Two things seem disconnected

But are inseparably bound,

Your creative work

And your means of livelihood.

The first is the way you serve the world,

And the second is the way 

The world repays you 

For your generosity.

He walks away in silence.

He does not say a word at leaving.

And ruin follows in His wake,

Precious ruin.

And it will claim all those

Who wanted Him in the first place.

To refuse to be a victim

And to refuse to victimize,

It is a mystery for the man

Who finds that he is worn out in the fighting.

And how is it done? By walking away,

And by not needing the things that they provide.

Can you find safety without the need to enforce any laws?

And can you find freedom without the need for an army?

I have. And it follows me like the dome of heaven.

He’s going away to war

And I am walking away from war.

And that’s ok. Good men go to war.

Me too. I war within myself

For the principles 

That will free me from the need to go to war.

It is the last frontier,

It is the war 

That, when men, finally, are willing to fight it,

Will end all wars.

I stop for the night and park

In the middle of a grassy field 

Beside a stream. And nobody sees.

Or at least nobody notices.

And it feels as if it was made just for me,

Just for this night. I am amazed at the way

The world opens up for heaven

When we believe and keep moving on

Toward the thing we know is right.

I wrote a poem the other day 

That was full of worldly wisdom.

It was advice for how to prosper

In this world so wily and unpredictable.

But after I did, I felt discouraged and tired.

I put the poem away and broke with my own advice.

I decided that perhaps better advice

Would be to follow Jesus

Out of the world

And into the road of sacrifice 

That leads to renunciation.

And I know that many of you,

Perhaps the very ones 

That I want to reach

Will turn away upon hearing that

Because you think I mean to get the old religion.

But that’s not the case at all. 

Christ, just like Silence and Truth,

Is available to each irrespective

Of religion or lack thereof.

So that He can be had

For the reach.

Christ may be the only way that the world will change.

It is not the idea of Christ, but the very Spirit of Christ that changes.

It enters into the heart and offers new choices 

When it appears that war is the only way.

And it seems to me that it is found most readily

In the experience of total silence

And the hearing of genuine praise.

I took home a baby bird that I found on the ground.

Because I forgot all of the things they told me

When I was a boy at school,

Like don’t take home baby birds. Look for a nest. 

It’s mother can take care of it better than you can.

Oops. But now it’s here.

It cheeps in my living quarters.

Tried to feed it. No luck yet. And I think to myself,

I am not good at this. I should have remembered what I learned.

Later today, I’ll go back and look for a nest 

In the hopes that the mother is not far away.

And I don’t know what to say about it

Now that I’m the one in charge,

Other than, I’ll remember next time.

When Christ reigns, it makes things personal.

When the letters rule, it's one size fits all,

And who wants that? 

Far more than obedience to the creed

Is obedience to the still small voice.

Don’t move around too much.

And be careful not to be lured

By that which costs too much

Of your precious time and means, 

Especially by that which invites to MORE

When MORE is obviously too much

Or comes laden with complexities and waste.

Right here, without reaching out for more,

Except in the listening for

The next word

That leads on to the New and more abundant Life

Where everything is provided right here

And without reaching out for more.

Looking back in the rearview mirror of life,

I see the past diminish out of sight.

And looking into the future 

Of the promise that’s decreed,

I see the hope of restoration of all that

Which I have lost in choosing not to fight.

“I ordain that it be slippery for 100 years,” he said.

And then I woke up from the dream. 

For a long time, I mourned 

Over this decree.

But now, I see

That it is a relief to know

That it will roll out in waves.

So that, I can notice my progress and say

Not bad for the first five years. Let’s see 

If I can hold on to the new life

For a little longer next time.

And all of it so that

My children’s children’s children 

May enter in to go not out forever.

He’s only sixteen, 

And completely unprepared for life.

So was I. I had no idea what it was like.

But that’s ok. He’ll live it anyway. And so have I.

Surely he’ll break up and flounder.

And maybe he’ll get “right”.

I don’t know if I’ve ever done that.

But that’s ok. I live it anyway.

And he will too.

And it is the best we have to give.

And when we love each other, that’s still something.

Hot air balloons hovering over the city.

I wonder where they land.

Somewhere. And I don’t understand

How they do that. But they do.

I am like a balloon 

Now that I think about it.

It's private property, they say.

That’s right for now. For now,

It’s in your power to endlessly seek gain

Without a thought of those who have no place.

But the tables are about to turn everlastingly

In the favor of those whose home

Is not of this world.

I always thought, when people said “work harder”

That they meant to work faster,

To be more busy,

More rushed.

Hustle is the word that comes to mind.

And I’ve never been good at that. 

I struggle to sustain it

Since it so often comes with a kind of anxiety 

As if I am making up for an inherent deficit.

But I have found a new meaning for “work harder”:

Work more consistently, without stopping, overthinking, or getting distracted

As long as it takes, until the project is completed.

I find this definition to be far more useful.

It is extremely effective for getting things done

And much more peaceful than what I thought they meant.

I once heard that strangers who wandered into Sodom

Were robbed, beaten, sometimes raped, and then cast out.

I'm not sure if that's completely true, but if so,

No wonder such a city met with fire from the skies.

I once heard from a homeless person 

That the hardest city to survive in

Was the second-largest city

In the state that makes its living

From gambling and prostitution.

Lure them in, take their virtue and their money,

Leave them broken, then spit them out,

Chase them away, from the sight of those

Who make their living on the process.

And I can't help but think that fire waits

To pour itself down on such a place.