Morgan E. Underwood

Morgan E. Underwood

Theology Nerd, Lover of Stories, and Mother to One Black Cat

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Author: Morgan E. Underwood

April 12, 2025

Breathe

Inhale. Exhale. In— In—in—in. The shakes.  How do I breathe?  How did you breathe? When Death took your friend?  Or did the Breath of…

April 7, 2025

Pilot Pen

my blue Pilot pen.  not black. not red. blue.  wet ink catches light.  a momentary glimmer.  river shimmers.  my soul quivers.  dissonance whets the…

April 6, 2025

A Confession based on 2 Corinthians 1:3–7

We confess, O God, that we deny reality. We smother our sufferings, refusing any fellowship with Christ apportioned through pain. We do not believe…

April 2, 2025

The North Rose Window

Light filters through Notre Dame’s North Rose Window, rays kindling color—pomegranate, violet, and royal blue flecked with bits of honey and watermelon green. The…

March 5, 2025

Ash Wednesday

It’s Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent. Oil and ashes, gritty—like greased sand—smearyour forehead, marking you with the sign of the cross. The outward…

February 18, 2025

Discarded Roses

The sidewalk.  A concrete treadmill.  Slab. Then seam. Slab. Then seam. Slab.  Spilled wine? No.  Discarded roses.  Capillaries sip burgundy. Passion pulses.  Creeps up…

June 20, 2024

The Bones

Your hand. Then no hand. Dropped. In the wilderness.  Walk the valley. Not the ridge.  What about the drought? No water. Not in the…

March 30, 2024

Extravagant Sacrifice, Extravagant Worship

I came to a standstill last spring as I walked along the sidewalk. Floral perfume filled my nostrils, and I smiled. I knew the…

March 14, 2024

Grandmother Goose

This is a poem to my grandmother  Who I named Goose  Whose tongue-biting smile  Lit her grey eyes with ease  And creased her cheeks,…

February 15, 2024

This Necklace

This necklace, I thought it’d always belong to you. Memories lacking time stamps show that heart hanging from your neck. Hard and cool, diamond…

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“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from — my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back. All my life the god of the Mountain has been wooing me.”

C.S. Lewis, Til We Have Faces 

“In art, we do not 'obliterate the darkness'; art is an attempt to define the boundaries of the darkness…God’s Word is the Light; Jesus told us that he is the Light. If light places boundaries over the darkness, then our art needs to do the same.” 

Makoto Fujimura, Art & Faith: A Theology of Making

“The eucatastrophic tale is the true form of fairy-tale, and its highest function…In its fairy-tale setting, it is a sudden and miraculous grace; never to be counted on to recur. It does not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure: the possibility of these is necessary to the joy of deliverance; it denies universal, final defeat and in so far is evangelium, giving a fleeting glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief.”

J.R.R. Tolkien, “On Fairy-Stories”  
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