When Spirit speaks. No time for indecision. Choice is inexorable. The moments beckon. The World or whatever is to be revealed around the bend of mountain or sky. Will there be excuse, regret or unspent wish and want? At the footstool all beyond escape’s finger.

Not meant to push, suggest or dangle. Simple offering of this and that. The bird in hand demands cleaning. Far enough from camp silent. Tears rescind navigation. Until the morning of hope recalls the reason for the journey. Not looking for a place in sky command, just rest.

Husband of house. Waiting until perusal is squandered. Two truly different walk ways. One unknown but certain. The other certain but arresting. Are we meant for sand and loam? Or to dutifully dig deep for stone beyond the touch of time and space. Determined at beginning.

There is no remorse for course chosen, of course. For in duty and want we find ourselves complete. At the moment of revelation poison was evident. No testimony or justification could wash away the tar. This road is the light yoke which He bore. Place in the throng.

Not sent to be the teacher or recall simple words of self propagation, but the annals of a story when told sets free those who mind the Master. Be who you wish to tell Him you were. For this decision was made at the moment I was drowning and He lifted my head above surface.