In short, I have played the harlot. Every moment I've traipsed into idolatry, I've slapped the face of God. These are no small things, these small gestures of disinterest, forgetfulness, and lukewarm laziness. What are these friends I have made? They are not of God. They are wordly affairs, earthly goods and riches, advantages and pleasures. They are nothing, and yet slowly they became my everything.
from “These Worthless Friends Of Mine”
"How can this be?" I cry, for how, exactly, can this be? All you do is motion your head, and I see the cause and result of this miracle. Standing before me is the Son, the Ancient Of Days, and I see where my stain has gone. The seeping blood and putrid red that clung to me now clings to him, and I wail.
from “My Case”
The days are coming when there will be no more trials to be joyful in. There will be days when the gold needs no more refining. He will give and give and give and never take away again. There will be no more tears to catch, and the jar that holds them will be but a memorial of his faithfulness.
from “One Day”