Sitting on the cool, dim Texas ground with my back leaned up God’s house,
I am alone in God’s backyard.
I’ve returned from hitting the ground;
with each step it hits me back,
the weight of it feeling no heavier than my own frame.

The force is a lot lighter than I imagined,
and the pressure is actually a relief —
better than floating around in space forever.
(At least I wouldn’t grow a beard.)

An eye I found at the University of Texas.

We ran around today and yesterday pretending to discover God’s will.
We sort of succeeded,
as usual.
A couple of us got jobs.
I guess that’s something.

It’s great to be in fellowship,
but when everybody’s tired,
I think it’s okay to run away for a little while  — just for now —
as long as you take God with you.

My God is the God that all of the Christians worship.
But he’s not just anybody’s God,
He’s mine.
It’s not that I need to make him mine.
He already is,
and he promised that he always would be.

I guess we just need to make memories together,
so the relationship is not just anybody’s relationship.
Cloning plants takes out all of the fun in watching them beat the odds.
And besides — God doesn’t want his kids to grow up too fast.
Otherwise, they might want too much to be a kid again because they never got a

Chance.  Some say chance doesn’t exist.
Theology aside, I think God always gives us a second chance.
It’s not too late to turn around
and try to shake his hand
but then he gives you a bear hug instead.
But hell is forever, so please pick him before you die.
Because then you will always live.

Forever and always are things we talk about but don’t really understand because we’re still kids.  And you’re somebody’s kid forever.  But who?

Thousands of years back,
my Father was always telling the Israeli kids to “remember.”
He meant, remember Him — who he was and what he did —
but I think he also meant, remember that you’re still kids.

It’s humbling.  Don’t even kid yourself —
we are not something; we’re really just nothing.

Isn’t that something?

I guess that’s something.