J e f f  S t r e e b y 

We are in the business of wanting things

We are in a warehouse of desires. We have reached in and every closed fist is filled waiting to be withdrawn. We think we know by now grace is only one more complex commodity, one more pallet to be tallied, dispensed piecemeal, retailed.

We do not find in our open hand Eden complete, its four little rivers flowing there, falling brightly away.