The Benedictine Abbey of Fontgombault

Dew Dreams

'tis the soul's August,
whose roots are tightly compact'd--
water stagnates and rots the soil.
Nothing seems to pass through it.

In dreamy night air does
it imagine,
a haze of soft rain,
to refresh the hell
of the hot day.

Autumnal glimpses
are found deep within,
deadening the murmuring
below.

And nothing sticks to it,
vanishing up like
morning dew.

Dirty Faith

Faith without dirty hands is meaningless.
Dig just a little and feel the creed of life,
buried in the sand.
Rub it between your fingers,
play with it some,
smell its sweet rawness.
There's life there,
for sure.
Burrow down.
Persevere till you find the roots.
Harvest the bounty, it's there for a reason.
Fear not,
water will wash your hands clean.

Gone Fishing

I must apologize for neglecting my blog and explain.

Following seminary, I've moved twice, landing back at my first alma mater, Hampden-Sydney College where I am hard at work reconstructing the College's annual giving program.  I am serving in an interim capacity.  My life is still packed in boxes, spread out between my apartment and storage.

Bear with me, please.  Pray for me, please!  Transitions in life, as you probably know, are often fraught with multiple challenges.  Maintaining one's sanity and sense of rootedness is chief among them.

I pray for you and I hope your summer is spirit-filled.  God's blessings to you.  I'm off to the lake for now.