A poem Facebook comments, every text,                                                   the calls I was too busy for—                                                  extensions of God's spoken belovedness over my life. Her words paved a trail of assurance,  one that’s hard to find                                                          with her no longer here to guide. The sun’s brilliance stamped upon  lilies,                                                                

For those who haven't experienced a room like the one described below , I give thanks to God for that. This poem may feel confusing, unfamiliar, and disconnected. That's okay! Perhaps this poem can increase your awareness or empathy toward someone you know that might be stuck in a room like this. It is not your responsibility to diagnose, fix, or take on the heavy emotions and pain of another. What you can do, however, is offer to listen. When you listen, you can understand.

I wrote this poem early in the morning on November 29. I was enjoying some quiet time with God in prayer and my mind continued to wander and process who I understood myself to be. I imagine that we all wrestle with our pieces and attempt to make sense of them. One piece of us is confident, while another piece of us has unresolved insecurity that latches onto attention that someone showed us. Another piece of us is certain of an important value and belief, while another piece

Today's scars reopening into  yesterday's wounds. Rhythms of rest unwanted space for pain to inflame secret senses. Slowly leaking, motivation depleting. Mind knows discipline as an aly, body responds like an adversary. God’s crowned creation, a mere six feet away— drenched in spotlight captivating attention, heart feels miles away. The stage is a cage— Sunday entertainment. Looked at not seen. Heard not understood.  Used not loved. Transaction . The chase for consistency  as

I wrote this poem on October 3rd as I was drowning in shame after a heavy confession the previous day. A good friend reminded me of the Gospel I had been preaching for 11 years (from a paid platform) and said, "you've been paid to preach the Gospel for 11 years and NOW is the time for that Gospel to become true in your own life. What Gospel do you really believe, Ryan?" So I ask you: when the rug is pulled out from under you, what Gospel are you believing? When you hit rock b

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