You’ll know Him when you see Him.

He carries the likeness of no mortal man.

He will turn you upside down and shake you until your pockets no longer jingle. 

He will turn the heat up until meltdown occurs.

He can swallow galaxies.

He can stand on the hairs of your thumb.

He will take your personal certainties and make them uncertain.

He will take the earthly securities and make them insecure.

He will do all this for His own reasons

They are His and He won’t tell.

Not today.

Fearing Him is glorious.

He smells the fear as worthy sacrifice. 

When He comes, don’t hide or run.

Die and He will roll the stone  from your lifeless resting place.

If you’re not into metaphors, nothing to see here. If you love it like I do, come along!

In the arid Judean wilderness, perched on the edge of the Dead Sea, lies Qumran, a site steeped in history and mystery. It’s here that the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered, unlocking ancient truths and revealing a hidden treasure trove of Scripture. For me, Qumran serves as a metaphor of the spiritual pilgrimage. Like the shepherd boy, I’m throwing rocks into the dark caves of my own story and questions.

If you want to find God, you must go into the wilderness.

Like the hidden scrolls, God’s truth often lies buried deep within us, waiting to be uncovered. This discovery requires intentionality, humility, and a willingness to venture into the wilderness of self-examination.

When we surrender to Christ, He becomes our guide through the wilderness, teaching us to confront the brokenness of our old lives and to search the Scriptures for eternal truth. As the psalmist writes, “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts” (Psalm 139:23). This act of surrender and self-examination mirrors the process of uncovering the scrolls—peeling back layers to reveal the treasures God has hidden within us.

The Dead Sea of Our Old Lives

The Dead Sea, the lowest point on earth, is a stark image of desolation. Its waters are lifeless, incapable of sustaining fish or plants. Yet, in its depths lies a story of transformation. Just as the Dead Sea encircles Qumran, our old lives often feel like lifeless wastelands—marked by sin, emptiness, and self-reliance. But in Christ, the desolation of our past becomes the fertile ground where God’s truth is revealed.

Vera Nezarian, a Russian writer shares an observation that resonates with me: “The desert and the ocean are realms of desolation on the surface. Both, seething with hidden life.The only veil that stands between perception of what is underneath the desolate surface is your courage.”

If we sit in the space of desolation long enough, we can observe that there’s something more going on there.

Christ as the Living Word

The Qumran scrolls remind us of the enduring power of God’s Word. Just as those ancient texts were preserved against all odds, so the Word of God speaks into the brokenness of our lives with timeless relevance. Jesus, the Living Word, illuminates the Scriptures, helping us grow in the knowledge of God and in our surrender to Him.

As we draw closer to Christ, we learn that truth is not a distant or abstract concept but a person. Jesus declared, “I am the way and the truth and the life” (John 14:6). Jesus beckons us to come into the hard places to find the answers to the Mystery.

A Call to Unearth the Scrolls Within

God calls you into desolations and dark nights, a land like Qumran, because it’s there when you might stumble into the greatest discovery of your life. While your desolation might look like barren wildernesses, he might, just might, be leading you into a sacred space where you can experience God more fully.

Frequent Caves of the Qumran soul:

Depression
Job loss
Disaster
Betrayal
Prodigals
Chronic Illnesses
Loss
Disapproval
Rejection
Aging
Cancer

It is in this wilderness, through the guidance of the Holy Spirit, that we confront the Dead Sea of our old lives and embrace the living waters of Christ. But we will never make sense of the wilderness, if we aren’t searching. I found the truth of Christ, but my search continues for the fragments I’ve yet to discover in Him. I don’t have all the answers. Neither do you. We’re all still looking and revelation is in real time.

As believers, we are called to unearth the “scrolls” of God’s truth in our lives. These scrolls are not hidden in distant caves but within our own hearts, waiting for us to dive into the Word of God, to pray, to listen, and to surrender. In doing so, we allow Christ to rewrite the story of our lives, transforming our desolation into abundance and our wilderness into a garden.

As I’ve pondered this metaphor, I’m reminded of Paul’s words: “But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us” (2 Corinthians 4:7). This verse beautifully took me back to Qumran, emphasizing the fragility of my humanity and the divine treasure within us.

Like the ancient scrolls preserved in simple clay jars, God’s truth resides in the humble vessels of our lives. The jars of clay, fragile and unremarkable, symbolize our weakness and dependence on God. Yet, it is through these fragile vessels that His power is displayed. In the context of Qumran, the clay jars that protected the scrolls echo the transformative work of Christ in us—His truth and glory shine through our imperfections, revealing that the source of life and redemption is not in us but in Him. As we surrender to Christ, our brokenness becomes the means through which His light and truth are made known to the world.

Robert Frost’s poem “A Servant to Servants,” he reflects on the inner turmoil and the weight of circumstances, yet also hints at a search for deeper understanding and purpose. He concludes: “The best way out is always through.” This line captures the essence of spiritual surrender and transformation—moving through the wilderness of our struggles to discover the treasure of God’s truth. It aligns with the idea that Christ meets us in our brokenness (our “jars of clay”) and leads us through it, revealing His glory in the process.

Qumran stands as a powerful reminder of God’s faithfulness to preserve His truth and reveal it to those who seek Him. It is a metaphor for the transformative journey every believer takes—a journey that leads us from the desolation of our old lives to the life-giving truth found in Christ.

A Blessing

So may you be inspired, my brothers and sisters, continue to search deeply within yourself, trusting Christ to guide you. In the quiet wilderness of your heart, may you find not only ancient truth but also the living presence of the Savior, who invites you to grow in the knowledge of God and experience the fullness of His grace.

The greatest lessons I learn about the gospel are found in relationship with other people.  Not just believers but in every relationship. The lepers, the Pharisees, the prostitutes, the wasted and the weary– they’re all right here today. 

I learn best about the gospel when I am under oppression, when I realize my own failures and when I am angry enough to turn over a few tables… as well as when I am so grateful that I feel rocks will join me in praise. 

I learn best about the gospel when I identify with the despair and the joy and the anger and the celebration of everything this life entails. And when I join Christ in the mission, despite all the spiritual darkness in this country of glitz and grit.  

I rarely ever learn when I get my way.

I learn best when my back is against the wall.

I learn best when I pray and only silence replies.

I learn best when answers are elusive.

I learn best about the gospel when I see the broken as well as the proud and I realize that I am both.

Jesus becomes my tour guide and I am amazed by the places He takes me… Sometimes He takes me- kicking and screaming into the darkness of the world and the darkness in my own heart. I riffle through the ashes and rust for the smallest wisp of glory.

I learn best about the gospel when I am wrapped up in the story and I choose the right role.

Truth be told, I am a wreck when life is predictable and safe. 

Here’s a great conversation with Chris Forbes on churches, cooperation, and the future.

My life is on the wheel…Earthbound clay

Spinning. Wondering. Why are His hands changing me?

With purpose

What is He creating in me?

What does He see?

Is there a purpose in the pain?

Stretching, sensing, swirling, struggling

I’m smaller than I used to be, it seems

The Mosaic of broken dreams

I’m dizzy with change

The wheel slows as his eyes scan my shell

And he sees it.

I was hoping that he’d over look it.

Halfway hoping he would cast me aside and move on to a more fitting lump of clay.

He pauses-

Divine rejection is what I feel. Rejection that He sees who I really am-

A catastrophic mess

Deeply wounded- Brokeness

He picks me up again and throws me back on the wheel.

This is not the way it’s supposed to be.

Still working- it hurts because I’m still me

Can I ever be what He wants me to be?

He’s creating in my  catastrophe.

I’m spinning again- Oh God what do you see?

The heat of the oven- birthplace of sanctity.

Above and beyond all treachery

That separated my soul from Thee

Burning, glazing, waiting, straining

I stand before the Master of the clay

I didn’t know it then but I know it now.

He recognizes me.

And- He SMILES. He smiles at me.

My creator

Who walked me through the fire of earth

And now I see him

The all-things-new Messiah

King of Castaways

The Potter

Victor

Creator

Jesus

In awestruck wonder we will stand

His masterpiece of grace.    `

some plan

their own phantasmagorical funeral

preacher boys with stories that’d make everyone cry.

even mother-in-laws and accountants

I have different plans on that day.

when i die

I’ll watch my father sling jawbones

with samson

both made it in the door by the grace of God

same as noah

he found grace

he discovered it

or it discovered him

before he clanked the first nail into gopher wood

or shoveled the first cart of kangaroo caca

the story began in grace and splinter

the mercy of limping jacob and stumbling bartimaeus

they sidebar and tell stories

smiling and wondering about weak eyes

discussing it with the miracle boy of Jesus’ mud pies

look(!) there’s paul–the lasik surgery is divine

big letters not necessary.

he can read the fine print

he’s catching up with a big stack by his side

& checking out the far flung analysis of his work

from n/t/wright to barnes to hal lindsay

(the later, just for fun)

The speech therapy is complete for stuttering moses.

he can wax eloquent for millennia

AND Jesus is smiling

His children–the whole great cloud is back home

The aroma of the spread catered by angels

and feasting on the vision He’s been waiting to see.

and in gobsmacked wonder, there’s a whisper

under the breath of all the saints-

“it’s all true”

me?

i’m the guy way over in the back of the family portrait

on the 12,857,009th row

next to a man named bart wrankle (of whom i have not met)

You’re in a pit and wondering if this is the place you’ll die. You must wait.

They accuse and convict you. The slam the door. Nothing seems to be happening. You lost your last appeal and the lawyer wants his money. You must wait.

You are scrubbing the floors in a corrupt palace where money changes hands under the table. It’s all a sham. They paint their walls with the blood of the innocent. Nothing has changed. You must wait.

You make a mad dash out of the city where you were once a prince and now you’re stepping in sheep dung on the backside of the desert. You must wait.

You are in the belly of the beast, the den of the lions and the fire of the furnace. You must wait.

He took his share. He wished you nothing but death. But you love him still with an eye on the horizon. But first you must wait.

40 days in the desert.

40 years in the wilderness.

Perilous hours in the storm.

3 days in the tomb

9 months in the womb

You must wait.

But you move in the waiting. Your lungs have breath. Your pulse continues. The music is there. Hope is the stuff that keeps you alive.

Never-ending nights and arduous days.

Most have given up. They’ve packed it in. They tapped out on the mat of the threshing floor.

But you, ample servant of the Most High, you must wait.

We remember “Jonah and the Whale,” but I’m intrigued by another much lesser character- An itty-bitty worm.

“So Jonah was very grateful for the plant.  But as morning dawned the next day God prepared a worm, and it so damaged the plant that it withered.” Jonah 4:7

Notice that it’s not 1000 worms. That would seem to be what God would do. Just make it like Pharaoh and the locusts. Just send tons of worms to kill the tree! But no, God prepared a one single worm. And just like God prepared a great fish. God prepared a worm and God has a plan for you.

It was the itty-bitty worm versus the big shade plant.

Beloved disciple, what is the plant that stands before you today?

A rebel child?

A dying church?

A transitional community?

A helpless victim?

An atheist neighbor.

A discouraged leader?

A fear?

A need?

A pain?

God prepared a worm. And God will prepare us as we go.

Ity-bity Us

Huge World.

This is GOD’s Message, the God who made earth, made it livable and lasting, known everywhere as GOD. “Call to me and I will answer you. I’ll tell you marvelous and wondrous things that you could never figure out on your own.’

Therefore, iity-bitty as we are. Go! Out there!

60 years

most of them (I would claim) lagniappe

something extra, but never promised.

I could have found my resting place in 1983

as a log truck (sans lights),

barreled down Hwy 165 in North Louisiana.

I pulled onto the road, and for some odd reason on a moonless night,

I hit the brakes as the phantom monster barreled two feet from the fender

A 2 AM miracle as glorious as the parting of waters outside the corporation limits of Egypt.

Later on, it was the guy line of a telephone pole that snared the bushhog.

Rising high like a killer whale breaching the surface on the water.

Gravity ensued, slamming the engine block to the ground inches from my head as a lay on the ground.

These are just two of many instances that I have slipped through the crooks and crannies between life and death.

In other words, I have played with house-money for years.

(Or so it would seem)

but I contend that I have had a guiding unseen Hand, be it angelic intervention, supernatural consequence, or dumb luck. Although I doubt the latter.

No one could ever be that lucky so often.

But even more so I have been drawn into grace and every sudden rescue reminds me that Jesus is Sustainer, and the degree of difficulty has been mighty high in sustaining me. And I am mercifully still alive after 60 years.

I have lived in the company of saints.

I was raised by two glorious, creative, passionate, flawed saints, Mark and Lillie Tullos. I still dwell under the shadow of their faith. Dad was a force of nature. He was bold. Total extravert. A musical savant. Play a line of music and he could replicate it, without looking at a note. He never met a stranger especially at Walmart. And mom never stopped pressing me. And that’s a good thing. She wasn’t a touchy-feely mom but touch me and you’d feel the force of a thousand Samurai warriors.

My favorite storyteller and theologian is my older sister, Melodye. She is a second mom.

My favorite artist is my brother, Mark. I’ve never met someone so creative and yet so entrepreneurial. He’s built a handful of museums and I’m convinced his paintings will reside in many more after he leaves the planet.’

And the most encouraging, in-my-corner, got your-back-little sister on earth is mine. Her name is Melinda.

I am the one in the family, most uncomfortable in my own skin, often dreaming, rarely sure of myself but still on the hunt for the Great Divine. I am still the little one, dreams are my minions along with a few drunken stragglers I call obsessions.

I have had other guardians. Including:

Obed and Linda Kirkpatrick, Phillip Willis, Dennis Phelps, Benjamin Harlan, Ed and Patsy Sutton, Debi Morris and Eugene Morris, Frank David Bennet, George Clark, Marjorie Radcliffe, Jean Woodye, Vivian Bush, Brooks Faulkner, Henry Webb, Ed and Patsy Sutton, Larry and Jan Payne—and too many more to remember but these are some of the ones I thanked God for yesterday.

I have heroes that shaped my journey Welby Boseman, Ron Brown, John Kyle, Randy Davis, Dennis Parrish, Jimmy Draper, Bill Choate (The guy I want to be like)

Jonathans arrived in every city, job and chapter of my life,

Justin Bufkin (Master Cinematographer), Roger Craig (Savant), Chris Johnson (My yoda), GB Howell (my reality check), Tim Shamburger (My oldest friend…47 Years!) Chris Turner (My Mars Hill companion), Derick Pindroh (My moving buddy), Jeff Wash (My West Texas kindred spirit) and Gavin Stevens (It’s in the movie) Roc Collin (Preach)

This is all stream of consciousness and I’m missing about half of my Jonathans on this post. And I pray I’ve been a Jonathan to others.

A glorious, beautiful collection of guttersnipe brothers called TAK.

I’m also thankful for Elavil. I have taken this one med for 30 years and the one time I tried to taper I ended up in the psychiatric hospital. So every night I say grace, a word of thanks for this old fashioned antidepressant and take the pill.

I share secrets, some kept well and others less cloistered. Steve Holt is the custodian of most these days. He knows where my “jacked up jars” are buried. He knows enough to write a hit piece on me but he has mercifully resisted.

I was blessed with an additional sister, Johanna Leonard. Still to this day, I don’t think she really knows how much confidence she poured into my life in high school. She typed my first play that I wrote by hand and counseled me when my faith hit the rocks of the storm-tossed sea of doubt.

In 2006, I conducted the funeral of my best friend, Danny Dean. In one day, a thousand memories and shared dreams were transported to the unknown country. I didn’t really cry until I drove from the graveside and then I wept for days. There are days when I can’t see his face and it’s in those times that I look at his son’s profile picture and it’s as clear as day. Danny had the force of personality and vision I both admired and coveted. Brutally honest. Fiercely loyal. Everyone knew Danny and I were inseparable, but he took the lead. When left ,(in Frostian terms) I became closely acquainted with the night.

In the building I work, three godly women keep me in line on our corner of the building, Sharlyn, Cynthia, and Tammy. They put up with a lot of disorganization and video editing noise, and they’ve saved me a lot of embarrassment over the past five years.

And of course there is Darlene Tullos

She’s my girl. Darlene has taught me so much about life and I am so glad we didn’t give up on each other during difficult times. She’s helped me find keys, wallets and rental trucks. The beauty married a dyslexic ragamuffin. Her compassion is unfathomable. I’m inspired by her heaven-and-earth moving faith. She and the guys have put up with my inability to say no, my codependency, and the crooked paths we traveled. Never have two more different people married but as the great mystic philosopher Rocky Balboa once said, “She’s got gaps, I’ve got gaps, together we fill gaps.” We are still enjoying the journey. I know the best is yet to come.

God blessed me with four men, Isaac, Jacob, Nathan and Caleb. They are my prizes in my old age. Each one, teaching me so much and giving me reasons to live if only to see what happens next. They are masterpieces with a fierceness of love so great that it overwhelms me.

As I say often:

I am constantly amazed by the faithful love of Jesus.

And as I reflect on the life I’ve lived here, mostly fearful of everything, I realize that I never,

**EVER**

had anything to fear. He has been and always will be, relentlessly faithful, continuously sufficient, and absolutely available. I am still captivated by this lowly carpenter and faithful redeemer- I’m still struggling awkwardly to construct the right syntax and composition of words to describe the One who is truly indescribable. I will continue to try until the book is closed and my time comes.

King Jesus, your presence is palpable, your depth is dependable and your grace undeniable.

In Tennessee Williams play, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” we encounter the alcoholic anti-hero, Brick Pollitt. Brick was once a football hero with the world at his feet. But in the play, we see him as an broken man who hopelessly lost his way. His liquor provided the only peace from the noise and tumult of life. He describes it as a click that would come after he gets enough drink to settle his nerves. Throughout most of the story, he is simply waiting for “the click” and that momentary ephemeral peace he craves. It seems that there are so many men, who decide life’s not possible without some kind of click, whether it’s through entertainment, sex, beer, or sports. It’s all about numbing the pain and satisfying the constant craving of their soul. 

Brick is an archetype of spiritual despair. He’s long since left the hunt for meaning and entered into a state of moral paralysis. He’s mourning the death of a close friend and struggling with the guilt of his own existence. His marriage is lifeless. Everything is circling into a pit of meaninglessness.

No purpose, no passion, no peace… But still a thirst, an unquenchable thirst.

The Samaritan woman Jesus encountered, had the same issue 2000 years earlier. She asked Jesus where she could find this water that could quench the thirst of her soul. She had been on an arduous quest through several marriages and gods. And now the one true God of the universe stared her down and offered her something far greater than a click of peace. He offered her a fountain of living water. We constantly encounter men and women who are going through their day, navigating through life from one click to the next, searching for peace. Jesus went out of his way to offer a soul searcher a fountain of peace that proved far greater than a momentary click. And now Jesus invites us to share this living water also.