We always play off rejection as if we are impervious to pain, but in those moments there is favor. That last plate on each side of the bar, surpassing what you did before. Loving God more than you love yourself.

We fall from grace so simply as if gravity controls descent. Passing plumb we succumb to worship the saints of this world. In those precarious moments we find that long exhale searching for His Will in silence.

But they ‘re not lovely these stones I have cut to weigh me down. Cold and lonely as the cup of this life tasted each morning I awoke. But this is never the end, just opportunity to hold that breath and wait for crosswinds.

We have never given in the vision for tomorrow. Though the clouds and see rage we know the Earth has a curve to deliver to the plate. And in those waiting seconds we push all our weight to the strongest part of our legs.

We wrestle with those things that never edify as if somehow they provide good test for spirit. Then as we recover from the soul pain we learn once again that there is order and center in the Universe. That it all belongs to God.

In those hurt winds we smell the fires of our own kindled upset, burning free the contempt within each of us until we are effectively preserved. Made ready for days headed our way that will test us beyond our contemplation.

We are good and this mountain shall not take our lives on this winter morn. The spinning Earth will find new pose in silhouette before next Spring. And everything will be power washed revealing the hungry waiting ground.