tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-203202832011-04-21T11:04:18.258-07:00the premise behind this blog is to provide a place in which my writings can be more easily accessed by those who wish to read my thoughts and reflections on life and faith...works presented here are drafts or works in progress. little here is actually perfected.craig jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944857733270762191noreply@blogger.comBlogger101100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20320283.post-33331613612952972132008-10-06T23:28:00.000-07:002008-10-06T23:47:36.414-07:00

It was one of those cathartic moments when the jail cells of our eyes opened to release our emotions held captive deep within. As we sat across from one another, we talked to each other about the struggles of the recent days: roommates, moving and the fear of the unknown. It was only then that we allowed our depths to be exposed.It was the unknowns that opened those gates and it was the unknowns

craig jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944857733270762191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20320283.post-28617269084216853832008-10-06T23:03:00.000-07:002008-10-06T23:28:03.308-07:00

It feels like one of those things that would inevitably come--death and sickness. One of the great injustices we're suppose to face when we're old--death and sickness, but more and more I begin to notice that age plays no part in this journey.Sickness doesn't wait, it is chronic, and in my family it appears too common. We are sick in ways we couldn't imagine--brokenness, estrangement, trust and

craig jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944857733270762191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20320283.post-1162856409990849902006-11-06T15:39:00.000-08:002006-11-19T21:53:59.573-08:00

Several years ago I was given a standing invitation to supper. The head of family said anytime I desired to, I was welcomed. In the years that followed I joined him at his table—sometimes weekly, sometimes monthly. Others joined me there too, he called them his family and throughout the years their faces, races, and lives changed, as did where supper was served. Some I ate with just once, others

craig jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944857733270762191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20320283.post-1150657418051737002006-06-18T12:01:00.001-07:002006-06-22T13:29:48.113-07:00

Several weeks ago I was forced to stop. Stop everything. I simply climbed into my sweats and hoodie and remain there for the days that followed. Somewhere in my agony the only cry I could make was crushing, “Fuck.” It wasn’t pretty but in my clouded mind that was about the only thing that could come close to a prayer.The weeks that lead up that moment didn’t seem to out of the norm. Things were

craig jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944857733270762191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20320283.post-1147747340084327722006-05-15T19:41:00.000-07:002006-05-15T19:44:58.213-07:00

It’s hard to put into words the isolation I feel—my clouded mind struggles to purify a thought that would be pleasing. Pleasing to you God, but more so for those who watch my faith. The ebb and flow of emotions that I experience don’t fit well into the picture of an unknown yearning. I wish it was simple and I wish it made sense. …… I woke up today to discomfort. Not a physical discomfort but a

craig jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944857733270762191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20320283.post-1144200140048040422006-04-04T18:19:00.000-07:002006-04-04T18:25:20.243-07:00

In many ways my writing began with my faith. They both seemed to start at the same time. Early on my writing took place in my journals, in private, as time progressed they began become more public, much like my faith.My journals became a place in which I could ask questions, questions that often held no answers. Questions that were essentially my cries of pain and my hunger for comfort spelled

craig jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944857733270762191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20320283.post-1139961248742180562006-02-14T15:41:00.000-08:002006-04-04T18:23:50.963-07:00

The letter below is a letter writen to the editor of the Seattle Times in response to an article about a church pastor who wanted to derail legislation that would provide homosexuals with rights taken for granted by the rest of us. Upon reading the letter in the paper I became glaringly aware of the my mistake. The verse I reference is Romans 3:3 my intent was to reference Romans 3:23. Forgive my

craig jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944857733270762191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20320283.post-1136748643484694772006-01-08T11:29:00.000-08:002006-01-11T14:29:53.156-08:00

A few weeks ago a friend and I were up late playing cards. It was well into the early hours of the morning when we began to talk about a topic not too uncommon for us. We began to talk about the church and what, as young people, we think should be done differently.The conversation began with me defending the work I did as a missionary. Throughout this discussion the questioned centered on whether

craig jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944857733270762191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20320283.post-1135897958531475642005-12-29T15:11:00.000-08:002005-12-30T16:06:59.950-08:00

So I went on a first date a week ago. It was with my brother. Not what one would expect to call a first date, but my brother and I don’t talk. We never really have—we’ve tried from time to time but nothing lasting. Every attempt we make is typically one sided in that one of us does the initiation and the other goes along with it. Typically it’s not mutual. This last time was necessary-just

craig jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944857733270762191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20320283.post-1135897208109972952005-12-29T14:58:00.000-08:002005-12-30T16:04:44.520-08:00

Growing up we never talked about things as a family; we brushed it under the rug and hoped to never see again. Talking about things that had happened meant admitting that they happened. They couldn’t be ignored, yet ignoring them was just easier. Out of sight and out of mind, that became our motto. So when I began to talk about things—things became problematic. My mother often told me, “We

craig jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944857733270762191noreply@blogger.com1