Hatred is the wave of authority residing within all moral creatures that seeks the destruction of that which opposes the purpose of the object of one’s love.

Rejoice not then in the extinguishing of hate, but rather exalt the accuracy and intended function thereof. To avoid righteous hatred is to sacrifice love on the alter of those pathetic idols of complacency, passivity, and self indulgence.

We are to love the Lord our God, then our brother as ourself. And who is your brother, but the man beside you? Love he that is in need, awaiting knowingly or not, the salvation of the Father.

To love requires action; both an uplifting towards its divine function of its object and a tearing down of that which oppresses and perverts. No farmer bears a crop but whom is prepared to tear down the thorns, root out the vermin, burn the thistle and separate the chaff for the furnace.

No grace is worthy of all praise then that saves from less than the consumption of an all powerful hatred let loose, the flames of destruction set in motion. Our God is a consuming fire. Praise his Name, bend to the quaking of His will, for He has such a wave of hatred for the opposition to His love. His eternal love, demonstrated for all to see upon the axis of a cross, is bent towards the progress of your most treasured and intentionally purposed soul into His Kingdom. His pure hatred, unrelenting in its quest to burn away the chains of evil wrapped round your ever burdened shoulders. Lift up the praises of your heart to rejoice at the thought of His Glory. May His fire rage and all become desolate that loves false idols over His law.

Revealed then in the ashes of destruction, an ancient mystery made clear on the bent knee of repentance, the doorway of every wandering souls tormented heart opened for His perfect Love’s embrace.

His Kingdom come, His will having been done.

On Earth as it is in Heaven.

Guilt and shame have a way of pressing on the human heart with an overwhelming weight. They drive a wedge between our true self, the cherished child of the infinitely loving and just God and our broken self-image. 
Guilt has a way of becoming the lens through which we perceive our own value. This isn’t by chance, and its significance is not lost on the enemy. If he can convince us to live out of our guilt then we’re significantly more likely to continue in sin and by doing so, move further away from fulfilling our role in the Kingdom of Heaven.  
When we see ourselves as broken, inept and dirty the continuation of that brokenness seems inevitable and inescapable. 
The only escape is a violent resurgence of a heart bent towards righteousness as the result of a vision of oneself as an heir to glory and the recipient of a victorious lover. 
Through faith, we become the bride of Jesus and He is tearing his way through the forces of darkness in pursuit of YOU. 
Don’t wallow in self-pity, your Savior is taking all the same arrows and He will not be overcome. 
What He has claimed He will receive. You are the passion of the Christ and His wounds were not in vain. 
When we see Jesus as more than a nice man, but as a blood-soaked warrior unwilling to relent in the pursuit of His bride, our guilt dissipates in the eternal light of His all-consuming mercy and grace.

You are the stranger I loved the most.
The answer to a forgotten question. 
The lover I never knew. 
The whisper of silence. 
A beauty chained by an invisible cord. 
A oddly cold kiss. 
An angel from a world apart. 
Oil in my water. 
Fire in my forest. 
Light in the shadows and darkness in the day. 
Our lives seem so impossibly and tragically intertwined. As tho the goodness was all pretense for the pain, fertilizer for the heart. 
You pushed my faith, drove me mad and emptied my pride. 
There resides in me a simpler man,  cleansed through the tortures. 
Seeking still the eternal path, grasping for your hands, knowing they burn. 
I was never your simple answer, nothing in me was your easy road. 
We saw in each other fire, something fierce, untamed and free. 
Maybe we are meant to be or perhaps our hearts are too simply shattered. 
As I remember you, I’ll see a hero. 
Someone fearless, horrified and brave. 
Unsettled and unwilling to be the same. 
Ought not we have more in common than divides? 
Yet, divided we stand and together we fell, our lives a constant paradigm of all that ought not to be. 
Whoever you are, your center is bright. 
Your guilt is forgiven, your future, full of light. 
Stand tall and ride forth, for the King of Kings holds your banner.

His love your eternal glory and the rapturous part of your story. 

Love who you are, dive deep into its mystery. 

Our failures fading as a wisp of your history. 

Some nights the wind screams;  racing through the forest like a mighty chase of predator after prey, tearing through the tangled branches without regard for subtlety or grace.

Other nights the wind scampers along like a peaceful robin. Simply present, unbecoming and unpretentious. “I’m here and I’m content,” it says.

Still yet other nights the wind disappears altogether, leaving behind a haunting silence, that simple nudge of the unknown, the earth’s soft embrace whispering, “It’s not safe here.”

David found himself easing his way down into a small creek bed lined with briars and wet stones on one of these eerily silent nights. It had been weeks since his last warm bed and pillow, and tonight like hundreds before and seemingly thousands to come, he was looking for lost sheep.

I’ve been led to believe that at the heart of sexual addiction is the sin of lust. 

It is there, but deeper than lust is something more real, dangerous, and insidious; shame. 

Shame isn’t a sin, it is an emotion. An emotion fueled by pain and that pain lights a fire under the feet of lust until it dances. 

Men determined to defeat lust lose until they face their shame. 

I feel that my home strongly reflects a blend of who I am and who I hope to be. 
The word that actually came to mind is “shrine,” as if it was a symbolic representation of who I am. 
It’s important I believe, for us to recognize the ways we shape our perspective of ourselves and allow that image to be pushed and directed by God. 
Following our conscience, and the Holy Spirit into recesses we wish weren’t there. The dark, cobwebbed corner of the closet that needs Lysol. 
That is Sanctification. 

 The rhythmic wash of subtle waves drawing against the rough contours of the earth; smoothing its lines, cleansing the hidden rifts beneath the surface. 

Coffee and salt bathe the senses.

She draws me back into bed; reminds my body we are one.

Engulfed in the softness of her touch, her passion swells in my breast, my strength fills her lungs.

Be thankful for all God is and has done.
Look past the clouds of this life and focus on the fact that you know Jesus is good, loves you, has forgiven you and will never leave you.
Focus on eternity, knowing your father in heaven is there waiting with love, grace, forgiveness, mercy, understanding, justice and that He cares specifically for and about you.
A thankful and content heart is more valuable, rare, and worthwhile than anything earthly riches can buy. Pursue then thankfulness, contentment, and simplicity of heart with their fair share of your daily exercise of thought.
Forcefully defend your thoughts from the toxic effects of fear, worry, doubt, anxiety, and apprehension as well as the devils of greed, lust, bitterness, anger, and the most common of all, pride.

A racing mind, lost adrift in the swelling seas of opportunity and time. 

A worn and weary, nearly desperate heart, draped in the consuming wet blanket of a past lover’s empty part. 

The empty space in place of an old embrace, where fire met water and each vanished without a trace. 

—

A beacon on the horizon, that approaching place where light still steady shines. 

The assurance of a new day, warmth rising on her sides. 

Take heart, young and weary sojourner, for your lungs again will breathe. 

That breath so full of life, one cannot help but heave. 

Here and there your wandering soul will see.
Your shipwreck once but a distant memory.
From lost to found on those seas of opportunity and time. 
Here again, tis your time to shine.