by Prasanta | Mar 27, 2018 | Change, Christ, Christianity, God's love, Hope, Jesus, Love, Mercy, the cross
Did Jesus practice eucharisteo* as he walked to Calvary? As people spat and spurned, did he continue to give thanks to God the father? Did he continue to give thanks as he was so greatly burdened, bowed down with the heavy load, bruised, agonizing, and all he could...
by Prasanta | Mar 23, 2018 | Change, Five Minute Friday, God's Faithfulness, God's love, Gratefulness
I see it around me: a cycle, a system, an organized plan. The seasons are predictable; there are four of them where I live, and they come and go on schedule, according to the calendar. Just recently was the vernal equinox, the first day of spring, and as if on...
by Prasanta | Mar 16, 2018 | Christ, Friendship, God's Faithfulness, God's love, Gospel, Jesus, Lent, Poetry, the cross
As we are in the midst of another season of Lent, and approaching Easter, I am reposting this poem I wrote a few years ago. The poem is about Judas’ betrayal. This betrayal led to the guards finding Jesus, arresting him, and eventually his death. If it...
by Prasanta | Mar 12, 2018 | Beauty, Five Minute Friday, God's love, Gratefulness, Thankfulness, Wonder
Tired, tired, everyone is tired. It almost sounds cliché. How can we all be so tired? We are tired partly because everyone is busy, overstretched beyond our limits. We are tired because of the perception or idea that “being busy” is equivalent to...
by Prasanta | Mar 11, 2018 | Devotions, God's Faithfulness, God's love, God's promises, God's Word, grace, Growth, Hope, Jesus, Learning, Lent, Lenten Meditation, Life, Poetry, poetry by others, Spring, Summer
My life is not a neatly planted hedge of planned events; it is, rather, a messy string of occurrences which the Lord is using to graciously teach me what He wants me to know. Anything that has happened out of my control is still in the Lord’s hands and in His...
by Prasanta | Mar 1, 2018 | Christ, Hope, Jesus, Lent, Poetry, Redemption, Resurrection
Striped I choke on dust, wreckage of world, and my crushed bones of existence. Painful agonies— what breathing soul is exempt from knowing? While the world continues doubling and halving its joys and sorrows, what of souls doubled over? Lines mark days—...
