By Andrew Peterson Lenten Sonnet II, 2026 A young man lost in dark woods; a glimmer In the tangled trees; a slow turn to see A gleaming figure, his skin ashimmer. I remember the warm pulse of mercy. He speaks my name, and I, weeping, collapse At his feet, undone by his holiness. His strong, wounded hands lift me and he wraps His great song around me, and with a kiss I am full-known and forgiven and healed. The warm pulse of mercy beats like a heart At the core of the forest,

By Will Parker Anderson I never planned to be an editor.Here ’s my journey in a nutshell: I’m a journalism student turned pastor turned part-time DJ turned theology teacher turned freelance writer turned professional editor. Growing up, I inherited the false assumption that responsible folks know what they want to do, make a plan, and execute it. Certainty is a sign of maturity. The problem is, life isn’t always that simple, is it? There’s turbulence, soul-searching, setbacks

honest as an egg, sturdy as steel, compassed to Polaris, true as the healing ring slipped on the hand of the son with nothing to bring— whatever is good as a grapevine, special as saved seed, sacred as God’s own name: he who is with you, is coming, is gentle (not tame), holy as a homecoming— whatever is clear-eyed, right-sized, the fair mind, judicious line, weighty and willing to wait, word-wise and wondrous as the wing— think on these things. Whatever is clean as a poli