I had no grid for anything demonic other than a handful of Bible verses and the book The Screwtape Letters, and I had definitely never met anyone personally who publicly shared his or her testimony of deliverance from evil spirits or ever mentioned anything about literal curses.

He is always waiting on us
So surrender

Surrender again

You know how you grow up just knowing random facts about people in your family? Grandpa so-and-so owned a grocery store. Grandma so-and-so immigrated via Ellis Island.

We are putting up our tree late this year. It is five days until Christmas, and we still do not have one up in our living room. This has made me sad multiple times, but there really has not been an opportunity to go and get one.

All I knew at the time was that when I renounced Kappa Kappa Gamma in the Name of Jesus, I was healed. And at the time, this made no sense to me at all. I was even offended by this encounter.

From the blossom, a seed falls
A garden prophecy 

One seed — many flowers

I had been strung along a gauntlet of physicians. No consultation was alike, and I left each with more of two things: referrals and confusion. I was pricked more times than I could keep track of, and the pain increased with each visit.

The pages are new 
With the same ink 
Old songs — ancient ones 
Psalms 

I needed help praying at work, so I asked Holy Spirit to guide me. We authored this together. I figured that if I needed help someone else might need it, too.

When I would be trying to tell my dad something, especially when I was excited, it would come out as, “Dad-dad-dad.” It is a practice that started when I was little, and it still continues to present.

This poem was originally composed in July 2021 in Columbus, Ohio.

Depicting the gaze between the Son and His mother.

From
From
From
From
From

Regret before God is not repentance.
Regret is not holy.
Repentance is a gift.

In early February 2018 in a little town outside Asheville, North Carolina, I reflected during missionary training prior to my departure for the Dominican Republic.

I began this piece in an attempt to align my heart and mind — contemplating an electric valley I would learn to exit during the months and years to come.

Sometimes, I find this space between the white noise of a window seat, but recently it has been in the cacophony of clanking dishes.

This time is unique and precious. I know it, but I do not always have the capacity to feel it.

I used to immensely dislike the poetry section of every English class throughout my school days, yet now so often when I sit down to write it’s poetry that comes out.

Countless journals have hosted first entries dedicated to this desire, yet I have had a hesitation — even to just call myself a writer.

“Bread.”

That is all I heard.