These days, a rope burn around the arms and legs. A pestering thorn underneath our backside. The children mourn, old folks see their legacy in tatters and a generous swath off humanity appears absent common sense as they call for ideology of self destruction.

What Spirit captures our tortured thinking? Who governs mouths to say something encouraging or nice about those who share this march toward calamity? What governs the minds of men to promote hope and think of each other instead of meeting their pressing demand?

There is joy, found only in the promise of the future and brought into this day as shield and tool to diminish worry and what the eyes behold. For who may look upon the efforts and objectives of today’s mankind and see the eventual peace without believing the Will of God?

No, we have failed in our quest to retain God’s image. Departing from all that is holy in a quest for our own fame, fortune and minutes of pain of fleeting happiness. Our women fight us while men can’t muster enough will to lead to bring peace to their own households.

It is the master of sin we serve. The death and the payment promised as wages of this observance. We have sold opportunity for eternity to see something fleeting beneath our feet, something bad for us in our bellies and something next to us in the fornication of self.

They all want to hear cheerful verse of self consequence. They demand in meager tithe to see themselves glorified and in moments of false pretense to claim that they know God, when all that ever matter is that He knows us. We have folded the better hand we were dealt.

All of this leads to our own achievements our own imagined self and a world that reflects that inadequacy. A platter full of too ripe and not yet grown for the wonderful dream of presence with the God of all universes beyond time and the lasso of mortal limitation.