image by JL G, on Pixabay, modified Welcome, friends, to the latest issue of Spirit Fire Review! The artwork above makes me think about possibilities. Vast, swirling, beautiful. The writings of our contributors also make me think of possibilities as they speak of hope, strength, God's faithfulness even in adversities, and the beauty and joy that can be found. Like a persimmon tree that finally bears fruit. (G. Chandy) Or a kindness that helps us on the way. (D. Lee) Or a remi

image by Tolu Oni, on Pixabay Sounds of Spring Accolade of morning sun piercing the darkness of winter Bees buzzing around Queen Anne’s lace: cymbals and umbels Crocuses shouting in Amarillo yellow, announcing spring is here Daffodils, too—music to the eyes... and to Wordsworth’s ears Echoes of pileated woodpeckers drumming tulip poplar trees Frenzy of green maple leaves cheering in the chlorophyll breeze Grasshoppers and crickets flex, stridulate bow-leg violins & tympani Hu

"Christ in the Garden of Olives," by Paul Gauguin, public domain Christ in the Garden of Olives Inspired by the painting by Paul Gauguin. gnarled hands grip his handkerchief muddy garment hosts sweat stagnant trees split Christ from his disciples blades bind feet sleep severs prayers orange bangs unite with his beard shoulders swoop down like a preying bird _____________________ Rachel Rummo is a fiction writer based in South Florida, and she is i

a kilt, image by K Mitch Hodge, on Unsplash, modified The Music of Being Do you remember the summer evening we sat on the grassy slope of the outdoor arena, and wondered where the musicians were, since no orchestra was in the performance space? But then from the pine forest we faced more than thirty kilted pipers slow-stepped from the trees to the sound of "Amazing Grace" which we heard as if for the very first time. We both sensed in that quick moment the listening universe

car engine, image by Michael Kauer, on Pixabay, modified Practical Religion The prodigal son is fixing his mother’s battered car, next door. He arrived quietly this morning while it was still dark, and he will be gone by the time she’s awake and gets ready for church, so grateful when she turns the ignition on. I first noticed him when he was a teenager, learning his trade on an old pickup, his hand touching the carburetor the way he held his mother’s hand during