Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow

Those lines come from Shakespeare’s Macbeth. So does this: “Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

I'm currently teaching through Ecclesiastes at my church. It's made me reflect on some things and question others.

I haven't been secretive about my own struggle with the black dog that sometimes barks incessantly throughout my day.

I find that writing to you all often helps me collect my thoughts and focus on the keyboard and screen. So, as I've stated before, in the future, I'm going to keep exposing these thoughts, these musings, to the light, and some may be jaded, some illuminating; my goal is to help you.

We live in a world of plastic souls where the church house and the whore house, as Steinbeck compared, serve the same purpose: to get one weekend relief. And frankly, I'm tired of that. That type of Christianity is a tale told by an idiot, truly. It sickens me what our culture has produced hollow men and women who construct sculptures of lives they covet with scraps of their own lives around them.

I’m asking a couple things from you dear reader and I’ve already asked it of myself. What are you willing to expose to the holy fire of Gods Word? Are you ready to tare down the sculpture garden and plastic facade of your soul?

Because without Jesus Christ, this whole thing called life is a tale told by an idot. Tomorrow never comes, choose to rage to fight for this day. To walk with Him in piles of ash if need be. He has a way of making beauty from those piles.

P.S. Christie and I have spent more hours of our lives then we probably should have writing guides, PDFs and helps. It’s our response to what He has done for us. If you haven’t looked at them they are at deadhidden.org and this ministry runs on prayer and the support of its readers if it’s help you communicate that here.