The windows of my pregnant era continue to collapse. Not a destructive cacophony of panic, rather present call to urgency in action. What shall be birthed in the Spirit of these precious moments. I know so little but promise. Yet, surprisingly, it is more than enough to accommodate reason, emotion and steady, faithful growth.

Though things diminish it is not toward a certain end but beginning as all rebirth portends. Born again of covenant, a promise or promises made by the only power without comparison. The shadow holds dominion but knows instinctively no everlasting design or confidence. For when light comes and it always comes, darkness flees shattered by the power of wave, plasma a penetrating particle.

So too, my heart knows the reformation of existence. Not to death and return to ash, but increase. An increase with humility not prowess but service to all that defines Divinity. What shall our conquest be but looking forward into the ever lighted hallways of majesty. To become that which a seed was designed, intellectually, autonomously, redefined by beginnings without end.

To what fury owe my heart the pleasure of victory? No maelstrom or chaotic promise but the foundation of all design, founded in the structure of those things which rival time. I am not the promise, but the one who believes upon it. Man, who shall never rival creator or creation but set apart to be part of those things Divinely created for service to the King’s Glory.

Let prayer unfold. Let dreams amend. Let darling hope find the hearts of men replenished, eternal brought to the streams of everlasting. Whilst we ponder fame let us exceed to glory and grace. The founding of eternity. Love the promise of a God who knew all things that would remain elusive to our heart. Waiting until we ourselves have chosen readiness.