my highway to zion

hebrews 12.9 we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. how much more should we submit to the Father of our spirits and live!! i like that this verse shows me that submission to God = LIFE! because i can relate to the opposite of that statement: rebellion from God = DEATH. most of my life has been a slippery slope down to death's doorstep...there is so much power in rebellion. hebrews 12.10 our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but god disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. a few weeks ago, i thought about this--about how discipline is often very intensive in the first decade of life for practical, developmental reasons. Then it is very intensive in the second decade of life for social and moral reasons (somethingi'm learning trying to parent a 15-year-old!). but the point is, the first 18+ years of our life are spent under the natural authority instituted by God of a child under a parent

in true non-conformist fashion, i'm creating a new tradition called "mid-year resolutions" for my life. here's my list so far: -memorize more scripture, poetry, and literature...especially shakespeare. -continue running daily, and hopefully build up to a long race in 2012. -read the newspaper at least once a week. -learn to play the guitar so i can worship god in a new way. -refresh my piano skills. -write songs more often, and sing them. -be better at staying in touch with america. -watch more movies. i currently watch maybe two a year. -pursue active recovery. this last one sparked my making this list in the first place. ten years ago this coming december 31st, i said goodbye to a life of active drug use and began pursuing physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health for myself. i attended 90 meetings in 90 days, i worked the 12 steps, i had a sponsor, i joined the choir at church, i learned to play guitar, i ran a half-marathon, i wrote various articles and ch

There is an underweight little girl with matted patches of hair growing on her 4-year-old head that bears my name. She’s dark skinned and beautiful, like her unwed, teenage mother; but her foul mouth and distrusting eyes definitely come from her dad. And from both her parents she probably inherited her predisposition to drug addiction. When I see little Ashley, I start to ache. I stare at the barren wasteland of her little life and wonder how we received the same name but dramatically different circumstances when we came into this world. I never know what to do with the immensity of unmet need that she carries with her, and so I just default to sweeping her up into my arms and holding on tight. She never fails to respond, her frail body making my arms feel very strong and wholesome as they wrap around her. Today I was in Capricorn with Beth Rapha, handing out soup. Ashley walked by with her aunt Maya and apparently another grandmother than the other two I’ve known all this time. She st