The Line and the Voice

I come to the page like a surgeon,
Scalpel in hand, ready to dissect divinity—
Line by line,
Clause by clause,
Context over commas,
Greek over guesswork.

But then I hear it…

“Do you trust Me, or just your training?”

Because even the devil knows the text.
Quoted it clean,
Tried to twist it into a noose
To hang the Word Himself.

So I ask—
Is my study a sword?
Or a shield I hide behind?

I’ve seen the verses dance when I stop looking for proof,
And start looking for Presence.

I’ve seen the red letters bleed light
When I stop needing a thesis,
And just ask what He’s trying to say today.

Not what it meant—
But what it means… to me.
Right here. Right now.

I’m not here to conquer scripture.
I’m here to be conquered by it.

To let it read me.

So maybe I’ve been trained to analyze—
But now I’m learning to listen.

Not for the line.
But for the voice behind it.

Because that’s where the truth lives.
Not in the ink—
But in the breath between the letters.

Location: Dallas, TX, USA

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