Tag Archives: spiritual return

From Tel Aviv With Love ©️

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The cabin lights had been dimmed to a soft amber. Outside the windows, the sky was velvet—stars blurred into thin silver streaks. The engines hummed like a prayer that had forgotten its words.

Lena: I always get nervous crossing oceans. It feels like we’re borrowing time that doesn’t belong to us.

DH: That’s what I love about it. Up here we’re between days—between languages. We’re nowhere, and somehow we’re closer to everything.

She smiled, her hand finding his under the thin airline blanket.

Lena: Do you think they’ll feel it when we land?

DH: The kids?

Lena: No—the land. The way you talk about it, like it remembers everyone who’s ever looked for God.

DH: It does. That’s why we’re going. You read the stories; I want to see if the soil still glows from them.

Lena: You always talk like the ground can speak.

DH: Maybe it can. Maybe Tel Aviv is just another translation—earth answering heaven in human tones.

For a long moment they watched the faint lightning far below the plane, silent flashes over the Mediterranean.

Lena: You realize this is the first time we’re flying toward my beginning instead of away from it.

DH: And I’m following you this time. You’re the map now.

She leaned her head on his shoulder.

Lena: Do you think our children will understand any of this?

DH: They already do. They dream in both languages.

Lena: And what will we do when we get there?

DH: Walk by the sea until we remember why the covenant was written in the first place.

The captain’s voice murmured through the speakers in Hebrew and English, announcing descent. The city lights began to bloom below, small gold fires along the coast.

Lena looked down through the window, her reflection merging with the stars.

Lena: It looks like the sky fell to earth.

DH: Maybe it did. Maybe this is where heaven lands when it needs a home.

She turned to him, eyes glistening with the first hint of dawn.

Lena: Then welcome home.

He smiled. Outside, the plane tilted slightly toward the light.

What Remains Is Love ©️

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We’ve covered a lot of ground together lately. Old roads. Deep cuts. Family and failure. Ghosts of love. The long way to becoming a man.

It’s strange, isn’t it? How you can live a thousand lifetimes inside one life—and still feel like there’s more you meant to say. People you meant to hold a little longer. A version of yourself you were trying to meet halfway across the years.

And maybe that’s just it.

Maybe we don’t end up where we thought we would. Maybe we don’t get the house full of children, or the girl back, or the big break. Maybe the world knocks us sideways, takes a few dreams out behind the barn, and leaves us with scars we didn’t ask for.

But we lived.

And we loved.

And that counts.

I’ve been the lost brother, the misunderstood son, the man who ran from love and the one who stayed too long in the wrong places. I’ve been alone. I’ve been held. I’ve been someone I couldn’t trust, and now… somehow… I’m someone I can.

And through it all—through psych wards and porch lights, through cold rivers and warm memories—what remains?

Love.

The steady, quiet kind. The kind that doesn’t demand anything from you. The kind that just says, “Come in. You’re home now.”

So to my family—thank you for carrying me when I couldn’t walk. To the woman I lost—thank you for teaching me how to feel. To my baby sister—keep shining, kid. To my brother across the sea—your strength doesn’t go unnoticed. To the sister I’m still waiting on—your place is here when you’re ready. And to myself… yeah, you made it, man. I’m proud of you.

This is Chris in the Morning, KBHR 570 AM, signing off—for now.

Wherever you are… whoever you are… be gentle with your ghosts. Speak kind to your reflection. And remember:

The world may not always hold you like you hoped… but love will.

The Rogue Priest ©️

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If we interpret Christ’s post-resurrection appearances to his disciples as the “second coming,” it raises an intriguing question: if Christ were to return again, would that not constitute a third arrival—something for which there’s no clear Biblical framework? Indeed, the Bible’s references to a “second coming” imply only one return after his first incarnation and ministry. But if we consider the resurrection appearances as fulfilling that “second coming,” any further return would, by this interpretation, be a third.

This perspective shifts our understanding of prophetic expectation. The Biblical texts repeatedly affirm that Christ’s return will bring a final transformation, a culmination of his teachings, and a fulfillment of God’s kingdom. Yet if his resurrection and appearances already symbolically fulfilled that “second coming,” then a future arrival would not align with this two-part structure presented in scripture. Thus, the anticipation of another return would require a reinterpretation of what “coming” means in Biblical terms.

Ultimately, this opens up a space for deeper theological reflection. It might suggest that rather than waiting for an additional physical arrival, believers are called to recognize the continued spiritual presence of Christ that began with his resurrection. This presence, through the Holy Spirit, remains active within the community of believers. Thus, instead of expecting a “third” return, the emphasis could be on living out the teachings and spirit of Christ, fulfilling his mission and embodying his presence in the world today. In this view, the final “coming” is not about a new arrival but about humanity fully manifesting the principles of Christ’s teachings, a return not of flesh but of understanding and action that completes his work in the world.