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.