Truth: sure limit approaching encroaching upon knowledge: eternal asymptotes our hyperbolic certainty still can't qui...

A word is worth a thousand butterflies, straining against their paper cocoons. Sometimes they flutter free, speak newborn b...

'Tis the season for the trite trivial and twee; when the mysteries of heaven are swaddled in shabby perfection, the skies a...

We love to make everything hypothetical. Theoretically, that'd be fine. But then we are just clattering symbols. Who ...

It's clear that night really was not silent after all. Babies cry; sheep are noisy. Still, in the not-so-stillness, Mary p...

He turned tables on the sheep and the oxen and the ones who were selling the doves on silver chains. He took their cords and bo...

In the between spaces, you taught me how to rest with the canyon, how to wrestle with the canyon, and still, how to love, withi...