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Mark Wilson

We Are Scum and We Belong

January 25, 2019 | By | 7 Comments

The atmosphere in the park is heavy. Several police officers and park rangers stand nearby, ensuring that bags are being packed and that everyone is moving along. It’s been a good afternoon, nonetheless. I meet a young couple named after trees, both deciduous and coniferous, whose dogs know who to bark at and who to sniff approvingly. Rounding the corner in front of the library I run into a friend. He warns me to be gentle with his arm which is suffering from an abscess. I’m reminded of an old John Prine lyric, “There’s a hole Read More

Come, Lord Jesus

December 18, 2018 | By | 3 Comments

Warning: The following contains a slice of life, raw and unfiltered.  While you may find it less palatable than honey, it is no less sweet. Though editing or cleaning up language might make it easier to stomach, it serves to diminish the pain and lament that hungers for righteousness and justice.  The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

Come, Lord Jesus!

Civic Center Park buzzes with activity.  The hustle and bustle is not that associated with the season showcased in lights and displayed in front of the City and County building, it is the daily grind of addiction, a liturgy of despair.

Robbie and I are taking in the scene when he spots a longtime friend.  I read her story in the tattoos covering her arms and face. Read More

On Pilgrimage

November 15, 2018 | By | One Comment

Thoughts by Mark Wilson

Send out your light and your truth, that they may lead me, and bring me to your holy hill and to your dwellingPsalm 43:3 

Not long after I began volunteering with Dry Bones I was introduced to a long time friend with an uncanny ability to reveal the most apt street names.  I don’t know if the staff member making the introduction recognized this to be a prophetic gifting, or merely imagined it to be an amusing party trick, but I was soon answering a string of seemingly random questions.  What the young man gleaned from my answers is a mystery, as is the way that he used them to stare into the center of my being.  After some time he rattled off in his rambling, unbalanced way my hidden name, Traveller, the Blind Robot.  I admit that I was slightly unnerved by the revelation of it, spoken aloud by a seeming stranger.  Little did I know, blind as I am, how quickly my Read More