Aspiring Poet, heartfelt thoughts.I have Just Discovered that I can write

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The Gospel According to the Man in the Mirror

There are thoughts that knock politely. This was not one of them. It came like something scratching from inside the walls—quiet at first, then persistent, until I could no longer pretend I had not heard it. My mind has always been an odd place to live. Schizophrenia has made some corridors darker than others, and there are days when even my own thoughts seem like strangers wandering through rooms I thought I knew. Yet sometimes, in that strange wilderness, a question appears that refuses to be dismissed. I was thinking about sinners. Not us. Them. That is how we usually think of it, isn't it? The sinner is always somewhere else. He is the addict. The prisoner. The man whose life has become a ruin. The woman whose past we whisper about. The one we hope Christ will save—provided their salvation does not require them to sit too close to us. And then the thought turned its pale face toward me: What if the worst sinner who ever lived is not someone history remembers, but the person st...

I Was the One Who Could Not See

When the Light Reveals the Darkness What if God sometimes lets us see how dark the darkness is—not to make us fear it, but so that when He reveals the Light, we finally understand what we were blind to? I did not begin with the Cross. I began with a question about darkness. Not the darkness that falls when the sun disappears. Not the darkness of a room with the lights turned off. Something deeper. The kind of darkness a person can live inside without realizing he is there. Perhaps that is the most frightening thing about darkness: it does not always feel dark when you have lived in it long enough. We learn its shape. We adjust our eyes. We become comfortable with what we can no longer see. And eventually, we stop asking whether we are blind. We simply call what we see normal . Then I began to wonder: What happens when Light finally enters that darkness? Perhaps we expect the Light to make everything beautiful immediately. But what if it does the opposite first? What if the first thin...

The Road Had Always Been There??

The Road Had Always Been There There are moments in life when the road ahead seems to vanish. Not because the road has ended. Not because there was never a way forward. But because the darkness has become so familiar that we begin to believe it is all there is. We stand in the middle of the unknown, looking into the distance, searching for something that will tell us where to place the next step. We ask questions that have no easy answers. We wrestle with silence. We wonder if we have wandered too far, if we have gone too deep, if perhaps the path we were meant to walk disappeared somewhere behind us. And in those moments, the hardest thing to accept is that sometimes the problem is not the absence of a path. Sometimes the problem is our ability to see it. The traveler in the night does not always need a new road. Sometimes he needs new eyes. There is something mysterious about the way God works. He does not always move the mountains we fear. He does not always remov...

The Letter Without a Signature

The Letter Without a Signature There are moments when the world grows quiet enough that even the smallest things seem eager to speak. Not with voices, but with presence. The hush of an ancient forest. The patient rhythm of a river polishing stone. The wind wandering through the branches as though it remembers a path older than memory itself. The stars kindling one by one over the horizon, each arriving without haste, as if eternity has never learned the meaning of urgency. Many see only the mechanics of these things, and there is beauty in understanding how they work. But I often find myself wondering whether understanding how is only the beginning of a far greater question. My schizophrenic mind has always wandered into places that others might never think to visit. It asks questions that cannot be measured and notices patterns that invite reflection. I've learned that not every thought should be accepted simply because it appears, but I have also learned not to dismiss every m...

The Forest Keeps Time

What in nature appears insignificant only because it moves on a timescale I rarely notice? That question found me before I had an answer. I wasn't looking for philosophy. I wasn't searching for theology. I was simply watching the world outside my window and wondering how much of life I miss because I insist on measuring it by my own clock. We celebrate what blooms overnight and mourn what fades too quickly. We measure success in weeks, healing in months, and dreams in years. Nature seems uninterested in any of it. A tree doesn't rush toward the sky. Moss doesn't compete with the oak. Roots disappear deeper into the earth long before anyone notices the branches reaching upward. Maybe that is why forests feel ancient. They refuse to hurry. It occurred to me that perhaps what I call stillness is simply movement unfolding on a timescale I have never learned to see. A fallen tree appears lifeless, yet beneath its bark another world awakens. Fungi weave unseen th...

The Bell Tolled at Dusk: Learning to Dance With the Days God Gives Us

"So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom." — Psalm 90:12 Some thoughts begin as a sentence. Others begin as a wound. And some begin in the quiet places of life, when God takes an ordinary moment and suddenly opens our eyes to something we have been too busy to see. This thought came to me with a simple sentence: "There is a last time you will do everything." At first, that thought feels heavy. Almost painful. Because when you really stop and think about it, every one of us has a list of moments that will only happen once. There will be a last time you pick up your child. A last time you hear your mother's voice call your name. A last time your father walks through the door. A last conversation with someone you love before they become a memory you carry. The difficult part is that we rarely know when those moments are happening. Life does not stop and whisper, "Pay attention. This is the last time." There is no warning...