Updated: Jan 29
Some days I am meek, soft, and still. Quiet and observant. Other days I make emotional attachments, detached from logic. I speak zealous words and knowledge of Him whom I follow. I have faith that blows the hairs of any man's head, A fire in my heart that no trial can put down. The charisma that terrorizes those with legs not sturdy enough to hold my strong character and wittiness. With dreams and longings that are ancient and lost, my words broke down the houses of men whose foundation could not to uphold my passion and dogma. Not equipped to survive seasons of despair, freezing winters, and the breath of God. Nothing but broken ceilings and broken-down walls staring lustfully at my outer appearance, boastful about their masculinity.
I walked up to the house of the first little pig.
I made him laugh, and uproar childlike laughter that blew his house of straw to the ground.
I skipped to the second little pig's home. He welcomed me while holding his Tzitzit and tassels. I looked over at his religious statues and Scriptures, his theology was impeccable yet not even a cup of water he offered. He boastfully spoke about what he knew about the law, and then I spoke excitedly about what God has done in my life. And his house of sticks flew, all that was left were his statues.
With much discouragement, I slump forward the third little pig's house. Parched and discouraged he greeted me and served me a cup of much-needed Living water. He was kind, listened, unlike the rest. I soaked up the overwhelming peace that his home carried, I felt safe. Because it was built on The Rock.
I blew their houses down, except for one.
Graphic Designer: Hal Hansen
Photographer: Angel Colón