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.