The Good Book

The Good Book

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Josh Powell is In Hell

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Josh Powell. source: http://img2.timeinc.net/people/i/2012/news/120220/josh-powell-300.jpg Probably. Anyone who knows me and/or follows my writing both and on my hubpage account , knows that I was reared in a very Christian home and am now, in my thirties struggling with many common and widely held beliefs that the modern Christian church teaches. The most alarming of these is the concept of hell . I question how a loving God, a Creator who refers to Himself as “Love” would create creatures that would end up in a placed of eternal anguish called “hell”. Thankfully, because of Josh Powell , I’m clinging to the idea of hell—and of heaven—and some sort of comfort. Josh Powell was a person of interest in his wife Susan's 2009 disappearance. She is most likely dead and he is almost positively the reason for it. Killing your wife is bad, killing your children is worse and incomprehensible even to me, a lifelong non-parent. Last week, Josh Powell lost custody of his two boys and ...
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Turn or Burn?

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Clearly these signs speak of God's abiding love for mankind. I grew up in the church. Two of my uncle's were pastors and my dad was a Christian musician, speaker, and occasional worship pastor. I've heard every message under the sun about the Son. I've grown bored and uninterested in my faith and ambivalent towards the church. Quite frankly, the church is an institution corrupted by man that in no way resembles the Christian church that Jesus anointed Peter to. I haven't consistently gone to church for a couple years and my soul misses it. I need the fellowship, the worship, the study of scriptures. I want to know God and know Him deeply. Whatever dogmatic or doctrinal label that puts on me, I don't really know or care. I just want to feel the Spirit moving within me. I had a revelation last night. The message at church (we go on Saturday nights) was one I've heard thousands of times. It was about the need to evangelize. The...
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Last Train to Belingham

In honor of Valentine's day (A Day Late) Here's a poem I wrote for my wife, before we were married. i hope you enjoy it! Last Train to Bellingham Again the train is stopped. Sixty miles out of Portland and we've been stopped for thirty minutes. Now we're going again, and now we're stopped again. We're letting another freight train pass. Three kids next to me- (oh, Lord God, bless their mother) The crunching of a potato chip bag, nickels flung against my chair, disobedient little monsters! I scowl at them not hiding my contempt. Their mother looks (tired) at me, ready to leave the little monsters on the train. A bag of chips just exploded next to me. They are all over the floor. The carpet is greasy and crumby. I don't help pick up. The bag was exploded by Dylan Thomas. The eldest- a girl- left her books in the locker at the train station. I'd kill for a cigarette. I like the train whistle- and the guy with the disheveled pink hair and pink scar...
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