(Good) Parenting is a death of self. It is one of the most practical areas in a which a Christian might live out Christ’s command regarding the death of self.

“Can this broken body preach a sermon?”

So why do we play? Because our Father has made us his children and playing is what children do.

The central event of this vision is the correction of the human perspective.

This paper examines the biblical data underlying the psychological analogy, with special attention to the Son as Word and the Spirit as Love; it then offers a theological articulation of that analogy.

Herman Bavinck’s “The Origin and Value of Mythology”

Behold, a Sower went out to sow. With his Son in toe, it would be the last time they spoke this side of the grave.

A Review of Ferdinand Ulrich’s Man In The Beginning: Toward a Philosophical Anthropology of Childhood

The following is a satirical letter written by the Reformer, Martin Luther, from the perspective of some birds.

Gathering sticks for the hanging ferns, a sparrow on my front porch thawed herself out in the early morning silence of my coffee and recitations of the Lord's Prayer.

While the world runs terrified, leading to all manner of licentiousness, abuses, legalism, and all-too-serious arrogance, God’s children are those who no longer have to fear.

The following is Chapter 13 of Richard Sibbes’ The Soul’s Conflict with Itself. The chapter is entitled “Of imagination, sin of it, and remedies for it.”

At the core of the Christian gospel is not more advice, checklists, or effort, but an event. The death of death in the death of Christ!

In recent years, the Church has seen a renaissance and recovery of the Classical doctrine of God. Most of this recovery has centered on doctrines like simplicity, impassibility, reactions against Eternal Subordination of the Son, and a more Classical focus on Christology.

When seeking your lost cattle, keep in mind,
That thus Christ Jesus seeks your souls to find.

My Mamaw wrote an autobiography of sorts.

The local coyote, mange-struck, found the neighbor's chickens in my yard over by the garden:
Feathers, blood, and bone, wet with dew.