It’s been a hard day for her. Attempts to distract with offers of hot coffee or a sweet treat do nothing to stay her overpowering desire to ‘go home’.

“No!” she declares, “It’s too hot for coffee, and my husband will be looking for me soon. I have to go home.”

After many minutes of soothing her with quiet words and promises affirming that her husband will be coming in soon to see her, she eventually begins to move into the dining room to sit down for lunch.

June 3rd, 2009
Dear Journal,

When life gets crowded
Pushing on from one place to the
Next
And all that's left are a series of
Ripples
A wake trailing behind where you have just left
And nearly could be caught
But just peeled away
At the threshold of the second
Scoffing at the concept of a day
Becoming
A dash like lightning
Illuminating the sky
Like when we drove home
The other night
Rain pelted the windshield and
The lull of the empty road
On both ends of us
I felt suspended
In that moment

As I walk to the well, empty bucket in hand,
My mind drifts to what my young self had planned.
Did that large eyed, glowing skinned girl ever guess
At the turmoil since taken my life at arrest?

When womanhood blossomed upon me like spring,
I found what I felt was true love, spread my wings,
Took flight, soared high, then came crashing down –
He put me away, loved me not as his own.

We’ve been here all morning,
Watching the odds and ends,
Helping where we can,
But mostly
Just playing.

The tall one escorts me in
Though I hesitated to sit.
Sleeping babies sometimes need bouncing.

Sure enough
Before it starts
We’re walking halls
And fields
Rocking, bouncing, moving.

We don’t dare sit
In the front pews.
So we stand at the back
Always swaying
Sometimes patting.

Red yellow orange brown and gray;
These are not the colors of May.
Leaves and pine needles on trees so tall,
Yes, these are colors of the melting fall.
Some will say it looks dreary and dead.
They wish for cheerier seasons ahead.
This season of colors so serious and warm
Holds promise of tranquility after the storm.
A symbol of death in beauty falling down;
In piles gathered making a crown.
Death to self given for life from above:
So much less than we give for His love.
Beauty for ashes and joy on the 'morrow;

I. April 20th/21st

Run, yeah run, just as fast as you can,
God will still catch you if it's in His plan.
You can run for a long time or you can sit still;
But you can't hide from God, or from His will.
You can run like a coward or you can stand bold
But God in His might will have His story told.
So stand up tall and always be brave:
Never forget how He conquered the grave.
Spread the gospel far and wide: in every land
'Till His children all rest at His holy right hand.

The sun splashed on the walls tells of afternoon, but I pretend it is morning, and in this fantasy world I have just woken. In both worlds, I am surrounded by warmth in its purist sense - not like the sticky-hot late summer humidity outside, but warmth much like that an infant feels when it's swaddled in a blanket. I have allowed myself to become vulnerable, and, in this moment, I feel happy in this simplicity.

I stood on stage with seven other apologetics finalists at Stoa’s 2015 national invitational speech and debate tournament. One after another, the other competitors’ names were called until I was the only one remaining. Then, Stoa’s president, Dr. Van Schalin called out, “The apologetics national champion, from Lynnwood Apologetics: Mr. Benjamin Powell!” In that moment, all I could think of was the accomplishment, but later, as I talked with my speech club director, I started to look back on the journey that had led me to the place where I was now.