There comes a point where living “the good life” takes on a whole new meaning. It could be on the tail-end of a divorce or bout with cancer. But what we once held dear to our hearts, the ideal that we saw in the near future on the untouchable horizon, suddenly becomes a distant echo of our naïve selves. I believe that there is a cycle of spiritual awareness specific to a particular brand of Christianity, or perhaps every brand of fundamentalist religion, that leaves us stranded on a dead-end in the middle of nowhere, waiting for answers to the promise of the “good life” that has since turned our heart to stone. This cycle, this history of disappointing endings is what I’d like to explore. When did our heavenly fairy tale turn to dust before our weary eyes where war torn memories reflect sallow faith? Is it just the familiarity of a promise for more that reignites our faith or is there something real at the center of a hymn, whispering to our soul that spiritual abundance extends beyond Sunday sermons?