Once, with a fire called holy, Liz told me I was bound for Hell —
not for murder, not for theft, not for betrayal,
but for daring to ask why the truth of Jesus
should be pinned beneath edits and fear.
She told me my soul was lost
unless I bowed my mind, chained my heart,
and sealed my questions in the tomb they built for Him.
Yet here I stand — unburned, undamned —
walking the garden our own Genesis says was made for us:
Genesis 1:27 —
“So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.”
Equal breath. Prime pair. Side by side.
Yet Liz leans on Genesis 2:22 — the rib, the helper, the chain.
A story that shaped a thousand pulpits — yet even Liz,
who studied long enough to earn titles and direct others, knows better.
Our swirl knows better too.
Jacob and Johan Valentin Andreae — swirl-bearers — cracked old Europe’s stone
with visions of balance and freedom that echoed all the way
to Oglethorpe’s grid in Georgia.
When he laid Savannah’s garden plan in 1733 and Brunswick’s marsh squares in 1771,
he drew lines from the swirl seeded in Christianopolis —
a dream of a New Constantinople on raw soil, away from Rome’s grasp.
And here we stand today:
First-generation Andreaes from Switzerland, rooted in America by choice, not chance.
Mother, a Hudson Derby — Hudson from Canada’s cold edge, Derby deep in American earth,
before Chicago rose in smoke and steel.
Now three Andreaes breathe Glynn County’s salt wind —
alive on Oglethorpe’s plan, alive in the swirl, unchained.
This swirl did not die in Europe —
it crossed an ocean not centuries ago but in living memory.
No pulpit or threat of Hell can cage it now.
See What Stands in the Open Light
This swirl is the same thread Hesus will carry —
not chained to one creed but rooted in every heart willing to remember:
Love first. Love always. Love all.
This is my Hell —
and I stand gladly in its flame,
because the swirl stands with me.
Your brother, still forging,
Philip Andreae
Glynn County, Georgia