The ability to lyrically draw forth the deep groans and gratitudes of the soul is somewhat miraculous. It’s genius. It’s a gift that’s been given to mankind through mankind for centuries. It’s likely that humanity would find itself in far worse condition if it weren’t for the gifted men and women who seem so beautifully synced, so profoundly connected to the crux of life and soul. They’re bestowed with the transcendent ability to translate into language the very things that are beyond language. They’re soul-language interpreters. Continue Reading…
Archives For spiritual journey
There are days when I long for ignorance. The problem is, you can’t go back to the land of ignorance. You can only remain there. Once you leave your homeland, any attempt to return is willful ignorance, and you actually end up in the land of denial. Both lands can seem blissful, but denial requires more stupidity.
Art, if it can be ascribed value, is most valuable when its beauty (and the beauty of the truth it tells) bewilders, confounds, defies evil itself; it does so by making what has been unmade; it subverts the spirit of the age; it mends the heart by whispering mysteries the mind alone can’t fathom; it fulfills its highest calling when into all the clamor of Hell it tells the unbearable, beautiful, truth that Christ has died, Christ is risen, and Christ will come again. None of these songs and stories matter if the beauty they’re adding to isn’t the kind of beauty that redeems and reclaims.
That doesn’t mean every song and every story has to be a sermon. Not at all! But the very existence of great stories and stirring music and good art is a sermon itself. That anyone at all in the world would set their sad heart and tired hands to the work of wreaking beauty out of chaos is a monument to Grace. It reminds us of light and high beauty, and it laments the world’s great sorrow. It gives the heart language to rejoice and language to mourn.
~ Andrew Peterson at The Rabbit Room: Little Things Matter
Do not think that my spiritual life is strewn with roses – that is the flower which I hardly ever find on my way. Quite the contrary, I have more often as my companion “darkness.” And when the night becomes very thick – and it seems to me as if I will end up in hell – then I simply offer myself to Jesus. If He wants me to go there – I am ready – but only under the condition that it really makes Him happy. ~ Mother Teresa
Mom and I lived in an old bungalow on York Street, just a few blocks from Washington Park. It was a single-story house with a large front porch, much like the one in the picture. The window above the porch provided the rising sun passage into an otherwise dark, creepy attic.
The house was eerie, like something out of a horror flick. Looking up from the street you could sometimes see a shadowy figure peering out from the attic window.
We were not alone.
Listen to the heart of the Faithful Groom as he groans over His bride:
She saw men portrayed on a wall, figures of Chaldeans portrayed in red, with belts around their waists and flowing turbans on their heads; all of them looked like Babylonian chariot officers, natives of Chaldea. As soon as she saw them, she lusted after them and sent messengers to them in Chaldea.
Then the Babylonians came to her, to the bed of love, and in their lust they defiled her. After she had been defiled by them, she turned away from them in disgust. When she carried on her prostitution openly and exposed her naked body, I turned away from her in disgust, just as I had turned away from her sister. Yet she became more and more promiscuous as she recalled the days of her youth, when she was a prostitute in Egypt. There she lusted after her lovers, whose genitals were like those of donkeys and whose emission was like that of horses.
So you longed for the lewdness of your youth, when in Egypt your bosom was caressed and your young breasts fondled.
Listen…See…Feel…the heart of the Groom.
This is part 4 in a 4 part series on sluts. If you haven’t read parts 1, 2 or 3, please click on the following links:
Read on for the rest of part 4…
Do you hate words like “slut” and “whore”? Yeah, I’m not a fan of them either. I’m of the persuasion that no one should be calling anyone a slut or a whore. But if you read my last post, you saw that it was God calling “Julie” a whore. Man! That archaic Bible needs to become an ash heap!
This is part 3 in a 4 part series on sluts (I’m hoping to wrap it up in 4 parts). If you haven’t read parts 1 & 2, please click on the following links:
You’ve already read these posts? Then let’s proceed…