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Faith is a warm, hooded coat whose
Furry softness provides a barrier 
From the icy blasts of cold-hearted people
Who are jealous of the embrace a well-constructed winter garment provides for its wearer, me.

Love bids me open my coat and offer it
To the filthy stranger with an empty bottle of booze
And a tattoo of a pentagram, with a skull inside.
So I hand him the coat and say, "From Jesus because He loves you."

Truth provides me another coat, and one to spare
Because giving away our faith is the best way to multiply it.
And I look for more truth, and see Jesus across the crowd.
He is giving His coat to a man who tightly clings to the hand of another man.

Christianity bids me to give my extra coat
To the boyfriend of the man who just received his.
My call, my mission, to be like Christ, and
I share my coat, my faith, with anyone left out in the cold by The Religious. I cannot pick and choose.

Sin is a reality I live with. I see it everyday.
In my mirror. It is everywhere. And it sickens me.
Yet still I sin and sin again, ashamed of my inability to live a standard
Worthy of the Son of God who knows my name.

Grace is the tiny sip of water you take when you have been in the desert too long.
Slowly you trust that it is no mirage, and you drink from the well
Feeling yourself replenished, rehydrated, reborn.
Everything that was awful in the place you were before is better, washed away by the purity of the water offered freely.

Freedom is knowing that your job is not to identify the wanderers in the desert
But to introduce everyone to the well.
Offer them that free sip that will change their lives as it did yours,
Knowing that you are in no way better than any of these seekers except that you, by some miracle, are allowed to sip from the cup of grace everyday.

Hope paints in my heart a picture of warmth,
Sunlight, people, everyone wearing their faith, knowing the truth, and loving Christ.
Hate is the cold wind, the whispered rumor, the whitewashed judgment that has no place here.
This is a place where we walk not only like, but with Jesus.

Regret is waking to find that you are no longer where you were before.
This new place is hot, not like a sauna, but like the sun itself.
It is dark, and you feel no welcome, no recognition, no love.
You want to speak to the man in charge, but know it's too late.
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