In the light we stand, observant for the days are precious. On the line of embarkation we tread, not lightly but with intention, leaving sneaker print to remember our beginning. Of this day we shall say once parted that it was the moment of our brilliance, our call our courage. For without the leaving there is no second coming, no retrieval, no recovery, recall or joyous meeting of missed loves. Were we to forgo this moment of our challenge then absent trial or testing trail would we be left among the rubble of our former selves.

Shoulders warm and ready for burdens born. Brought again to the morning with insight of tomorrow, whispers of good things to come from plodding on in patient expectation. For there is no joy without preparation, unless of course it is an fire internally fueled. Turning to what we thought to be East to face the coming day, we face it with an embrace tight enough to capture moments, but lose enough to let the world breathe. We are no exception, part of the play, but members we, free to be what were supposed or choose to be.  Cast in lots our robes are fallen, masks remove, plain as the day into which we march. This is the treasured instant of our becoming, when we see it as it is not as we hoped or thought it should be. In this light there is nothing left, but to stand.

And in darkness funnels fed, what molten lusts we led, when we practiced being dead. But now to life we jump and shout finding out what it’s all about. Which path leads to the brightest summit? Which day’s heat will fuel our hearts with necessary love, joy, strength and courage? Output, outcomes, treasures, passions, memories, dictates and pronouncements, reproductive beyond our capacity to understand the internal drive. Seeking to continue in some form fashion, even if it is the scars upon faces we meet. Our tender feet remember the road dreaming of a lighter load. For we will be eternity and in that we will forget this quest to be remembered, marking marks for history’s jaw. In awe of all that stands in light, forgetting the reflected light of night. Standing in a throng, no longer wondering dances to be measured by the light being turned upon our private prancing. Having become part of the something of which we stood astray, wanting no say, but having an authority born of understanding not guess as we confess the loss of wanting more, for in the light there is nothing remaining for all was given that this might be our place.

In Jesus’ Name I thank him for doing all that needed to be done that we might live free.