Poetic

I'm spending some time with a good friend on Saturday.  Steve moved to Peoria a few years ago but we remain friends despite distance.  He'll be coming to Chicago with the church leadership team he's a part of down in Peoria and Bobby and I will be doing a little bit of consulting with them. 

Steve is the kind of guy who I can do a strange stream of conscious email exchange--the kind that makes us both laugh and consists mainly of weird and random words and cultural references.  Its good to have friends like that.

So in the midst of such an exchange today, Steve drops this poem out of nowhere.  He wrote it on the fly and I just had to share it with you.

The sun shines not upon the mid-land of Lincoln’s boyhood.
White flakes race to the frozen earth in place of longed-for warming beams.
And yet, almost despairing, I recall that my heart, like the heart-land, beats through seasons.
And again, again, and again, I am warm.

Mmmhmm.