Into the inflamed reserve. Sourcing the navigation, supply and focus required to complete. Floating downstream taking in scenery as the tough part has yet to begin. As one anticipates fire, flood or health scare, doubling down on an additional set of lives to repair the unexpected. These are not moments of self recrimination but belief upon revival and miraculous recovery.

Men waiting around to die is the toughest truth to stomach. There is always one last road trip, campaign or voluntary assistance in the tank. What a wonderful understanding when it no longer needs to be about wantonness or entitled myopia. I see a spark, now to bellows to draw the flame from ember. In an instant our hearts embrace the warmth and hope of a growing fire.

We hope even when reason dictates logic and all remaining evidence or argument shouts that there is no there from here. This has never been about my faith unless measuring my love, but about trust in something beyond myself. Someone that sees beyond the curves and plunge of time’s coaster knowing that at some point after the fear resides we will smile in furious splendor.

It is therefore a wondrous adventure when the road ends at shear cliff or ascending wall without climbing gear or experience. Even imagination exceeded I am forced to look within to the imagination beyond my scope and polish. Finding grand pleasure in the testing of my faith by doubt, fear and unbelief. For the lands that grow beyond this generation are product of those things unseen.

Revival is that moment when I know longer count myself and my limits as the end of this or any story. When I expect miracle originating from the hand beyond crevasse. What mercy graces the undernourished with a belly full of peace and silence? Tomorrow exists because it must and even if there were ample expectation that this day would be the last. Joy remains embedded in promise.