Fabricum Idolarum

Why does a box sitting on four wheels, rusty, engine pumping

-represent my freedom?

Why does a wooden plank with 4 legs, in my dining room

-represent my hospitality?

Why does a two legged, tall, dark, handsome, john smith

-represent my love?

Why does a slender and sleek ability to soar

-represent my joy?

Because my heart is an idol factory.

Manufacturing quality goods since 1989.

I need to shut it down.

Listen to me, heart:

"It is for freedom that Christ has set me free. 

Stand firm, then, and do not become burdened again by a yoke of slavery."

I am free from the bondage of sin.

"Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling.

Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others."

I can be hospitable despite my circumstances.

"I will be glad and rejoice in your love, 

for you saw my affliction and knew the anguish of my soul."

God's love sees me and know's me.

But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid.

 I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people."

Christ is my true joy.

Now that is the truth.

Isnt All Spoken Word, Art?

By Alissa Graham


"I do spoken word art," she boasted to all with ears, univited might I add. The bus driver was especially stuck listening to anyone who had anything to say. A bold rainbow was juxtaposed on her body by means of spectacular displays of jewelry.

"Im sorry though miss, but isnt all spoken word, art?" I thought in my head. Our words are a tapestry crafted and designed- some speak more eloquently, yes, and some weave that poetic picture using melodies and announciations. If art is defined as a human creation, then I need to stand my ground.

"Hey there yall,"  splatter the paint in an uneven manner. "How you doin'?" splash, flick, colors, more colors!

"My darling I want to hold you near!" The type of art to caress the soul. "I love you forever." A careful and gentle motion from the potter to the clay. Brotherly exhortation, a sisterly concern: friends, your words carve out my inconsistencies.

A poem, a song, "row, row, row your boat..." Words that invoke feelings, memories, hearing them brings comfort or sorrow. We like to display our words in our homes, above the mantle, "Dont forget your p's and q's!"

But sometimes art is embarrassing and awkward. "I dont know what to say," a painters hesitation, his brush paused. "This cant work out, Im sorry." Criss cross with charcoal, starting over. Sometimes the scultpers sharp tools knick, "You've hurt me." 

Every artist has taken out a new canvas with good intentions. Everyone has picked up the phone and dialed. Only to put it back down, to set it back in its holder, nothing to say.

I think all spoken word is art, and sometimes not speaking is an art unto itself.