The Crossings



The Story

by Dr. Bryan Isaac


Creator’s might
Crafts our delight,
His works reveal His nature.
The land, the sky,
The birds that fly;
Our planet’s every creature.

Then humans came,
Born in His name,
God’s plan? With us, relate!
But we said “no,”
Our way we’d go:
Rejecting God, our fate.

Ties to renew,
God chose a few;
Through them all nations blesses.
He led this race –
They’d see His face;
Gave Law and Scriptures, precious.

Long years passed by,
Their faith ran dry,
God’s favored were cast out.
Yet David’s seed,
God’s Prince of Peace,
By love would win: no doubt.

God’s only Son
To Earth did come,
The perfect Incarnation.
He came to die,
Then rose on high –
The needed resurrection.

So now God dares
To call us heirs;
Through Christ we are forgiven .
With Him we’ll live,
All praise we’ll give,
Abide with God in heaven.



An Ode to My Childhood as a Carnie

by Rebekah Miller

See the July night, red-white striped tents,

 lights from rides’ mounts.

Smell the cotton candy pink and popcorn buttered.

Stationary horses whinny

as they go round and round.

The street’s full of clowns and

painted faces and ice-cream and churches and

jeeps and tickets and laughter and


The Guardians.

Carnival, you wouldn’t be complete without


Parents who love their offspring so much they

don’t mind injuring someone else’s.


The fuming height sticks make houses of



Do you like what you see, Carnival?


Do you miss my crawls through moonwalk innards?

The claustrophobia as playful walls

cast their eerie crimson light?


Carnival, are you Fair?

Amidst the balloons and bubbles,

I see your teeth.


Carnival, the daughter of the Ferris Wheel Operator

has become her own Strong Man.


I walk my tightrope with no

net to catch.

I don’t hide my face behind your

bulbous red nose.


I have found the courage to choke down the sword

and breathe fire flames.


Carnival, you are no longer the ringmaster.


I will shoot myself to the stars

out of your old, rusty cannon.


And as I soar my wings in flight,

far, far below

will be the tent You built crumbling down

in the flames I set ablaze.

Fallen Cherub

by Susan Miley 

A little girl in a Baptist Church

might’ve fallen from Heaven.

Her fluffy eyelashes

and paired wings flutter,

as she beams under the glances

of the other church-goers.

In her white tights,

she giggles quietly.

Her golden curls

bounce and bounce

as her black Mary Janes

click and click

She says please and thank you;

she smiles bashfully behind

her mother. She’s like a lamb,

but instead of green meadows,

she lies still in the

orange velvet pew.

The ladies with pearls and powdered faces

leave red kisses on her cheeks.

The deacons invite her curiosity

at meetings, sneaking her candy

under the conference table.

Adored. Praised.

She is cast in every Christmas play.

She earns a 4.0 in Vacation Bible School.

She never misses a Sunday.

On Easter, wrapped in a

pink dress and topped

with an elegant hat,

her devil tail and

devil horns poke,

hidden from the preacher.

After service, her family

slides into the Cadillac.

Suddenly, her dress is too itchy.

Her baby sister is far too close

and there’s no place to put

her dolly.

She cries, “I’m so cold!”

but soon wails, “I’m too hot!”

She complains that she’s hungry

but not for that restaurant.

“I want what I want!” she thinks,

“Isn’t that what Jesus wants?”

Her mother glares into the

rear-view mirror.

The little girl frowns,

folding her arms across

her chest.

“What?” she asks in surprise

to her mother’s reflection.

“At least I’m not like the

loud kids from the bad neighborhood.

Mommy, they never bring their Bibles

and they don’t know John 3:16!

They wear dirty jeans

and tennis shoes to church, Mommy—

to church!”

She plops her head

in her hand with a pout.

“I’m a good girl,” she remembers.

“Jesus loves me,

this I know!”

Yes, she sings.

Jesus loves the good girl—

the Bible tells her so.

Sweet Girl

by Emily Sefcheck

Tell me, sweet girl,                                                                                                                          Who told you that you would never amount to anything?                                                  What is it that makes you believe that you don’t deserve love?                                          Why is it that you believe that fractures of your heart are too deep and too wide to be stitched together?

What is it, sweet girl,                                                                                                                     That convinced you that the brokenness you carry is “too much”?                                   That the scars that you have been hiding make you weak?                                                 That you will simply end up like the women that came before you?

Oh, sweet girl,                                                                                                                                     Do you hate what you have become?                                                                                           Do you wish you could turn back time and merely blot out your existence?                       Or do you wish that things were simply different?

When I look at you, sweet girl,                                                                                                           I see a fighter.                                                                                                                                         I see a world changer.                                                                                                                         I see a girl who is so deserving of love.

You, sweet girl, are not defined by the things that have happened to you.                          But you are a beautiful mosaic.                                                                                                Pieced together with strength and hope and love.

And one day, sweet girl, when you are ready,                                                                              You will prove all those people wrong,                                                                                       And shine for the whole world to see.


by Ashley Baughman

When I was a child, I cowered in fear when the night time slipped silently by.         I would fear that the darkness would tear me apart, that the shadows would come alive.                                                                                                                                I would close my eyes and hope that in time the sun would replace the moon.        I would hope that the monsters would stay away and the morning would be there soon.

When I got older, I realized that the darkness did not live in the night.                   It lived in our hearts and sat silently by until it could get a bite.                               A bite of innocence, a bite of love, a bite of anything beautiful.                                It yearned to overwhelm us all and wouldn’t stop till it was full.

But at the same time, I realized that the light was not only the sun.                        It was laughter and love and harmony, it was children having fun.                          It was more than enough to quench the dark, even in the darkest of hours.               It restored the love that darkness stole, it returned to us what was ours.

So now when I lay down to sleep, I do not fear the night.                                              For I know that when I rise, I’ll be greeted by the light.                                      That’s how it is for each of us, if only we open our eyes                                              To the glorious wonders shown to us every time the sun does rise.

A Poem About A Girl – Spoken Word

“A Poem About A Girl” performed by Spencer French at the Wham Bam Poetry Slam at Notre Dame.

A Poem Called Dawn

by Nicholas J. Weimer

As twilight begins retreating to the west,
I stand solemnly in the pasture;
like a towering oak.
The air, frigid from the late autumn frost
Penetrates my fingers;
like sunlight through an open window.
The starry heavens become paler and paler.
The east becomes deeper in scarlet;
The blood of a rose.
There I stand.
The moon,
The sun of the night,
so luminous.
So persistent is she, refusing to flee.
Her obstinate act is in vain.
For she begins to quickly fade,
And finally,
She becomes nothing;
Exiled into the fading night.
Then the sun, in his raiment of gold, arises.
His radiant rays strike my face.
The maple grove refracts his glory,
Lighting the russet, the gold, the scarlet afire.
The frost quietly sinks into the shadows.

An Endless Bus Ride – Tyler Callahan

Yellow rubber-coating ‘round
The support pole
Rattles as we leave the town.
En masse we stroll
East to where the planes touch down.
Not a soul
Would break the silence then.

In whispers two old women spoke
Of things they missed,
Sharing in an inside-joke
About who kissed
Martha out where they would smoke.
The brakes hissed:
Marking another stop.

I first noticed the graffiti marks
On the walls
Of the tunnel passing by the parks.
The driver calls,
With muffled voice, the main landmarks
And protocols
For our endless journey.

Eastward to London we kept,
Winding through
The Thornhill lot, vacant except
For one sky-blue
Nissan Sentra there which slept
Without a clue
Where it’s owner went.

The heaviness of morning fell
On the hills
Which rolled past where the people dwell.
Solemn chills
Began to fill the bus’ shell.
The people still
Cared not to waste their breath.

Photo by Jessica Schrock

The Sweetness of Revenge – Megan Spencer

His death would be a sweet release.
Just like teenagers deserve to be sent to college.
The satisfaction of seeing the pain cross my siblings face as they step on a Lego.
Watching someone flail as they fall on slick ice.
My ears screaming for mercy as Bethel students clap off beat during chapel.
Feeling your feet burn off as you walk across the hot sand at the beach.
Continue reading “The Sweetness of Revenge – Megan Spencer”

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