No places, no time for serenity and comfort. No Peace but that which is delivered in exchange for cares and worries. No day but today, no face but the real one, no armor but God’s. Freed from hunger and thirst for mortal instinct but for Glory’s tasteful righteousness wrapped in a dominant Word so appealing, given in request with wisdom, courage and bridles busting faith.  To plow, shoulders now, HEAVE! Of one Accord, PUSH!, With one Voice, SING!, ,praises to the King of our Calling.

Charmed by the eloquence of a quiet voice not asking, not bidding, but reminding me of what I want to do, what I was meant to do, all that matters. In service to a dream, not the fanciful parades of imaginary sequence, but the quiet directions of slumber leading, directing, providing, engaging all cylinders set to flaming fire. Dark subjects fade into mist the mist of this temporary existence, as the seed begins to sprout a Spirit filled creature unbeknownst but akin to that mortal beginning.  Time to transform, in this chrysalis,  This life disguised as the entire package but nothing but a tapestry setting stages. We dance and believe that joy is real, having provoked ourselves to happiness, imagining the end of this is in fact some destination. Further and further from Truth. This is seedville, the crop, a new person, meant to kneel in the presence of glory, born of the transition between finite and fiction. The real of what the myth should build.

This is not a test but preparation for a meeting with the reality of God’s Faithful Promise and Resolve. A shelter, a sham, a perfectly designed habitat through which a man either sprouts and becomes the next thing or dwindles to feed the carbon remnants of the processes. What we shall become only the Lord knows, and the timing kept hidden as we would casually approach that which requires alacrity,  commitment and perhaps a measure of terror’s quickening. This mortal frame is the seed of that flourished engagement to harvest’s horizon. What then does a seed have in repair to deliver such outcome? Response and participation.

Being is our duty, I AM our God, Life its own outcome, having either chosen to blossom or retreat to the fires of Creation’s waste and memories of failed decision. This is nothing, nada, nowhere but the inside of a birthing chamber awaiting recreation for eternity spent with Almighty God we hardly understand and cannot wait to Know. In Jesus’ Name.