You wake up. You look straight ahead. You see a gate with lumps of pearls like grapes clustered on a stem. You suddenly feel light and run towards the gate. From a distance, the gate looks narrow, but when you come close, you see how wide it is. As you sprint past the gate, someone reads aloud your name. You

“I volunteer because it’s so fulfilling! It feels so good!” “Working with kids makes me feel so full—like I’m fulfilling my purpose.” In response to questions of motive, how often do we hear phrases like these? How many people do good works because it makes them feel “fulfilled”? How often do we do good because it makes

“God does not beg you for your natural gift, Nor does He lend an ear to impish taunts. He can remove the skill His servant flaunts, And to each rebel, His revenge is swift. And do you think your aptitudes are yours, Or rights to anger when your work falls short? God smiles on you with implied retort; Without His

No rest for the Vivid The ones drowning in dreams The ones weaving skies out of sorrowful screams The ones wringing new colors out of old rusty blood The ones stepping up above the world’s violent flood The ones shaping stars out of blue icy tears The ones chewing and spitting out everyone’s fears The conquerors, the rebels,

I remember a day when we sat around the fire and laughed while we sang. I remember a day where we jumped over walls and skipped over puddles in the yard. I remember a day we left for big cities, and we paraded around streets, and we bought the souvenir shop out— But I remember you told me Don’t

“Why?” demands Your child again; I’m injusticed, tired, petulant. “If you are God, then why?” No reason comes. I kick my feet Until You call and face me toward I AM. You make me marvel at Leviathan And lead me, limping, to Peniel. God, forgive my wanton desires! Bring the end of me, and fill with The comfort of

Today is the day. The thought played through Thea’s mind like a mantra as she brushed her teeth and pulled on her sneakers. She raked a comb through her shoulder-length brown hair before deciding to tie it up in a ponytail. She wouldn’t want her hair to get in her way today of all days. When she stepped

“Claudia! There you are.” My eyes snapped to Father, and I jerked my hand behind my back, hiding my phone behind a fold in my dress. He was striding towards me with long, purposeful steps. His silver hair shone in the lamplight like a beacon, commanding attention as much as his presence did. I had hoped to avoid speaking to

I had been walking for some time. About four miles, I supposed. My car, an almost-new contraption, had sputtered to a stop somewhere along this Appalachian trail that was touted to be a road. The city was too far back, and it had been hours since another car of any sort had passed me. I had judged walking to be

Food. Good food. Very good food. I could smell the aroma wafting down the carpeted stairway. The smell grew stronger as I followed my nose down the hallway like a hound dog on the trail of tacos. My roommate and I had received an invitation to a Taco Night hosted for the special-diet individuals at our college. Ancestral genes had