and reached for five stones. Of the most perfect smoothness were they required to be.

Tunic. Staff. Stones. Sling.

These were the tools of the shepherd. Who was this boy to gallivant around as a soldier? No, not today nor maybe ever. For he was called to be the quiet one, the one whom was after a mighty heart. So with the items he possessed he strode up to a high rock and looked out onto a sea of men. Ahead of them a mammoth. One for whom all were to fear. But not this boy, not this faith.

"A boy? Am I not to be offended?" yelled the giant, "Oh with what ravenous anger shall I bring this slaughter upon your head!"

The boy stood silent and still upon the rock. In his veins and in his heart a bravery did grow. Like an overflowing well did assuredness birth inside his heart.

"Poor Philistine! You come to me with swords and spears, arrows and bows. The offense I have been dealt! May my God have mercy upon your soul and the souls of your family. For I do not come against you with weapons of steel, but rather with the armies of the Lord Almighty. How dare you defile His holy name. Today the Lord will hand you over to me Philistine. For it is on this day that the birds and the crawling things and all the beasts of the earth will feast upon your flesh."

Just then the mammoth man lurched forward with armor clanking and sword waving. But the boy was light and quick and uninhibited. He moved straight towards the man. Into his pouch he reached and found the smoothest of stones and placed it in his sling and began to swing it 'round above his head.

Then, with one fluid motion the stone flew from the sling, scorched the desert air and sailed away from that bravest of boys.

The dust rose from underneath the giants body and filled the air as he slumped to the ground. The stone had struck. It had been placed. It had been ordained by the Lord. It had finished its purpose. The mammoth was dead.

And so the boy walked over to the man and, with all Philistine eyes fixed upon him, cut through the neck of this greatest of warriors. To God the mammoths head was raised.

A boy to save a nation. A boy to save his people. A boy to slay the beast.

The day my earth stood still/A moment in an auditorium/That guy is looking at me in an awkward manner.

I was twelve? Or maybe thirteen. I can't remember exactly. But this is what I do know. I know that I was at some Baptist summer youth camp with a lot of other kids. Kids that I didn't know and that I didn't exactly care to know. I remember feeling awkward and alone. I remember wondering how it was that I had gotten there and why my parents, who were Catholic, had let me come.

This particular night me and all the other kids sat in a university auditorium. The space was too large for the number of kids that were in attendance so a huge black tarp cut the room in half. I am not sure why they did this. The lights were dim and there was a low rustling of words and chatter among the kids. The chairs seemed old. The walls seemed old. Everything seemed old. But I liked it. I liked the fact that this room was old and that it had been worn in. "Maybe some other interesting things have happened in this room," I remember thinking. Then a guy with a guitar came out onto the stage. He was wearing cool sneakers and a shirt with a 7-up logo on it. He asked us to bow our heads and to pray with him. We did. I did.

Then, with our heads still bowed he began to play. At first it was real quiet and I could barely hear him. I didn't recognize the song or the lyrics, but everyone else seemed to. I felt awkward. I felt out of place. I felt like leaving.

They...I mean the pastor guy had been talking about Jesus and God all week long. He talked about "saving" and "grace" and "sin". These things, to me, really didn't mean to much. I just liked playing football with the other guys during free-time. During that week I had made a really great pass and all of the older college leaders made me feel really good about it after. I liked that part. But this heaven/God/Jesus thing was not like making a good pass during football and I was not sure that I liked it.

I sat low in my chair while the 7-up guy kept playing. My friend John was standing up next to me with his hands in air. Why were his hands in the air? Why were anybody's hands in the air? It was awkward. I felt out of place still.

After a couple of songs about Jesus the 7-up guy stopped singing. He kept strumming his guitar but now he was talking about the spirit. I am guessing this was the spirit of God or Jesus. Was it a ghost? Did he float around the room? I was unsure at the time. But what he was talking about sounded good. It sounded comforting. Then he started talking about Jesus and that sounded even more comforting. When he talked about Jesus it was like he was telling a story about one of my friends. I liked that.

Then he said we were going to sing a few more songs.

This time I stood up. John looked over to me and smiled and kinda let out a half-laugh. But I hadn't done anything funny. I hadn't told a joke or made a funny face. Why was he so happy? It almost frustrated me because I felt like I was missing out on something fun and good. But then he just looked forward and held up his hands again. Again, awkward. One or two songs went by and I was still standing and still not sure why. But then there was a moment in that auditorium that my whole earth stood still.

To someone else it may not have seemed so grand. But to me it was. It was great. It was freedom from...something. I was not sure what yet. But I started singing and rocking back and forth and I even think one of my hands was up in the air. It's a blur of sorts. But the next thing I knew I was on the ground crying. And I don't mean just soft "I'm sorry for breaking moms favorite dish" crying but deep stomach hurting, fist pounding weeps. I don't even remember what it was in the song that triggered it. Who cares I suppose.

The thing that got me was something that I experienced when I was on the old, cold auditorium floor. As I lie weeping, snot and tears taking up their rightful real-estate, I looked to my right to see one of the older men who was a pastor or a youth teacher or something. He was looking at me as though I was the most pathetic thing he had ever seen. It was, in a whole new way, awkward. But I didn't feel awkward and I didn't care. I just knew that what I was experiencing was real and good and perfect and genuine and grand. I liked it. I loved it.

After we were all done with the singing and the "hands up in the air" thing we went and played some more football. I think I made another good pass or did something well because everyone was very proud of me and happy and they smiled when they saw me. Now I know why.

Waiting outside of an abortion clinic.

He sat in the car. It wasn't running. His hands, folded, were squeezed in between his thighs. His fingertips were cold. He wore a beanie. It sat low on his neck and it covered his ears.

Outside the snow fell softly. As time passed it began to cover the hood and build up along the bottoms of the windows. His breath was deep and slow. When exhaling he would watch his breath slowly fog up the windshield. He tapped his feet and moved his legs up and down rapidly. Maybe for warmth. Maybe for something else.

He stared at the tops of his knees. He stared at the store signs across the street. He stared at the church sign that read, " Got Jesus? Pot luck dinner 6:00pm."

It was time to start the car.

Psalm 7

Oh Father! I cry to you now.
Create in this bag of bones a man.
A man who, like David, is after your heart.
My soul cries out for this in the night.
My heart cries out for this in the day.
My wholeness cries out for eternity long.

Lord my God. Bring out of me goodness.
Birth from this weary heart a life of strength.
A sly whore lurches around me in the night.
He comes to be with lies and false promises.
Kill him Father. Take him form me.

In me produce steadfastness.
In me find love. Find purity.
My heart knows your faithfulness.
My soul bathes in our love.

Amen. Selah.