When I first began seriously writing my poetry, I expected answers—relief, direction, a clean break from struggle. Instead, the poems became a quiet place to remain with God while He spoke in a still, small voice. My healing hasn’t come as a sudden breakthrough, but more like a slow-moving glacier—sometimes almost imperceptible. Each poem has become another quiet place to sit with God while He continues His work in me. To receive reflections like this by email, join The Slow

Where Are You Going? G.P.S. can help you find your way, but you still need to know where you’re going. A hamster on a wheel runs constantly but never arrives anywhere. Many men live the same way—working, surviving, repeating—without direction. We chase paychecks. We stay busy. But we don’t stop to ask where any of it is leading. God did not create us to move without purpose. Epistle to the Ephesians says, “For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good

No matter how far astray you may find yourself from home, Jesus is waiting with open arms.

Our addictions can make us feel like filthy rocks, useless to anyone including ourselves. In fact, we may feel so far gone that no one around us can see anything of value. That is where the Lord can begin to reveal what we can no longer see in ourselves. Hidden Beauty Most rocks we pick up are dull. Years of dirt can do that. I enjoy finding and polishing rocks, and I’ve learned there are many ways to clean and polish a rock. The fastest but least permanent is to put the rock

Healing is rarely a straight path. We want pain resolved, questions answered, and struggles put behind us. But much of healing happens in places that remain uncomfortable longer than we would choose. For me, poetry became one of the few places where I could confront my emotions honestly. It allowed me to name wounds I did not know how to talk about. Poetry did not fix those wounds, but it gave them a voice. And sometimes giving pain a voice is the beginning of bringing it int