Saturday, September 23, 2023



For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. 

Who hopes for what they already have? 

But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. 

Romans 8:20-25

Tuesday, September 19, 2023

Just Like You


The grand museum was eight days across from end to end. It went on forever and climbed into the future. Where had it all come from? With great pride honorable old women swept and dusted and watched for error. "Don't touch that," they would say to the overzealous, and, "Look," to the complacent.

She and Basil rested at the bluest painting. He, a man from 500 years in the past, a barefoot religious fool in chains. She, modern and over-uneducated, taking in the simplicity and none of the detail. He laughed. He missed some of the details himself. The world had changed so much.

He spoke in the ancient tongue. She listened in her own language, 

but understood him plainly.

The painting was a perfect square, blue within blue like Fremen eyes. Dark, deep, with hardly any deviation. It seemed to be a block of blue, save a shade here or there of something close to black but not quite. Inside it shone a mysterious light. 

Where had it come from?

"It's like you," Basil said to the modern woman.

She saw herself in unkind ways. Imperfect, damaged, lacking, a step behind. That's not how Basil saw her. Reaching to God, that is what his heart told him. 

He wanted to say, "Look," but waited for the right time.

The museum was filled with artifacts, statues and carriages and gold things. So much gold. The walls glistened. The floor glistened. The people, not so much. Basil laughed. This world was full of people who could not see themselves as they really were. They looked at art but did not see it. They rushed to and fro, but went nowhere. They had breath for many more years than most of his generation, but whittled away their time on inconsequence and complained that they were too busy to spend eight days wandering through a museum of beautiful things. Eight days of beautiful things, anyone? He cherished each moment. Basil praised God, the Creator of all things. They praised nothing. "Look," he wanted to say, but waited for the right time.

Wednesday, September 13, 2023

Friday, September 8, 2023


They sat in the restaurant counting little cakes and watching themselves in the reflection of the spoons. 

"This is oppulent," gushed Basil. 

"Do you mean opulent?" She asked.

"YES," came his enthusiastic reply.

It was too much. The delicacies, the clanging dishes of the servers, the gold ceiling, chandeliers, people.

"Are these people gold?" She asked, aghast.

"They only look that way because we are dreaming," Basil explained.

She was certain they weren't dreaming. In fact, she was writing this down, word by word and bird by bird.

"Birds?" He exclaimed.

She tried to distract him. 

"A lot has changed since you were here before," she said. "There is freedom now."

He looked around at the pale, round people hunched over their food and strange rectangles, staring into nothing, eating with great noise but otherwise silent. He glanced out the window for a long moment at their modes of transportation, giant squares and strange shapes rushing in all directions, their bleak, by his standards, buildings, and counted the number of them alone on their journey. 

He replied with a sigh, "They are not free. The whole world is changed to itself and nothing else."

They sat in the restaurant counting cakes. Basil also counted the people. 

"What are we doing here?" He finally asked. "We should be outside speaking the simple words to everyone we meet."

"The simple words?" She wondered aloud.

"Look up," he responded, incredulous that she didn't know.

"Can we just tell the people in here to look up?"

"No," he leaned in, "They will look up and see a gold ceiling and think all is well. They will be distracted by what holds them in. It is very deceptive."

"How do you know this?" She asked him.

"I am a fool," he explained.

Basil, Fool for Christ: