It was only the second drink. Sloshing spinning slivers of silvery ice. Two pieces swimming just beneath the surface. Swirling around in synchrony glassed in an endless circle. A tiny shake from his fingers almighty kept them timelessly turning around each other. They crash into each other from time to time, bludgeon themselves against the invisible crystal wall to freedom, and then float lonely, smaller, melted a bit more than before. Drinking in their drift to nowhere, he watched them waste away. Water in the whiskey.
Category Archive: Cindy Koch
Red swirling tails overtaking the ripples of clear water. Ribbons of crimson twirling quietly, in this silent moment. A secret flood, a hushed wave, a hidden current rolling smoothly beneath the surface. All by herself, she watches the scarlet dance. Entranced by the simple beauty in the water. Hypnotized by the simple horror of the blood.
Dear Darkness,
Boldly quiet, ageless grace
Still and steady resting space
First born calm eternal place
Did you ever anticipate the downfall of your reign?
The pain
The bane
Your slayer’s dressed in white
Being a mother is wonderful and terrible at the same time.
This task is wrapped up in experiences and expectations not only passed down from her own mother, but from her ideals, friends, and mentors. Even in the Church, we have highlighted the vocation of mother, that this office is necessary and an important service to God and neighbor. There are plenty of blogs, books, and podcasts to guide one in the ways of being a great mother, secular, Christian and otherwise, but there is something critical they may not tell you about mothering. Because, if you considered this little piece of advice, the parenting paradigm may crumble.
A new story always begins with the spirits of hopes and dreams. Leaping and flying, spinning and whirling, the tale is bound to go anywhere. In a fictional world of no consequences, the story can take shape any way the spirits lead. Creative heights, unthinkable depths, there are no boundaries where she can go. Soaring away from reality, another world is unveiled where deepest desires and questions are allowed to surface. But silently driving the distant words of story, truth and reality press her upon unsuspecting souls.
Sweet song of heaven calls from above
Weighting freighting the glorious clouds
Soaring out pouring out she tastes the sky
Ambitiously swallowed that deep song of love
He is risen! Now is the time to rejoice and celebrate. Although it might seem a little strange today, to attempt a celebration of victory over death when everyone is isolated in their own homes, for fear of a deadly virus. Church gatherings are replaced with individuals streaming at home. Family dinners are reduced to lonely leftovers. Laughter of the kids in their new Easter clothes hunting for eggs now looks like antsy children in their pjs, bored with the at-home schedule just like yesterday.
Saturday is the pause between the dark pain of Good Friday and the bright joy of the resurrection. Hazy shadows stand between Friday and Sunday, between night and morning, between despair and comfort. Saturday may be the most overlooked devotional opportunity of Holy Week, possibly because it is the unrealized in-between.
“My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?” This cry of Jesus sounds from the cross before he gives up his spirit. The darkness deepens, the Light of the world falls silent. Tonight on this Good Friday, we will ponder the death, the good death, of our Lord and Savior.
Why is this night different from all other nights? Traditionally, the youngest child at the dinner table would ask this question as part of the Passover meal. This meal brought to remembrance the great acts of God for His people Israel, delivering them from slavery in Egypt so long ago. Rightly called the Passover, because the angel of the Lord passed over the homes of God’s people which were marked with the blood of a lamb. They were saved from the final plague that brought death over the land. So every year after, God’s people celebrated, ate and drank, remembered their gift of salvation.
Jesus rides into Jerusalem, the crowds go wild! How do we get from this exciting praise and gathering of crowds to his death on a lonely isolated cross only a short time later? Today is a time of worship that explores the spectrum of our emotions engaging in this great gospel story of Jesus Christ. In preparation for the Easter celebration coming up next week, take a minute to contemplate the journey from the Palms to the Cross.
She gripped the pink and yellow remains with both tiny hands. A little corner stuck out just above her thumb where she nervously bit to calm down. Ripping tearing thrashing by her own hand, the anxiety was too much to keep inside. That faded fabric barley covered her trembling body. But the routine of it all comforted her. The familiar weight of embrace relaxed her tension. The panic that attacks eventually loosened its hands from inside her throat. She could breathe again.
A wet, warm breeze blew the last of the raindrops across the sky. After an hour of drizzling darkness, the clouds began to glow a shade lighter. Even though the sound of the rushing drains fooled my mind into thinking it was still raining, my dry cheeks informed me differently. The thunderstorm was over, and the blue sky began to push through the grey. It was just after 4 pm and I knew it was time. The hunt was on.
It is a most pleasurable and painful need of His image: To speak, to sing, to form, to make. Our hands were sculpted to press a moldless form into beauty. Our eyes were crafted to dream color into a dark grey vision. Our lips were shaped to taste the ever-sweeter sensations that we could conceive. We were fearfully and wonderfully designed to create like the Creator.
It’s nothing new, we all have felt the war between what we know is true from the words of God and what the culture says is good and right. Most of the time though it doesn’t affect us directly, usually it is just those other people out there doing something we totally disapprove of. But every once in a while, this battle starts stirring in our own home, among the people we love, even right in the eyes of the little people we’ve known from their first breath.
Diving into the great sea of knowledge, I am drowning. Wave after wave of fact and fiction, feeling and experience crash over my head as I fight just to take a breath. Pummeling pressure keeps my eyes just below the surface, so that I can’t quite see clearly. Swell after swell, small and distant, grows deeper and more powerful the closer it gets to me. Endless fathoms of knowledge washing in and out, burying me deep below understanding.
In the middle of the night, that’s when I fear unlove. Whatever light shone during the day, its not guaranteed that it will come back again in the morning. I wonder on my pillow if I did the right thing, said enough words, made my warmth accessible enough to you. I wonder in the darkness if you will be kind to my vulnerability, patient with my emotions, present in the raw moments.
Every Christian is engaged in the battle of the devil and the world today. Shocked by the culture, disappointed by the grasp of the evil one, those who take comfort in Christ are already in the midst of a fight. Those on the other side believe a story that is not one from the lips of the Triune God. Those on the other side ridicule and belittle a historical account of a savior passed on from generation to generation. Those on the other side proudly declare war on those who trust in the God who created and redeemed. And so there seems to be no other option. Prepare for the war. Ready your weapons.
She whispers softly.
He stands an arms-length away.
She calls again.
He holds his reasoned stay.
Answer the most basic of all questions, one that will set the pattern for your life, your beliefs, your actions, and your choices. Answer one simple question and your inner fighting and turmoil is put to rest. Answer this tiny little question so that the path set before you will come into focus. Just a single question: Who am I?