**NOT a conspiracy, just a crazy idea** Something I seem to continuously struggle with the idea with, is how the world works. What are people? What is community? Sure, we were all created by God, but beyond that... what are we?

Here are my ten arguments against the Trinity, written from a Bible-first, non-Trinitarian Christian position. These are not shallow objections. They press the doctrine at its strongest pressure points: Scripture, language, logic, history, and worship.

My children will always be able to answer your "why?". In a world where we can make decisions as we choose, my children will always know their reason for making each one of theirs.

I have always had a sort of love for education and learning that developed into a strong crutch in life. I turn to reading anytime I get lost. I find joy in learning when joy is nowhere else to be found. But now, I think of my son gearing up for his first year of school, and my heart crumbles at the thought of experiencing this safe place in a new role.

Saul as a King of was a number of Kings in a line excellent rulers. It takes endurance, strength and courage to be a ruler. When David took over a a King after Saul in the bible neither one was bad or good and they both followed the Lord’s path. In the end it is also the people’s decision and God’s veto power to allow people to succeed without issue.

The article's greatest strength is its message: that both neuroscience and faith point toward the healing power of connection. The idea that social exclusion affects the brain while authentic community helps regulate the nervous system is compelling, especially when told through the lens of disability and church life. That perspective is unique and important.

In this poem I write about what the meaning of singleness gifted by God truly means, and the opportunity it gives us. I pray that if anyone reads this that is struggling with the gift of singleness that you can truly see what God has blessed you and myself with.

This reads less like a traditional poem and more like theological meditation on our own sins and struggles with our faith.

I wrote this when I was feeling lost. It came to me line by line and then God found me as I was writing it.

This series of poems chronicles the transition from self-sacrifice to sacred self-preservation. It confronts the "mental oppression" of a religious upbringing that labels natural desire as unholy and depression as a lack of faith. Rejecting the "wolves in Borsalino hats" who prioritize status and patriarchal rigidity, the work embraces a "Pink Rabbah" identity—one that is queer, secular, and unapologetically human. By navigating the middle ground between denial and belief, the writing finds healing in the realization that mortality is the ultimate equalizer, urging a future where everyone is seen in the image of goodness rather than the slurs of their peers.

This series of poems explores the intersection of trauma, agnosticism, and secular humanism, dissecting the "marketplace of the divine." It challenges the gatekeeping of organized religion—where memberships carry price tags and "holy" spaces are marred by queerphobia, misogyny, and patriarchal greed. Rejecting the violent polarization of 3,000 years of religious conflict, the work finds true sanctity in nature, art, and radical empathy. It is a call for a spiritual revolution: a movement to rehumanize the demonized, dismantle abusive structures, and reach a state of peace where the authentic, queer self is finally valued as sacred and equal.

"Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." ~ James 1:4 (NIV)

In the span of a few days, the Vatican received Archbishop of Canterbury Sarah Mullally and U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio. What it chose to publish—and what it chose to enact—tells its own story. The Anglican archbishop, whose orders Rome considers invalid, was invited to pray midday prayer with the pope and called a sister in Christ. The Catholic Secretary of State, representing an administration at war with Pope Leo, got a press bulletin, the word “cordial,” and an olive wood pen. One visit was framed by prayer. The other by protocol. The Vatican didn’t explain the difference. It simply enacted it. This is a theological close reading of diplomatic texts—and a quiet meditation on where Rome locates genuine communion.

The National Day of Prayer didn’t grow out of ancient Christian practice but out of Cold War politics and later the culture‑war activism of the Religious Right. The Episcopal Church doesn’t formally observe it—not because we don’t pray, but because our life is already shaped by the Daily Office, Forward Day by Day, and the quiet rhythm of the lectionary. Today’s readings offer a very different vision of prayer: not performance, but trust, justice, and covenant. The full Tradition Remixed post explores why that difference matters and what it reveals about how we pray.

Deconstructing from a very Christian southern Baptist upbringing as a queer southerner and the psychology behind that choice.

The Bible is supernatural. This should not be controversial. God is spirit. Angels are spirit. Demons are spirit. The Bible describes a cosmos teeming with divine beings, spiritual warfare, and supernatural events. Yet for centuries, Western Christianity has been systematically embarrassed by this fact. Somewhere along the line, we decided that rational, scientific minds couldn’t handle a supernatural Bible. So we sanitized it. We turned “sons of God” into metaphors. We explained away the Divine Council. We reduced the nachash in Eden to a mere talking snake. We transformed the Nephilim into anything except what the text plainly says they were. We did this so thoroughly that most Christians today have never heard the supernatural worldview their own Scriptures assume. This didn’t happen by accident.

Most people think religion means gods, scriptures, temples, and rituals. But those are forms, not the substance. The substance is simpler and more revealing.

I'm holding space for my own divinity this week. As we move into April, a certain set of beliefs encroaches on our society. Easter is not my religious holiday. I use my own spirituality and synchronize it with the moon cycle and recall the magic of Spring from the month of March.

So, how are we saved in Jesus Christ? Great question, and it deserves a careful answer because this is one of the most misunderstood topics in Scripture. "Faith without works is dead" (James 2:26) does NOT mean works save you. It means genuine faith produces works as evidence. There's a critical difference. Here's what Scripture actually says about what saves: Ephesians 2:8-9 — "For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast."

In a world long forgotten by the warmth of hope, a world where shadows clung to every corner like a second skin, there lived a father and his beloved son. Their home was modest, tucked away at the edge of a weary village where the sun rarely broke through the thick veil of despair that hung over the land. Life had once been vibrant here—children laughing in the streets, families gathering around fires, songs rising like incense into the night sky. But those days had faded into memory. A creeping darkness had settled over the world, draining color from the fields and strength from the hearts of its people. The father, a man of quiet strength and unwavering devotion, worked tirelessly to shield his son from the worst of the world’s suffering. The boy, gentle and full of light, carried a warmth within him that seemed untouched by the gloom around them. His laughter, rare but radiant, was like a spark in a world of ash.