A hall; a tall foreboding house of stone:
Set upon the lonely, stretching snow,
And there, by its rusty iron gate, I stood
With a tall, strange friend I did not know

“Come,” he spoke, and went on, through the gate;
I followed him, past quiet trees which stood
Like long dead sentries, menacing the path,
With blackened leaves and limbs of rotten wood

I'm barely holding on. Somedays I feel like I could explain the gospel and what life means and answer any question some confused person might throw at me. But now...no, now all I can do is hold on to what I know, that God is holding on to me. What can I do with all the theology that people throw at me?