Into the darkness the penny drops, controlled by surface and air tension fighting gravity in a dive of precision and gymnastic excellence.  Past twenty meters I lose sight, listening intently for some whisper, whistle or tinny bounce telling me that the abyss has measure.  I have lost my battle with darkness for it is endless, consuming, breathing, morphing and conforming to every crevice, crack and mooring, even in vacuum, it swallows the imagination.  The silky-black permanence perfectly correlates to my swelling fear.  As I delve into the possibilities of the night I feel my hackles rise and my resolve diminished.  Oh, praise that there is a God and that He can control the ebony maw of shadow’s lust for without light the night would win this fight.  I bask in warmth and rest of light’s cleansing fingers, washed clean of the calamitous dark.  That blood the price of sin redeemed in its exchange for life-eternal.

This thing is cracked and yet I am soothed by Words of Prophets, Priest and Kings, who felt they penned the Mighty Influences God had commanded of them.  Onto the sheets, and rolls, documents, books, tomes, videos and waves they spoke the Truth of God, handed to their hearts by the Spirit who hovered above the waves as God created life.  No man could stand so eternal, knowing outside time the things that were, are and shall come to pass.  Magicians and charlatans crave omniscience, yet there is only ONE TRUE God and His name is Father, Son and Spirit, knowing, seeing and promising beyond constraint of time and creation.  Into His Word I find my self cascading, being polished by the folding of Living Water about my soul and spirit, removing from me bacteria, fungus and granite edges.  Then I am volunteer to the crucible, my metal brought to melting and beyond only to have my dross removed by the master smith.  Cooled and heated repeatedly I find my thoughts and life somehow free of my once ingrained, polluting poisons.  This Word, this sword, this guide beyond the capacity of man’s creation is in itself a proof of Loving God.

My melancholy screams into the pit to which my coin was tossed, telling of my fear-filled nightmare and depressive dismay.  These are the voices of my quickening, the sickening of my sin and its involuntary expulsion from the center to my soul.  It’s sycophantic root ripped from siphoning connection to my core, the victory won and the foul intrusion extracted.  I am free to be the man which God saw in His imagination before He laid finger or voice to the world.  My hope lay in preparation to serve a Holy King, being worthy through His command of sanctification, His Works within my soul and spirit, His Word of surgery in my heart and mind.  This new year is an illusion of the world made to fool into thinking we are slaves to the rise and fall of season, paying homage to the changing tide, moon or traveling sun.  But these are simple mechanisms laid in motion by the thought of God to serve as reflection of His Glory, His Time, His Path and Plan.  The seasons do not control me only the Hand and Will of God, for I am His Work not the byproduct of humanity or nature.  Unlike many I do not wish to be or become like God, I only wish to serve Him to my fullest, knowing perfect fulfillment then expiring to serve His purpose at another outing.  For I am man and He Alone Is God.  Praise His name through Christ the Outreached Arm of His Love.