James 3

My tongue

My weapon

I kill glory restlessly.

Cain, Charles, and Albert

Never have I felt the sick power behind Cain's murderous blow (Genesis 4:8) until I read East of Eden (3:4).

"Cain spoke to Abel his brother. And when they were in the field, Cain rose up against his brother Abel and killed him."

"The punching continued eternally. He could hear his brother panting with the quick explosive breath of a sledgehammer man, and in the sick starlit dark he could see his brother through the tear-watered blood that flowed from his eyes. He saw the innocent, noncommittal eyes, the small smile on wet lips. And as he saw these things--a flash of light and darkness."

"The footsteps came close, slowed, moved on a little, came back. From his hiding place Adam could see only a darkness in the dark. And then a sulphur match was struck and burned a tiny blue until the wood caught, lighting his brother's face grotesquely from below. Charles raised the match and peered around, and Adam could see the hatchet in his right hand."

I do not dare say that Steinbeck's prose is some type of explicit exposition of biblical text. However, I do think that his vivid imagery and ability to capture such intensity has pierced my otherwise bland view of Adam's murder. It pronounces Cain's sin and makes my insides wrench when I think of how indifferently he denies his own blood slain.

I only fear that people like Cain, like Charles, like myself do exist. Murderous and hateful. Oh how I wish to slay every evil, hateful, murderous desire in my heart against my fellow man. Whether it be on the road in a commitment to rage, on a football field where prides collide and emotions roar, in the bedroom where fortified hurts protected for years come ripping through walls willing and able to hurt anyone with ears. Lord, keep me from reaching this hatchet of hate.

Why Johnny Can't Preach: The Media Have Shaped the Messengers

In this book by T. David Gordon, he takes the accumulated observation of many years as Christian and lesser years as a pastor and professor to critique today's pulpit. Coming from the unique perspective of a media ecologist he spoke how damaging our communicative outlets are: instant messaging, telephone, television, etc. These inadequate means of receiving and dispensing information have dampened the fire that ought to shoot forth from the preacher.

His argument may come off very blunt and harsh, but it is truth unveiled. Compassion I can get from other reads, but honesty is what I'll gladly take from this salty piece. Therefore, I have decided to take this book as an impetus to rekindle my need to read and my want to write.

I will use this blog to share what I'm reading and how they have so affected my thoughts and my life. Let us here begin.

I started East of Eden by John Steinbeck. I already feel the monstrosity that is Charles begin to frighten me whether by his alien form of aggression or the way that I may imitate him in secret. the nature of his bond with his brother, Adam, is one that intrigues me not because it is similar to the relation to my own brother but perhaps because it is so different.

It is illuminating to see how a man becomes what he is, as Steinbeck shows us how Cyrus is constructed: primarily by self-deception and his obsession over the military. His fanaticism, emotional unavailability: its wider effects on his children and Alice is something frightful. I have found myself wanting to raise my children in such a way, as brilliant athletes, militantly disciplining and shaping them to be "men". His depiction of a man that really put this in practice reminds me not to operate a family in such a way.

The most striking character for me is Samuel. After reading the first chapter about him, I remember telling myself: I want to be like that. I will let this be enough: Sam is the man.

You splashed summer into my palms

I received it like a poor man would alms

Thank you, God.

dickinson exclusively

exclusively dickinson's

From deserts of
mouth and mind
I drink your words
they slide down
and soak my gut
and saturate
my blood lines

it's my cells that sip
with delight
your words
I exhale gratitude
you are
always
more than
enough

she gone

Quite remarkable

How days are made:

our minutes

make her hours

oh, how something so

quick

leaves such a

lasting impression

like paragraph indentations

her words are forever

she hits me hard

in the heart muscle

soft not gentle

every time

fresh as the first

her seconds

is all i want