Peace my immolant heart. Fires entering this age, born before time itself was named. In esteem, I hold this pulse, quickening when privileged ears piqued. Simple unto awesome may voice and heart bellow in tandem. Against the freshening breeze. What may birth bring in christening flame? Metal remade to mettle quite odd to eye and meddling thought.

None seems right by taste and touch. Sound and trumpet and ocean rush proceed the twinkling. In moments scant to measure. We found the road to crimson berth. Welcomed plunged in river real to see the transparency of metal to alloy, sight and higher resonance.

What becomes of those afraid? Too scared to Henry, Nancy they reveal. Yet she who soloed wisely saw the promise of freedom found. Into her element they ceased to amble after. In pulsing radiance, she left the bucket tumbling. On that marble hill with flowers cascading as mountain streams, she ran from her indifference.

This knowledge is beyond my quizzical and thieving mindset. Too fast, sleight of hand a failure and words only dig the holes edge in around me. What quiet is found in reason when all that encompasses are miracles beyond my foretelling of tomorrow? It is comfort, this solitude in the silence of not knowing, yet certain.

I am too infrequent to be called among the faithful. To inconsistent to be welcomed trustworthy and dependable. Yet, in this eye a pathway past forever. For the spark is everlasting. Shone deeply from the heart of the one through the foundry of man’s making. Upon the superheated firmament my soul was fashioned for this sweeping torrent.

Into God’s intention I plunge, life, heart and the secrets beyond the spirit of self and independence.

Clammy tears streaking this face that may never be washed clean. Chosen against God in error or in pride, matters not. For I am alone, separated as Christ on the Cross. Bereft of hope, Living but dead, crying out but hearing the echo of my fear in my own inner ear.

Regret, the words and laughter I gave him and her as they tried to convince me the time had arrived for reason. What choice but death now stands before me? As all that is good has gone. Will this stage finally demand a choice from this disobedient man?

Truth, stood before me and I refused to kneel in acknowledgement. Loving self, wealth, worry and design more than the one who gave me life, breath and the choice I so unwisely refused to express. Left is not a direction or term of political affiliation, the pathetic fate of those who are now in danger of never knowing God, heaven or peace. Only hell awaits.

What now as I filter through the history I refused. Knowing that the thing I resisted adamantly, God’s Word would now be my only source of escaping the fate I once adored.

Pages, what pages, what prophets, priests and promise would now lend me access to deliverance. Oh, the simplicity of being born of heaven, the utter calamity and irony of my circumstance. Now wishing I had listened, learned and broken free from the prisons of mind, deception and treasure. Now on the steps of hell, heaven was perhaps all that may be called, REAL.

Behind, past, forgotten, relegated to words and memories slowly ebbing from existence within the minds of those who remember. No Pages, No perpetuity, no continuance once forgotten by men who knew my name. Most of whom have suffered fate similar and would soon be forgotten themselves.

Jesus, the dry tongue visited the Name of Power and relief, a peace I ignored and held ignoble. Now alone was the food for life or a proper death as man having acknowledged God’s creation. A Kiss for the Son that His coming anger would Passover. This much remembered of the Word so precious having escaped my passion; All would be saved who cry out to Him.

This choice I made in instant. The deception would now come and my only escape would be standing unto death against the false faith of worldly dominion. I would offer my life to God in hope of escaping as a martyred tribulation saint. Oh that I had believed. Now no regret would save me. Only the recognition of Christ and His pity upon my unworthy soul.

Very little to tell. In pathetic hope of impressing someone who may by chance offer a smidgen of validation. The words and things I reveal are stolen from times and voices spoken. Nothing New.

Thus, outside these walls of time and shade, I sink my spade. Seeking seed or shiny flake with which to stun this world with accolade rare. To be something within the nothing, recognized and special.

To be found outside the ordinary I must understand the seldom grasped. What hands have crafted each of us? What unique breath breathed into the nostril of man? What sovereign imprint found woven in each heart?

Though most deny, love finds us so often yearning. Thinking ourselves unworthy the whispers of kindness, hope and care. We were always there. Never listening for the only voices that mattered.

Even a pinch of solid ground. A yard, a foot on plot or field. May give each man the stone unmoved for building the dreams of everlasting. Outside myself I found my faith. For inside were the worries temporary.

I am stunned by how little I’ve needed. Knowing the counsel of kings. Each amazed at this common thinking man uncomely. Residing and defining their universe by rare beauty in a space uglied by the filth of time.

To the porch the peace draws near. Sipping in the shaded glory of Weeping Willow and Sycamore. Nothing proper, all fantastic. Remarkably unrecognizable, compared to that inside the known.

I Am is that which makes me special. All fight for recognition in the frenzied competition for love of many. When the One Love that fulfills any in creation is to be known by name in the Throne Room of our God.

Through silence I have seen it all. From the breeze pestering my arm hairs and mustache to the gravel twisting and crunching beneath the soles of my well-worn boot. Along for the ride with intentions by my side seeking guidance not pride with no need to hide. Leeward leaning for the properties and aspirations of great men whispering to me from the pages of what God wrote. In dawn I see the purple’s passion and crimson’s crush upon the heart of man. We are not made for fallow work to dust the muck from boots but to plant them deeply in the wealth of promise and harvest. I walk too slow for a man who should be worried about so much.

Elbow’s greased somehow delivers sloppy connotation. Hands ripe with callous and strengthened by grip on plow, have been salted for the Earth’s working. Twisting in the winds and whims of fate was never comforting. I wanted mystery and unknown dates of secret episodic miracles that delighted me with wonder. I wanted something beyond the edge of midnight, not monster or ritual but the dreams of man’s remaking. The shaping of something wrought for the Good Pleasures of the author. This is no chemical or mechanical course for engineering, no mathematical calculus of how the universe works and why I must bend it to my will for pleasure, or cruelty in power.

Being brief is when you’re not saying much worth recalling. To love you must know love then know the person you wish to give love. There is no love in simple taking or dispensing of gracious pliability. Lubricant to release the well-kept secrets and jewels of man’s conquest. Having been to this place of remorse and false hope found in moments of lurid recall I flee from the deception within me.

There is no ground upon which to make a sound house. There is no rain to douse the seeds beneath my booted feet. There is no honor in the taking, only in the giving of those things that lead to life everlasting. Removing tarnish in tumble as I mumble about the difficult associated with the road to perfection. In my recollection, not much perfect round here, so it must exist outside this time and place. Is that where I strive to go or ramble to and fro in the same plot of land passed over for the length of history’s remembering?

To what lengths has the seed landed for promise? What shall be grown on shallow dirt or upon the wind pounded slopes of tidy nightmares? This is not the ride of a man found daunting or dancing in the darkness to steps laid bare by barons and princes of the night. These are not the cuspids to cut the life short from investment. But the teeth to loosen tether and shatter hope of jailers with captured treasure set free by the wealth of God’s pleasure. What exists beyond my thinking? What upside down lands that violate gravity’s thumb await us in the light beyond tomorrow? What joy will I know in seeing the eyes of the one who found good reason and pleasure in my making? Will I be other than He made me?

Intrigue and affectionate displays. Mediocre mysteries written to audacious measure stormed to set the world’s passion aflame. In tandem we treat retreat as applause and victory as cadence on the way to battle. As marches go the boots set the sand and fire to rhythm catching the flash from boot buckle in the lens of preparation. These are no accidental pleasures, but the gifts of love and life wrapped in the sinew and bone of life’s treasure. Sing true, me and you, to address the stellar call of character and heart. Believing ourselves well made to dance in the light of King’s viewing.

What does it mean for a man to love someone proper? Is recipient or creditor adequate judge? What of expectant yearning and scintillating hopes of a girl and her invisible dear? What then does dream have to bring relief in a world so real, caustic and pain ridden? Are we to punish hearts with the daydreams that match clear projection. Or will a crippled man or child remain so even in the overlay of youthful hope? Do we make an ignorant man wise but simply loving him? Or the uncomely pleasant in ownership? What is a mate but the match of our own simplicity, flaws and success?

This is a road to be ventured with intention. Choice governs all even the efficacy of marriage. The right road must not only be chosen but dedication ventured in the will to carry on toward perfection each, morning, late day and on to loving slumber. There is no magic potion or spell of romance that will make the reality of a Godly marriage materialize without choice, Love, sacrifice and cooperation. Unless you rely upon miracle which demands the prayerful Hand of God. Don’t go into union believing what they’ve so you. For this world understands moments and has no idea of things eternal. Focus may only be found in relationship with Majesty that it directs joint understanding of the path to its achievement.

Do not look upon the tales tall and splendiferous, when seeking a cooperative pursuit. This life that functions smoothly must be named, chosen and chased within the grace of God. There is no easy path to good life and suerte, but the humble decision taken on by two mates, man and woman working within God’s identity and direction, to become that which is impossible alone. Do Your Work and leave the changes of your wife/husband within their walk in sovereign identity transformed by God’s answer to your continuous, thankful and spiritual Prayer.

Wishes won and titles lost. All for the sake of my sovereignty. In allegiance to no one or nothing I am free to pursue whatever imaginary conquests the world offers or compels. Into the depth of my deception, I carry everyone who will listen and give way to sound judgment or reason. For this is my charade and you are willing or cajoled participant holding up your cardboard effigy to conceal the real person beyond it.

In what dream can this be deemed real, as I cast another spool of fishing line across the pond of those who’ve done no research, study or thinking. Or produce another reel of digital folly to suck them into the vortex of calamity awaiting all who fail in acknowledgement. What has become the real to which we find foundation? Who is the leader of my parade toward insanity and social collapse? To what sirens have I been called upon the rocks of my ship’s destruction?

Into the fields of poppy and synthetic hope I Plow with my cart seeking nap and nonsense. How ironic its pages sell as cinnamon buns for those seeking escape from pure logic. Are we to be captured by the impulses within, voices calling us to capture within the jailcells and pylons of our temporary expectation? What is time but an alarm of urgency to come to grips with the mass, acceleration and gravity of this manuscript entering denouement?

How fine the plantation of my Lordship. Casting my eyes upon the lush green acres of the taxpayers planting. Espousing the doctrines of appellate saints having earned their degrees and approval from each other. Calling their blood blue to set themselves apart from the humans they are fleecing. And to them I give fealty? Working this life through to make sure they have a seven-course meal whilst we’re starving. But there is wealth beyond station, measure and bloodline.

God is no respecter of persons. Self-erected pedestals of name and valor present not the approval of His Deity to call oneself supreme. These are the days when mud defines each of us. Either heaping it upon the subjected humanity or digging into it to find the toil in the blessings of God. For this is not freedom but fancy. I am not liberal because I hate everything God created and planted. For in antipathy, I despise my own crafting solely found in the evolutionary opportunities divine.

World’s. At the limit of imagination, a prophecy beckons me step. To the edge of my command. Understanding nothing but in all adoration, relying upon scant information. What is a leap, step or jump? Is action appropriate? Does this situation call for analysis, perhaps lengthy discussion? Is the barn burning, the tree falling, the bridge collapsing or the sun imploding? Why then take preemptive action without verifiable evidence?

Shall I be the odd bean out, differently painted, believing it time to be planted outside of season? Or shall the whisper of winds yet sustained deliver me to launching well prompted? What are wings folded and stowed against my back? Who them resists this enemy? What shall grow without good Earth and the mist, water or tears of God’s bidding? To be sufficient testing then choices, mistakes and successes must all be present or possible.

Do I seek enemy movements to muster my cannons to ridgeline? Must I feel his foul breath upon my neck to roust myself in preparation? Will I find his eyes gleaming into mine when first I test the wind for danger or peace? Then if I respond solely to stimuli what happens when deception has been promised out outset? Endurance requires, no demands adequate and mature muscle mass to bear the burdens of battle, even as victory has been assured.

Showing up is meat upon the bones once laying dry in yonder valley. But flesh needs blood to breathe. Oxygen, the life and the death of all men, alerts us to frenzy and frolic. Bucolic though the picture paints, standing on frozen or muddied field to meet enemies in frenzied display is not the same as farming. For plow shares must be beaten to pike, sword or axe. And he who lacks weapons shall water the fields of this night with the blood that was absent in veins and heart pumping.

How then does mouth make a sword of two-edged glory? How may the light be discerned from the darkness well hidden? How then the good from bad, shame from delight, warmth find the coldness of dawn? This is the time for each season. A time to love, a time to build, a time to stand and a time to believe upon God’s War on our behalf. As enemies are laid in the puddle of their founding who shall sit and regard the scenes glorious appearing love. What is victory in promise but the preparation for its arrival?

This hill is arduous. This rock won’t move. This problem refuses my will in resolving it. The wrongs won’t be right. These songs remind me of the sad moment I wrote them. This dawn is cloudy. This rain sure is cold. These raggedy old jeans are on their last thread. August ends my summer. Good times never last. People are all too busy. These fries are too small. This drink too warm and this sky too crimson.

This life presents the troubles. Very little is suitable or in agreement with vision I had for it. My reactions to stimuli, good, sad, awful or bad may if left to their devices define my universe. Is my identity that simple that it is easily reflected by my knee jerk reactions or inadequacies determining the quality of my afternoon? Does the weather make my day? Am I so inexperienced or convinced that I am a product of circumstance that an episodic event whether good or bad creates the boundaries of my joy or lack thereof?

Understanding and choosing joy requires a litany of emotional context. For example, to truly be fulfilled or overwhelmed in joy we must have thorough regard of: fun, contentment, laughter, silliness, beauty, love, worth, purity, life, innocence and victory. That is why joy is infinitely superior to the simple quest or pursuit of happiness. Joy comes in the midst of trouble. Joy remains in the midst of pain. Joy is free and self-sustaining. Joy is outwardly focused to change the world where happiness is all about me.

Joy is also the key to invitation of the Holy Spirit’s intervention, direction and education. Especially in the times of trouble, trial, doubt and painful circumstance it curbs the swell, lessens the pain and keeps us close to God. Joy is the secret to establishment and wielding of the Fruits of Spirit. For when we choose joy in the middle of conflict or unpleasantry we are saying to God, “Lord I welcome this pregnant opportunity, trial or training”, allowing the Lord to transform us more readily. When we see the world through joy then we no longer dread the trials and temptations but await them in the confident knowledge that they will lead us to perfection as Patience, Peace and Love temper the learning.

This life is about choice that is why the enemy uses the word choice to explain away the eradication of life yet realized. For each action is preceded by thought and therefore it is the willful act an accountability for choosing that commits us to review in God’s Day of judgement. Additionally, the choice of everlasting life through forgiveness in Christ is done by choice to spend eternity with Him instead of in dreadful separation meant for Satan and the fallen angels. Why not choose Joy? It will be on the list of the most powerful choices that you ever made and enhance the quality of this life while preparing you rapidly for the next.