Of all the things that this life brings seldom is the reflection my own. From top down from foot to crown laying before the King everything including heart, mind, soul and strength. The length determined in prescience feeding the majesty and curvature of time necessary to gather all things to throne base. In service there is no expectation on fulfillment of strategy or tactic as the mission moves to objective and review. The time for reason has gone giving way for the day of clarity and hope. All eyes skyward for the King will bring.

There is no place left for the sacrosanct. No privacy or illusion keeping secret those dark spots of faux or fealty. We are aligned to those things breathing in the light not the feigned misgivings of them who taste the dark. So little know we but the scant understanding more than sufficient to lose the guard of promise. We are born of spirit, made to stand in the flaming fires of Sovereign authority as those who seek the dungeons transpire in captivity or despair. Into the dawn, all.

Waiting the greatest truncheon in my armory. Standing upon patience, goodness and self-control diminishing the doctrine of humanity’s weak hold upon truth and justice. Courage is a short sprint to field resisting the pull of fear and cloud. We were designed for such, this stand, this march forward with smile replacing the welded mask of tragedy. Laying aside the malice of my criticism or hate to love enough, just enough to set victim free from cages. The prisons of deception and false ideal. Come down from the mountain groves of worship to the fallen. Divested alchemy and the plague of self-kept dynasty. We are the jewels of tomorrow found beyond the event horizon of absolute truth.

The truths and freedoms of chastity. The purity of loss, the dross of a world self-poisoned by aspirations unbecoming, misaligned to faith. Without this heart that was given and accepted we cannot find revision, renewing and trust. Will we be tall above the curved backs and bended knee of those forced to come to reason? Have I found comfort in contrition in surrender to one Breath, One Love, One King deserving all and more? There is no end discovered passed beginning. Becoming something beyond invention, ambition or pride acceptable to man. Being made again into the meaning for seed’s planting. Born of heaven, made for service and to stand against all enemies in the knowledge of certain victory.

What He says not the footfalls launching me into madness. The thickening plot of a story outside construction worthy of retelling. Not the clutching pearls hoping for my own wisdom’s arrival. A candidacy without regret. A life that all these children would look upon and find pleasant, without color, shellac or massage. What men of character wish for their sons.

What do we tell ourselves in the wee hours of alone time, when no one else may offer retort, comment or revision. The iron of the stanchion, replete with rust or clarity and taint. I am no presumptive ruler who would be propped up as king. The young man wondering hallways keeping his eyes free of slander, misuse and ill purpose. This dark, this jocularity, this nonsense is not my own but the muse of madmen.

It does not matter what description or excuse may be offered but the land paced in ankles measure. No editing, but the brown, red or frozen footprints of a man not having been carried by the Maker, but put down, marching to a superior cadence in truth and nondenial. He knows me and I wish to maintain that relationship to a fault, where I may never be misconstrued as aligned to another spirit.

What is purchased by my travesty or heart or conquest? What may be anticipated by this path I invest? What is natural inclination of my assumed direction, time and passing? To whom may my walk be attributed if not tandem to character of everlasting? I do not wish to hope that my race is consistent with His Will, emphatic in my representations of God. No doubt, no redress, no but’s or what ifs.

You cannot help me be true though accountability and opinion are purposeful in reflection. Your evaluation is always appreciated especially when it stings, clarifies and demands output which passes the smell test. I am making of this short life that which I may report to the Master. No one will stand in my regard, giving Other evidence or rebuttal to the King. It will be my moment of cheer or sorrow in the accounting. For that ability is the singularity of a man’s reporting in the absence of frailty, falsehood or confusing language.

There is worth in saying one is sorrow for steps mistaken, sloppy or in hindsight, mis- ventured. For that is the power in history a walk consistent with the Word and Will of God or taken in tandem with self-gratification. This is an analysis absent the fingers of those who stand watching. A report that may only be offered in my voice however apologetic, strong or whispered. There is no greater desire nor regret of man than to tell his own story without upset, interruption or regret. Than to stand in front of God and bring honor in its telling.

I reap that which I did not plant. I am rewarded by the prayers and efforts of those gone before. What a joy to be part of something stretching beyond. My life is greater when combined with the faith and admiration of all who love the King. Hunting and gathering together those people that bring joy to the heart of Jesus. Let the storehouses be readied for harvest, let the trumpets be sounded as all men are called to tabernacle with the Most High, let the light of the world remind us of everlasting headed upon us. May all men choose the skinny path, that few will choose leading to the narrow gate.

Prompt my heart Lord to serve in fealty, prayer and purity for your will to be fulfilled. Lord let me stand apart from the world and do, say and promote collective action to make straight all roads as we await your arrival. Lord let our arrogance dissolve, our patience lasting and our hope remain undaunted in the face of those impossible threats that confront our hearts and mind. Give us immutable hope and courage to reflect our trust in You. Father forgive us as the remaining taint and dark spots of this world are taken from us. I rejoice that I see those things which much be removed rise to my recognition in the light of your love and power.

Lord forgive them for many still do not understand your command and patience awaiting their obedience. Let them be kindled by Your Spirits Holy Fire that they are instantly transformed. May all men hear the voice of reason and respond in to your direction. Send your heralding angels that the Gospel is sent to the corners and your light cuts the darkness where the fearful tremble. Give hope to all men who will receive the Will of God and the Powerful delivering joy of Christ Jesus. Allow the beloved to shed any grudge or painful memory of wound and cruelty that they may free themselves of the burden of unforgiveness. Allow us to love the unlovable even our enemies as we find our way to the garden in prayer with you. Lord set this nation and this world free from the slavery that grips them to find everlasting life with you. Father I beg you to hear my prayers for all men. May Israel be keptt safe and made ready for your return.

Right next to yonder small fruit stand, the illusion of my control fizzles in the dying embers of my self-dependence. Could not think nor blink fast enough to see the fuselage lost in cavalcade of descending stars chasing the Sun’s departure. There were no limits to my exhaustion as the air I thought in reserve had already left canister. The ozone grasped at helium as it sought its place in the deep black envelope. Dancing done my legs quivering in humility as these feet planted firmly in my namesake.

Lord, I am just grateful to kneel before this throne. Thank you for time, time you’ve never needed but I feel is the only thing sustaining my participation in forgiveness. I tried to construct my own model, responsive to my tingling fingers, yet was already relieved before deployment. Some men cannot inspire nor convey the viral motivation typically wrought and manipulated with the ease of children. It is okay for in that failure I find the reality and relief of identity’s foretelling. Freedom comes free to those who never lost it. Standing on the wall in defense of things worthy in the voluntary loss of self.

Promise is a characteristic of our resilience in imago Dei. We endure, forgive, trust and change abiding upon its calculus and mastery of time. The entertaining scribblings meant for cathartic healing of the ego’s threat to rupture. Never really there but the victim hood misgivings of a man who mastered the foolhardy and ridiculous. Thinking dreams could reveal the hidden persona strong beyond means and application. It is good to master anything even if in irrelevance my only strength is weakness. Love cannot be lost having never been understood from outset. And in between the lines remains a myth that holds together worlds and everlasting.

So croon to the moon and don’t stop too soon that you cannot fall free of the capsule. Common to fall the ability of all sticking the landing the puzzle. Free to scream in the vacuum never overheard except by high flying bird as it observes the trajectory toward granite. Upon the rock I dive kept free and alive by the ages He contemplated my mishap. It’s okay, that in making me this way giving has always been easy. Taking it seems is hard on the dream and the pile of expectation’s inferno. The new growth yet to be seen, but on my anxious brow the droplets of moisture to dampen its soil in planting.

The challenge of the inexplicable. In description of sensory analysis is a thing defined? Am I increased by simply using my limited mental vocabulary in codifying things beyond my understanding? What then of love when I scant have known its presence yet apart its content, depth and sustainment? Is light something I truly comprehend or control? Or I left in moribund despair when looking upon the miraculous with the eyes that may simply wander in the Maravillos of magnificence?

Can I or will I accept the challenge that I can barely describe yet even less breakdown the animalistic nonetheless the spiritual significance of man’s thought, questing and practices. And am left bereft of brilliance in my abject misunderstanding and lack of verbiage when approaching the subatomic, gravity and the perpetuality of existence or for that matter the components of life? How then desperate the pursuits of a man reliant solely on limited understanding in mathematics, reason, science, longevity, time and rhetoric when confronted with the arrogant attempt at defining the Divine nature of all that makes his own DNA of purpose?

You think me masterful or mystic? A magician of sorts wowing you with the convenience of my capacity to present a vision consistent with your desire for wonder. An illusionist having amply manipulated the childlike willingness to be amazed, enamored or led into ambition group discussion of how we can self-help to nirvana or Valhalla. I am charlatan at best having lassoed the elemental journey into the moorings of universe and in malfeasance describing the miraculous in a potent method of hypnotizing the innocent. What I really mean is look at me and look at me and again look at me as I use the wonderful to deceive the amazing into giving me six Pense for having done nothing greater the mastery of storytelling.

For all my intellect I have done nothing. I have neither created, produced, transformed or edified. Simply determining to amaze with slight of mouth those who would be led into the false presumption that I actually know anything about anything. When in fact describing the Mona Lisa in terms that create sign, tear or deep thinking is simply mimicry of that which I reside in ambition of my own ignorance and envy.

I would prefer to simply be overjoyed in aspiration and inspired welcome that someday I may acquire the knowledge of those things of which now I delve in the dumbness of description. What grand comfort in the knowledge that someday I will be delivered beyond this dysfunctional utopian desperation and attempts to describe God to those who have no understanding of timeless, supernatural and indescribability in magnificence. To His Glory may I continually be led into moments promised of understanding that which is beyond this empty self.

Marks across the sky. Whispers of things beyond the Earth’s curvature. What transparent revelations move the heart to action? What dedicated freedoms move man to try, create or long for solution and continued attempt upon it? What sponsors direction? Must the liquid nature of ambition or aspiration perpetually seek the low point en piso? Or is there an intrinsic yearning to reach for angelic insight? Is the birth of reason a quest to find beginning or learn the path transcending all endings? What is the danger and blessing of contentment?

Palsied comfort. Possessing the blessings of mentality, morphism and marching and indifferently choosing quiescence. Storms to seed, worlds to imagine and stars to reach, yet my anger has no enemy. No joy in conquest. No passion for enslavement. No taste for usurpation. Simply being and becoming the mystery programmed within the reasoning of God. Is the dawn relentless in its beckoning you forward, not to right or left but to certain unknown effort and momentary destination leading to eternal growth? Do the whims of governance and rest construct mobius performance and disconnection? Or is the burning gold of morning calling to something beyond understanding, talent and capacity? A Promise not of place, time and season but of continuance in glory?

Let me be the drip that weakens stone before me. Let me be the breath of God to sponsor lively spirit. Let me be the resting hand that refreshes heals and finishes. Let me be the dusk promising slumber and refreshing. Take from me the raging seas and super nova’s blasting. For I am the helping hand of planting and to nourish. Fill the bucket to rim with fresh Earth and know that soon a forest will be tended, providing shade and color, depth and shelter. Let me be the sigh between the call of chrysalis. The waiting hand of change to shape destiny, mass and thinking. That all may be acquainted at gathering to their Maker.

I can’t said the unsure to the jump being bid before him. The fear readily visible on his chin and eyes scrunched to fight back the palsy and frozen nightmares. This man was remade yet clutching the memories of impossibility the narrow purposes of old restrict his flesh, thinking and action. Regardless of observers in quantum participation the outcome remains random and unfulfilled in the moments before trust builds foundation for perfection. The doctrine screams and the fiery will of Spirit wins out over sight, sound and perspiration as my friend let’s go to God’s whisper and bidding. Fly Son, Fly.

Where is the translation, deciphering and analysis of the insides of your eye? Who knows explanation or rules associated with taking the next step. We stand aloft and struggle with the toddler as that moment of balance, courage and inertia produce posture. We are but newborns learning the parameters of operation within a paradigm yet understood. You would ask that I present material, speech, love or promise to accommodate ease in pacification. But each man writes with unique hand, sings with a voice different before God and dreams of things that may never pass muster in the midst of mortal comprehension. These are the things beyond you and me, to speak of them is by nature a venture into that which may yet be knowable.

This heart knows love yet never may find voice to explain the flavor, scent, passion or brevity brought to heart. What then of the inquirer in languages yet written. Shapes and squiggles, nothing but symbols representing: thought, sound and reason. How can a man searching the depths of ponds or fields he has never wandered describe in adequate precision to meet the expectations of those onlooking? I walk, the associative talk is by nature going to capture little comfort useful to second comers. However, consideration of the presence in spirit of Him who transcends time and dimension there is always ample wisdom available to them who diligently seek it. For God approves of this struggled understanding, seeking that which may yet be known or the expanded understanding of rebirth. I may not offer ample description or comfort but that was never my job until such time as I resemble Him.

Do I Now know those things beyond my understanding? Well, I have a helmet of salvation and access to the mind of Christ and in trust/faith may always ask the Spirit for insight. Therefore, these broad expanses of the world to which I currently have sight but inadequate knowledge are simply being described in infant eyes. Can we see wind, can we explain time’s power of humanity, can we explain why water is wet to touch and taste? Dancing and singing to test the tones, rhythm an echo is standard process for accessing depth, breadth and distance. What then are the mechanisms of Spiritual sounding? What process and tools do we now have as norm that we yet to comprehend nor better yet know in application? This is the beginning of tomorrow, finding things beyond the curve with talents, treasures and post human tools designed to navigate eternity. Bear with me as I discover how the sound of my mind transcend or rebounds from the dimension yet expected.

Leaks in my boat inhibit my float and there is no spotted goat for my blaming. I bail and travail over the rail to avoid the lion worth taming. Paddle you fool fill that pale as your sword to prevent the pirates who would see us thrown overboard. The Lord sleeps in wait this wind He’ll abate never too early or late. Precisely as planned we soon understand that none of this is conducted by fate. But in God’s perfect script we’ve all been equipped to arrive at the opened east Gate. Come in He will say your family is on their way well done now have a seat and together we’ll wait.

This morning is neither proof nor admission of failure. It is neither recognition of my prowess nor longevity but the expression of God’s maintenance of the temporary constancy of my extended dilemma. Getting off the ride simply extends it exponentially as the only real choice is found in abiding in fealty or fate’s fickle reason. Even plodding along with apparent discontent or limited mobility is tantamount to eventual victory. So hobble I will with John, Jean and Bill until the gates open wide admitting His Bride to the lake those who’ve murdered and lied. I’m thankful for all that after my fall I heard the arch Angel’s Trumpeting Call.

You want miracles or magic from a man who knows only how to seed, weed and feed tender uprisings. I am no Lord or Singer of Seance, wisdom or mathematics. I’ve no prophets sight nor vampires bite and evade the Oracle’s telling. No priestly voice simply by choice I know that My God hears me yelling. My story is long with no rhythm or song but to some it is still worth the telling. For a simple young bloke threw off the false yoke and now is an ox in season. We’d found him contrite ready to fight but was given Word, Love and reason. These are not the hands or mind of the eloquent and ageless. The scalloped brow scarred back, and calloused head do not foretell the heart bigger than Nebraska. For in God’s simple tools, we find the light beyond time, space and sourcing.

These are the fields of greatness surpassing my imagination’s founding. The depths are impassable for such are far lower and wider than sounding. In realm’s not my own to where I am shown my heart rests no longer racing and pounding. The context and plot I so soon forgot not caring which ending delivered. My sword of no use my thinking obtuse and my arrows were quickly re-quivered. Why would man seek war with the wind having so frequently grinned at the cankered and sinned when lepers have all been forgiven? Choose to live on beyond dusk and dawn forever in the light of our Maker. In simplicity the paradise of peace ls given only to believer and taker excluding the doubting or faker.

Wrestling with Almighty. A worthy cause? Misunderstood promise and labors unwanted, trying so hard to achieve that which is already secured. Wed to insignificance. Born to expectation, reborn to wait upon the miracles of Grace and plenty in solidarity. Dreams leading into glamour or darkened, treasured opulence. What fancy found in the son of dukes and wizards infatuated with their capacity to flip a switch or collide the elements? Who understands why they have matter, mass or density, except through observation? If in formula I celebrate my wisdom what then is true power found in creation?

I do not make or condemn your choices. These days are yours to plunder, pass or measure equal to every man. The motivation of objective focus is the delight of purpose sought. A tire rolls, an ox withstands the burden a vision foretells. When wells bone dry what relief does my adoration deliver? Applaud in the completion of love instructed and given by the one who wrote its story. This pleading to be found the hand up or stool upon which many reached the fruitful boughs of everlasting. Time wants and consumes without favor. To it this life is fed til limits removed and even foundation is shaken from certain footing.

My feast awaits at the hand that by any right should never give me morsel. Yet in display we find grand answers to all mystery. To live again or fill the span of history and time yet coming with the annals of eternity. What equal plane upon which we touch down delights in our receiving? There is no shame nor gain in choosing against the gifts of twice wonderful. There is no rest or peace embroiled in fires of Gehenna. There is only what you’ve demanded, separation from all that God offers. By choice deserted on the island of self worship, retribution and regret for having dutifully done it your way. Arrogance, the mistress who promises flight with White Throne in our assembly. To rise and fall as empires choosing fate and not the faithful.

There are no misconceptions in the pull of gravity upon us. There are no alternate realities as the wind pummels unmercifully, reminding flesh of its impermanence. No escape from aging skin and ebbing strength of person, mind or fashion. Yet, relief is real and rest for certain. Do we possess that abiding essence and fealty fashioned of hope, faith and picture in our imagination? How powerful the pontificate of dream. Do we count this mortal treasure? Seeing beyond the curvature of time into space yet ventured? Knowing that the unknowable is attainable in some forgotten hope. What then is value in life if not the things, table, taxes, conquest or wisdoms this world wants for your possession? If the greatest of weapons, fruits and love are endemic to something other than sight, feel and smell?

What bucket I leave at wellhead’s sitting? Running child to tell all of the master and mystery. What freedom in the precise recounting of my passage? That burden no longer defines my greatness. That freedom is the absence of regret found only in forgiveness. What then may be the greatest gift I’ve given if love the only thing that bridges times withholding? What solace achieved in being known to rock, tree and ground? Aligned in everlasting documentary of God’s Glory reflected in my living and inclusion. I am the richest of us all, yet I pray my Sisters and Brothers soon surpass me. overjoyed, the boot boy, rewarded in service eternal, the Bond Slave of Christ the Master.

August memories are retreating, reflecting and putting the work, thought and mission to bed. Reconciled reality, laying the bricks of further foundation for years still coming. Have bugs gone to refrain from pestering, perhaps not but somehow the stifling stillness speaks of relief and change. Patience the crucial weapon evades our mastery, and we are left to struggle against the demons of dark and imaginary conclusion.

These are not the scraped knees of the malleable and flexible child we remember, but those scabs, wounds or fears assembled against the woman or man we have taken seriously into the tablet of days. What relief is offered in simply breathing? What cause the wind blowing hot across our brow in formulating, fixing or frustrating the restless soul within us? How do the comments so differ in their effort to conform our reason? Why does the fate seek our stiffness of extremity and blight of resting strength?

Where is the harvest work still coming? What fields lay ripe, readied and set apart for collection? Who may say that the fall storehouses will soon be firm and full for tending to winter arrival? The work left undone reminds us of summer’s ending. Gone are the joyous expectation in dalliance and sweet tea swigging on porches made for slumber? Who dreams of tabernacled tent in simplicity of prayerful pleasure? What hope of forgiveness has the goat of our scaping? Relinquish the pressure brought along with unforgiveness to heal that which may be closed and lay aside the burdens of expectation’s plunder.

What treasures must never be hidden, tossed or concealed from measure presenting the pleasures of fulfillment and purpose that are never envied, stolen but freely shared? What are the opposite of wounds found in the healthy heart that cast the die in courage and hold within the power, hope and elastic muscle against encroaching dawn? What bandage the love of those who give encouraging care without request? What promise has the man with no worry, no weapon lashed against him, no plight of trepidation?

We focus on the dark, storm, crashing waves and onslaught forgetting to remember the sun in its glory and promise or warmth, growth and dimension. Have we been promised some manner of delivery, some faithful expectation of courageous stand against the night? How might we explain the will to mount defense against the whims of everlasting conquest/? What is the joy in handful of pure mountain spring brought close to lip for quenching? When relief unnecessary for the work was sought in joy, the discomfort the burr beneath a saddle of our training? Is that peace here in the late summer noon’s of buzzing and sharpened sawgrass? Why does simply sitting in the cool evening sand watching the sky turn fifty hues of crimson and gold fill and calm the heart?