The conference this weekend with D.A. Carson was wonderful. I appreciated his constant reference to hymns and poetry, particularly this poem by E.B. Browning. Jesus was forsaken on the cross so no other would ever be forsaken - his cry was echoless.
It went up single, echoless, “My God, I am forsaken!”
It went up from the Holy’s lips amid his lost creation,
That, of the lost, no son should use those words of desolation!
It was a crazy busy weekend of the conference, meetings, babies, lovely fellowship, and little sleep. Today is quiet. Painting waits but I may ignore it today.
A little boy told me on Friday, 'We boys are not cuddlish. We are hazardous.'
Whatever you say darling. But I'm going to kiss your chubby cheek anyway.
Not from the new EP, but here's some luscious forthcoming Eisley.