Facebook Fight With Jesus


“Let’s have a civil conversation, you’ll see that I’m right.”

“Woe to you teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of your spices-mint, dill, and cummin. But you have neglected the more important matters of the law-justice, mercy, and faithfulness. You should have practiced the latter, without neglecting the former.”

“Yes, of course, I always write you your check. I do that so I can be blessed.”

“Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called sons of God.”

“We all know in order to make peace you need to fight. Live a little longer and you’ll see that I’m right.”

“If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.”

“That won’t work! That doesn’t apply to me! I’ve got values to protect, and a family to feed!”

“Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. A man’s enemies will be the members of his own household.”

“WHAT?! WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! Let me guess, you probably stand with those folks who take a knee? Can we just fire this S.O.B?”





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Spirit in My Blood

There is a spirit in my blood that drives me to pay, drives me to play, drives me to drift.

Once I tried to drown it.

Once I tried to cut it out.

Once I tried to put it to sleep.

Once I tried singing it sweet Psalms so it would retreat.

No liquid could quench it, no cut too deep, no rest for the weary, and no white flag of defeat.




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A River Runs

A river runs through me, crooked and swift.

Oft its banks are breached, its waters spill into the plain.

Oft it recedes, exposing the bed.

Sometimes I swim and sometimes I float.

Always it carries me.



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Advice From the Well

I fell into a well…again.

I’m cold and, wet, and the concrete in my blood is starting to set.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, but people have begun to gather.

“He’s just doing it for attention. It’s the fourth time this month that he’s fallen into a well.”

“Have you tried not walking so close to wells?”

“Maybe if you tried really hard to not fall in you wouldn’t.”

“Didn’t you read the book I gave you on how to avoid wells? I’ll drop it down to you so you can give it a look.”

“I know exactly how you feel! Once, I was stuck in a well for a whole night!”

“Have you tried climbing out? Maybe you can just climb out.”

“You are going to be such an inspiration to anyone who ever falls into a well.” While you’re down there, you should write about your experiences.”

“You should go see a well expert. They will be able to help get you out.”

“Don’t worry, soon you’ll get used to living in the well. I know lot’s of people that spend most of their lives in wells, and they live very productive lives.”

“Have you tried yelling for the guy that built the well to come pull you out? I’ll tell you what; I’ll start yelling for you.”


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I try to scrub clean drip by drip, but the stain’s as stubborn as ever.

I pray to the faucet, but it just won’t run.

They say, ” Pray the right words and maybe you’ll turn him on.”

Never been great at talking about mess, so I sit there silent, drips drying into regrets.

The man who talks to the faucet gives me three easy steps.

  1. Turn the handle.
  2. Stand under the water and scrub away stain.
  3. Put some money in the offering plate on your way out.

Cooling my tongue drip by drip, wondering why a faucet requires a daily quip.

The lady who talks to my brain gives me three easy steps.

  1. Take this pill.
  2. Stop being thirsty.
  3. Put some money in the offering plate on your way out.

Maybe you’re not a faucet. Maybe you’re a well.

Maybe you don’t need turned on. Maybe you need drawn from.


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There’s a Man in the Sky

“There’s a man in the sky,” they say.

His beard as long as the ocean deep.

He’s paving his roads with American gold

while is children convert all his enemies.


“There’s a man upstairs,” they say.

Clanging his chains like a Holy Ghost.

Whispering his secrets among the walls of your heart,

And for one small gift, and a weekly visit, his spirit will never depart.


“There’s a man in the book,” they say.

Look real close, he’s there.

Study every sentence, parse every verb,

And when you’ve found him, tell everyone you’re sorry,

But they’ve simply misunderstood.


“Let him into your heart,” they say.

He’ll show you the way!

Unless you’re brown, a democrat, or gay.


I’ve been to the sky, no man to be found.

I visit the attic, nothing but disease.

I’ve declined all the nouns, trying to avoid my fate.

And my heart? I invited him in! He even brought wine!

But still my affections they waiver.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound.

I’m becoming deaf to the calls of the savior.



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Me Too

A little over two months ago my friend Mike Campbell asked me to put together a video testimony that addressed some of my journey with my mental health diagnosis to be shown to his student ministry. I was a little hesitant to do this for a few reasons, the biggest being I find some of this story incredibly embarrassing. I agreed to do the video, and was encouraged to share it with a broader audience because of the feeling that it may be helpful for those who are struggling with mental health issues in the Church. It is geared specifically to Mike’s youth group, but I believe the main points to be universally relevant. At the risk of being just another voice in the large crowd of folks who talk about these issues, it’s my hope that if nothing else, you as a fellow struggler will find solace in a voice that is simply saying, “me too.”


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