I reached for you, 
Even though distance shook
My strength,
But nothing found I
In the cold night set before me. 
Then, you came
With the weight of your glory
You came, filling the space
Behind and before
You came, in the pressure and terror
Of all that you are.
In half, bent, blood boiled silent scream
You came, like a rambling man
Like a stallion heaving and stamping, 
Snorting and kicking at my disbelief, 
You came, not speaking, not gently,
But in tremendum;
I was not the shore, but the water you swelled within, 
You rolled me, from my depths to shallows, 
Your constant wake whitecapped
My soul. 
God, augustum 
Spirit, mysterium
Torrens voluptatis

Timothy Willard loves to sit with his wife by the bonfire and make up stories about Tom the Backyard-Badger for his three lovely daughters. When he's not carving up the Appalachian Mountains on his Salsa El Mariachi, you can find him busy writing a book, collaborating on a book, or reading a book written by someone dead and gone. Timothy studied beauty in the works of C.S. Lewis under theologian Alister McGrath. The author of five books, including Veneer: Living Deeply in a Surface Society (Zondervan), Timothy is currently finishing The Life-Changing Adventure of Chasing Beauty (Eerdmans, 2019), preparing his doctoral thesis for publication, and trying to find a publisher for his first novel The Tempest and the Bloom. He lives somewhere in the south Charlotte woods.