• Poetry

    He Is

    by Aaron Tooyak His countenance is like the side of a mountain. His thoughts are like the thickets of trees. He rules over the bears and creeping things. He spreads His wings like an eagle and surveys the land in justice. He sits high on His throne, and nothing passes by His eyes. Every living creature is under His dominion. All of His creation follows His commands. That which is seen is wonderful. That which is unseen is a mystery. He reveals Himself to those who earnestly seek Him, And hides His face from the proud. None seek after Him, no not one.   [divider]   Aaron Tooyak is the…

  • Nonfiction

    Redolences

    by Annie Thorndike When I was growing up, I would go to the beach every summer on the coast of Tillamook County, Oregon. No matter where you went in Tillamook County, there was bound to be an ice cream shop, and homemade waffle cones that smelled like angels’ dreams combined with vanilla scented Yankee candles. This scent flowed through every street for 2 blocks around its source. It felt like home. It touched my sinuses like hands on puppy fur, warm and downy. ***** In New York City, between every blink, breath and step is a sensory cacophony. Mish-mashed and tangled together are the sounds of people’s steps, subways, cabs,…

  • Poetry

    Reconciled, Luke 15:11-3

    by Aaron Tooyak My soul deeply wrenches in anguish. My head sinks low. My neck breaks between my shoulders, And lies limp near my knees. I cover my face in shame and tug at my scalp. I run my fingertips through my hair, And wonder why they are still numbered. I recall my return home, and remember how merciful my Father was – To restore me and place me back into His Holy Service. For I abandoned my first love, The one who found me and called me by name. The one who redeemed me. For His faithfulness shall never fade. To the savior of our fathers, of the sons,…

  • Nonfiction

    Why Has Self-Harm Become So Popular?

    by Annie Thorndike Almost all of us know someone who has or currently cuts themselves. It’s become so common these days that some people even joke about it; there’s a popular satirical diagram circling the internet reminding kids to “cut down the river, not across the street.” However, it wasn’t always this way. Cutting and self-mutilation, also known as NSSI (non-suicidal self-injury) was not a popular coping method until very recent years. A few decades ago, medical professionals would have likely reacted the same way as Leonard Sax, M.D, who described it as “weird” when he witnessed a case of self-harm in 1985 as a Psychiatry resident. In the early…

  • Nonfiction

    From the Panhandle

    by Elin Johnson I sat in the back seat of the The Bug strapped into a booster seat contraption that rivaled the set up of a fighter pilot. I watched the rain drops slide down the windows, racing each other. Mom pointed at the green beast growing up out of the side of the road. “Mt. Juneau. See that?” I nodded my head stoically. “And you see those, where the snow over hangs?” Again, I nodded. “That’s a cornice.” I decided to break my silence with a solemn interrogation into its importance, since it clearly wasn’t a vegetable frequently paired with peas. “Well, you see, they’re dangerous.” Still unclear of…