seagulls in a crepe fight.

There's a homeless man. Roaming the streets of Amsterdam. Stoned out of his mind. He walks around wearing wooden shoes, playing a classical guitar for the many tourists that come through the flourescently-lit area. In this case the tourists were Spanish-speaking. But he fails to feel acknowledged. As I walk away the last thing I hear him mutter is, "I can speak seven languages and it doesn't even matter."

We speak languages: We do ministry. We sing songs. We intercede. We learn. We travel. But what good is this if nothing is expressed in love? With love we can speak in a language of significance, a language that will translate a mind that is clouded with herb and the other fogginess that other forms of emptiness may bring about. This is a language I want to learn.

I thank you LORD that You are a rock when much else seems to have de-evolved into a gelatin-like consistency. Your faithfulness sets this servant to dance.

gears, cogs, and the cereal that lies on my floor

I'm realizing that everywhere I look is through something you have made. I can't look in any direction without staring through the expanses of your quite unconventional palate. Just as the clouds you've formed are something moldable and fluffy, the paths of which are unpredictable to my will yet ever being predicted by yours - so too I ask you would make me.

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will guide you with My eye. Do not be like the horse or like the mule, Which have no understanding, Which must be harnessed with bit and bridle...(Psalm 32: 8-9, NKJV)

It often struggle to take steps when my vision seems ever obscured by some sort of un-seeable blindfold.

I will trust, believe, go, walk, etcetera, but save me from turning it into something mechanical.