random anxieties of existence

And can it be that I should gain an interest in the Savior’s blood! Died he for me? who caused his pain! For me? who him to death pursued? Amazing love! How can it be that thou, my God, shouldst die for me? ’Tis mystery all: th’ Immortal dies! Who can explore his strange design? In vain the firstborn seraph tries to sound the depths of love divine. ’Tis mercy all! Let earth adore; let angel minds inquire no more. He left his Father’s throne above (so free, so infinite his grace!), emptied himself of all but love, and bled for Adam’s helpless race. ’Tis mercy all, immense and free, for O my God, it found out me! Long my imprisoned spirit lay, fast bound in sin and nature’s night; thine eye diffused a quickening ray; I woke, the dungeon flamed with light; my chains fell off, my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed thee. No condemnation now I dread; Jesus, and all in him, is mine; alive in him, my living Head, and clothed in righteousness divine, bold I approach th’...

I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed– in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” (1 Cor 15:50-54) Deep within the blackness of my peaceful slumber I see a pinprick of light ascending from below. It is approaching at a great speed; at such a rate, in fact, that within seconds it envelops my entire view. It is so bright that I can see into it no further than the darkness of before, but this light is filled with an inexpressible e...

When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God's glory so that God's Son may be glorified through it.” Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days (John 11:4-6) . at the moment of collision, a silence fills my senses. he is gone. i am no longer falling or moving at all. it has been four days since i have entered this tomb, and the stench lies pungent on my nostrils. he had known my sickness, he had heard of my misfortune, and yet he had lingered longer in the place where he was. i thought we were friends; best of friends. yet now i lay here, separated from flesh and substance in a nothingness like a deep, unwakable sleep. if he had been there, i would not have died. oh, this foolish heart of mine. to always alight on such arms as to let me fall. why is this always so? will i ever find a love that doesn't let me go? each trust invested finds fickle ...

"For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; for the willing is present in me, but the doing of the good is not. For the good that I want, I do not do, but I practice the very evil that I do not want... Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death?" (Rom 7:18, 19, 24) I hate this sin at work within me. It started as a faint cough, then it began to wrack my whole body. Its defilement crept into this sarx, my flesh, and once it gained a foothold it never stopped its exponential onslaught. No longer can I remember the days of light, of walking quietly in the garden. All has faded to black in my depraved mind. Only a shadow of a long-lost love remains. I can almost remember goodness, beauty, and truth. But alas, as a daydream plunges into a tragic nightmare it vanishes, as reality clutches me in her icy grip. I think back to that fated day when this hated lust began. He had offered so much, it seemed. To become like God. To pos...

For we know in part and we prophesy in part; but when the perfect comes, the partial will be done away . When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known. But now faith, hope, love, abide these three; but the greatest of these is love. (1 Cor 13:9-13, NASB) We are in the dimension of imperfection . It is not a time of nothingness; it is a time of imperfection, of the partial. There is something here, and that something is beautiful. We have been blessed abundantly by God with every good and perfect gift through His Son. However, we are still incomplete. The Kingdom is within us, but it is also not yet completed, for it is still at hand. We are to pray "Thy Kingdom come," and yet it is here as a seal, as a promise, and...

as an unperfect actor on the stage, who with his fear is put besides his part, or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; so I, for fear of trust, forget to say the perfect ceremony of love's rite, and in mine own love's strength seem to decay, o'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might -shakespeare (from sonnet xxiii) to me, girls are an elusive mystery yet a close perplexity, a distant illusion yet an obvious reality. in the Return of the King, Aragorn tells Eowyn, "It is but a shadow and a thought that you love." generally i am not in favour of quoting mushy movie lines, but unfortunately this one caught my ear and resonated too loudly in my mind. i'm caught at a seemingly impassable fork in the road when it comes to the more-attractive half of humanity. on one hand stands the idealistic proverbs 31 babe. she is beautiful in heart, soul, mind and strength...

recently my msn name has been "I'd like to be a penguin." this has prompted a hefty slew of questions on why I'd want to be a penguin. this is slightly unexpected. after all, who wouldn't want to be a penguin - especially an emperor penguin? have you seen the snazzy suits they wear or thought about the joy they must have sliding along on their glossy white bellies?   as I thought about it more, and learned a bit more about these plump birds, I realized it was no longer merely an inane nickname. I really do want to be a penguin. perhaps it is because they are my inspiration when it comes to the ladies. all us single guys could use some 'picking-up' tips from these swathe gentlemen, these dashing romeos. while singing their love sings, their courtship behaviour includes a wide range of displays ranging from head bowing to head swinging and walking around in a most impressive manner. after finding his girl, the two are together ...

I took this picture at the Art Institute of Chicago. It could be my favourite painting of all time. I love blue. I think God must love it, too, because He painted the sky with it, but perhaps I'm biased. In this painting I see a profound dialectic. On the one hand, the emancipated and contorted body and sorrow stressed during Picasso's 'Blue Period' stress deep suffering, likely inspired by the suicide of his friend, Casagemas, and the poverty and pain he saw in those around him and faced as a struggling young artist in Barcelona. This is the sorrow of the outcasts of society, the poor and the downtrodden that Picasso especially identified with during this time, as his sales had fallen sharply and he was forced to contend for mere survival. On the other hand, this poor and blind guitarist is doing what he loves. Despite the misery of his situation, his world is transcended by the melodies of his instrument, his craft. In this sense, the blue of the painti...

what is this tragic mercy, this divine sickness that compels me to hope? i'm condemned to an intangible optimism that requires staking every last object of my affection, every sensible pleasure and every delighted love outside the door of my death. doubt is a luxury too expensive for this vagabond who's hurled each coin of the thirty at his feet. the one whom i desire is the one from i would most often rather hide my face. he is my offensive Beloved. i cannot tear my eyes from his conflicting gaze. his glorious power and shameful weakness draw me to his vanished body. alone, my very breath betrays the substance of shattered hope. quaking here in timid assurance, i know beyond understanding that my Redeemer lives. when the universe has been incinerated, he will stand upon my earth. when this corpse has rotted to nothing and all memory of my life has passed from time, then, in my flesh, i will behold my God. i, keith ernest dow, will see him with these eyes - i, not another...

I cut my hair today. I’m not sure how masculine it is to cut one’s own hair, but I do, and I like it. It’s saved me a lot of money over the past few years. In fact, when I was in the dorm at Briercrest it became quite a lucrative little business for me. In the end I was charging top dollar for Keith Kuts (no, I did not actually have a name for it). This probably had a lot to do with the fact that most people were too lazy to go into Moose Jaw, and I knew it. Sam Walton has nothing on yours truly. Cutting hair is fun because it reminds me of those little pots that looked like faces that you could grow grass in. Eventually it got to the point that you could give them crazy green hair-do's, something I'm sure most of us secretly desired at one time or another. It’s rewarding to see the dry, dead cells fall to the ground and the head regain a sense of symmetry and decency. I may not be able to order society, or bring justice to the people, but I can straighten a mop ...

have you ever bit too much off of life? gone beyond you, grasping at divine complexity? clouds surround the sun, cutting off its light. in the rain and the hail, icy darkness turns every direction down. stepping too far into oneself is a dangerous thing. our frailty was never made to control eternity, only to live it. cobwebs of life past and future cloud reality until present fades in upside-down oblivion. what does the future hold? i know. it holds the explosion of past mistakes and tragic failures. i must change this. i must change my future before it catches up with my past. but myself is something i cannot change. i am always me. i will never not be. this moment is doomed because it cannot predict the past or redeem the future. both are lost. how could i ever dream to accomplish what i once dared to hope? there is too much for me in this time i’ve been given. how could i my shoulds? incapable. inept. strained eyes peering into the darkness of tomorrow turn blind. i can no l...

you may have caught a glimpse of them as you go throughout your day. you'll never find them as a high government official or even pumping gas, but one day they will rule the world. often quiet and observing, you never know when they will suddenly become a vibrant explosion of energy, doing things that people such as you and i would find absurd. today i made the mistake of catching the eye of one of these little people. suddenly, i realized i was in over my head; caught in a staring match i couldn't win. i had driven a go-cart to a nascar race, and i knew i was about to be lapped like milk in a saucer. it must've been three minutes before my eyes watered over and i had to look away. i enjoy watching people. each wrinkle in a face, each nervous twitch or gentle gesture is a clue towards unveiling the treasure of a unique personality. i am intrigued by each life story, each hidden pain or destiny-impacting moment encountered by every individual who shares the air of this t...

precious day, crown jewel in eternity that your dazzling light should cascade through the lens of my soul a blessed sublimnity my treasure immanent my Joy, whose Spirit inspires air i breathe whose grace crafts form in radiance whose charity brushes space with spectrum and whose power transforms every lofty peak into a scepter proclaiming your majesty you are full beauty to me