Do shame and joy mix evenly in my tears? Do we crave the cleansing shower of the soul? Embarked, wandering, what panel of elders guides your heart? What discipline governs and stays the hand of your war chief? What character teaches him as he dispenses judgment and retribution? Are we raising young men who have vigilantly watched and know that their actions are right, whole and seeking purity of heart and mind?

Yes, having druthers we all would wish to walk with those we love on this life journey to the well spring of eternity. Yet, alone, in righteous reflection and conscious observation of our faces in this mirror of actions and paralysis, we observe obedience or self service. None of those I respected will stand in my footprints as I give explanation to the King of Kings. We are together, alone before the fiery eyes of God and our story.

The thundering voice of rushing waters surrounds my thoughts held captive to His perspective. This has never been a thing of me, only expression of my choices in the vast array of possibility. For in creation I am the tool of His crafting. In guidance the image of what His hand made, set for consistent work of kings, yet with freedom to do otherwise. In the ominous depth of His Word upon my Spirit, I pray in full measure to be found right.

Do I have some duty to this nation in arguing for goodness and obedience to our King? Certainly, I would equally be counted among robbers, if standing as the jewels were emptied into pockets with a lust in their fencing. This is the time to stand apart from wickedness. This is the time upon which my story will be judged, having taken up guide on for God or waving flag’s surrender. Will I be found of this world or the next as Mankind struggles in breathing?

In the desert of tossed ideas. A gasp, cough or frozen throat is often good. For in what manner do I measure the quality of those thoughts sponsored in narrow or vapid thinking? Though I am made in their image. A presumption of eloquence, depth or application especially having seen the vat of pride within, is tempting calamity.

It is time to move on from the attempt at being good enough for any of you. That is a fool’s errand a quest without destination a road dry, sans forage or fodder. May God send me those who appreciate my hue, virtue and brand of elementary humor. For to be in debt to someone expecting eventual love is fertilizer without ground to plant.

Control is of the Lord. Navigation is of the Spirit. Right, prudent and wise are of the Father. None of this was my creation only my doing to match or hatch the impacts of my intention, hope and failures. There never was any expectation of measuring up to a set of metrics born in the damaged hearts and minds of men set out on a broad, dusty trail.

Have I failed. I hope not and hold fast to the Promises of Revelation at meeting. Treasures stored up by faith are equally anticipated by that same faith to which they were gathered. What awaits is greater than the inputs and outputs of a world that looks to metaphysics and concrete fulfillment. There are no pleasures but joy through Promise and kids awaiting gifts.

Culpability, shame for the torture of the innocent, bullying of the vulnerable and prostitution of those things that everyone knows are right? What duty of knights or those choosing some measure of valor, honor and character? What pleasure in dedication to those things that keep the fields pure and the food safe from taint or tincture? What adoration of young men not having been poisoned, ruined or infested with the parasites or social degeneration? Is virginity of person and heart of any value in today’s shock value culture?

If your hands strangled not, yet you watched in timidity or voyeurism you would spend conspiratorial accomplice time in penitentiary. Why then are those who drug, infect or laughingly sell youth into sexual slavery and dangerous, potential life long wounding allowed to reach the pinnacle of wealth, power and political bastion? These are not easily answered questions by a population who does not want to discuss their evil. Those with sin do not want them brought to bare in discussion of accountability of corrective action.

More than half of the Mob rule democracy wish to remain silent about our afflictions as a nation. Not the political apology tour of the offenses of Capitalism, but the painful reality exposed by the analytics regarding a lust to consume children and hide the evidence. We as mankind are filled with a blood lust to do wrong. That should neither be applauded nor concealed as we hand out awards, medals and continue to condone the opposite of evolution. Especially when those with a proclivity for this wickedness hold up the light of man’s transformation as evidence they have become equal to or surpass the Perfect God who made them.

It is time for judgment. Not by my hand or mind, appointing myself worthy of such thought and proclamation. We have once again reached a fevered pitch of putridity and obeisance to self worship. A man who believes himself righteous is perhaps the most dangerous of all. For he cannot abide discussion of his frailties for there must be admission of their existence. No, the only path to perfection is found in rightful admission of our collective poisons, those things which we may not practice but stand action less as they are taken out upon those incapable of defense. There is always the opportunity or risk of sounding as if I am painting with the broad brush of my perspective, but it is to God’s Word, especially prophetic through which we see ourselves either seeking His righteousness or our own gratification. As men, arguably we have done the same things for thousands of years. Certainly the names and places have changed but the actions remain identical throughout our history. How can anyone claim an elevation of the species without evidence to the same?

Make the mistake, see disparity turn to clarity or a silencing of Spirit. How unfortunate and blessed to have the trials and mistakes. Why I must make the error before learning from it or experiencing the chastisement of the Father, I have not yet understood. For now I continue to walk and err, then see the price of my failure, disobedience and wild heart. I pray for a day where I may do the right thing before God and man, separated from my wicked heart and inadequate understanding of heavenly character and fulfillment of God’s Will before my own.

Father, thank you for showing me that I may confess before you the clarity of the man I have yet to become. I do not want to travel the broad boulevard of contempt and disrespect for your Grace. However, I see the poisons and worldly taints remaining in the rising dross as I am super-heated prior to its removal. Thank you for crucible of this world and its pull upon my soul, may your Word and Spirit separate the Spirit from it, that I may live eternal free from graft and sin.

You are my destination. I will be found at the moment I am told to rise from my face, prostrate before your Glorious Appearing. For now I am lost with the hope of Your Spirit’s guidance into the knowledge of the truth I must acquire in readiness. Forgive me over and over it appears that I may someday walk the skinny path with no regard from the Broad boulevard of this world’s ambition. May your Spirit counsel me and the body help me to become steeped in Faith and knowledge of you that my unsalted soul be riven from the cleansed man before you. Help me as I struggle to do those things beyond my present capacity, that someday I may arrive and be able to feed myself the bread of Your Word.

When my own eye offends do I strike it free as God suggests? What of my own evil, my thistles, briars and thorns? What self control have I exhibited that man or Brother would find solace that the impossible is being done? What obedience that my own heart is true? How many have I slighted, ignored, never shown love and how often have I gone to great strides to find my own way resolved? When is it time to expect God’s accountability for actions or inaction as a measure of unbelief/disobedience? What is hate for God but continually doing that in which He demands abstinence, repentance and transformation?

At what point were Moses and Aaron left out of His Divine Rest and entry into the Promise Land? When was Moses too angry or in perpetual refusal to lose his rage in exchange for apology and peaceful council? What makes us believe that God will not treat us in the same fashion with unresolved disobedience or lack of contrition in transformation? Do we believe ourselves greater than Moses, perhaps due more leeway as we have Grace or perhaps are we the same exact people seeking to continually do that which God hates believing ourselves somehow safe from His Wrath in eternal redemption?

We as men have come down to the last days. The last opportunities to get it right and when we mess up repeatedly we are squandering perhaps the last few opportunities to do what God directed. Does that frighten you? It scares the skin off of me, yet I still find myself willfully, brazenly, unwisely expresses the same covetousness and desire to sin for gratification of the eye and pride each and every one of these valuable last days. How can that be when I know the consequence? When I know that being left behind for wrath or deserved chastisement is virtually upon us? What makes me any different than the heroes gone before, better men than I?

I cannot efficiently express the depth of my shame in haphazardly or even clumsily walking into the unavoidable weight and gravity of my own sin. It is not as if we do not know what will befall us or that somehow we can claim some excuse. These are not those times and we are not children who may simply take the slap on the wrist or find solace and forgiveness in our tears. This is for everything. No looking back. No second chance as the one that I received when Jesus heard my cries to be removed from the cages of my past. No this one is on me, a foolish, arrogant mess of my own creation from which ought not expect relief or freedom. Folks it is time to do or not do according to our fear and reverence before God Almighty. This is the time of fearfulness in those who are not walking the path upon which God bid them travel.

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.

It’s okay to stumble along the way.

Standing is not walking. It is preparation for departure or resistance to enemy advance.

In the meeting of my mind and words there was a flurry of wings and a fair amount of birdly tweets and chant repeats saying something about bells. The swells fell upon our sails threatening to rip the cotton stitching. We looked to deep and sky wondering if tomorrow would ever peak above horizon.

In the burning sands our wishes finally melted into little glass crystals smashed upon the rocks at three paces. The shattering harp called our hearts back to promise and a joint repair of all things wounded, rotten or shredded. In the fury of the spinning clock we marched because running seemed frightful and remaining still was ill advised.

The artillery found my ears ready for another blast. Seeing lips moving. Knowing the silence a long forgotten friend our constitution crushed in the battery of unending report. We were torn and drawn to quarters looking to the moon as alternate escape for we had lost the path to success in our current understanding and predicament.

The tears would not heal the chastening cacophony and thunder. In thrills and shaking spines we leapt from stone to shore hoping that the ground would not remain indifferent. our footing found nursery rhymes and ballads sworn for generals and men of valor, but nothing solid remained especially within our plummeting stomachs.

Courage left. It escaped with the wind at dawn, cold, tired and bereft of anything resembling honor. We fought on not to live but to show them the fury of our expiration. In fighting we found the peace that had escaped us in squabble. We were now men with nothing, having fought for naught with no intention or good ideas to support our continued effort.

Again I charged the mountain telling it to remove itself and find the bottom of ocean’s deep. It answered in laughter claiming something about knowing Paul, but wondering who sought to order its displacement. In folly I stood and railed against the whispers of dawn. Claiming the pinks and blues of daylight were laughable reminders that we had lasted in continued pursuit of man’s greatest folly.

What beauty has been or that which etched upon the board of memories ripe? What leeward pause interrupted our bad or indistinguishable contemplation? What rage employed found launch with the armaments of wonder? No drawing board only blind, berserk madness mixed with proclamations and commitments to love and ever after. In repose we delighted.

How frail the measures of man’s achievement. How dim the light of altered creation within the aspirations of the puny and brutality of the large. How false the honesty and covenant of men who knew not the Love of God. Into what abyss may we drop these things to see them gone forever? Into what fiery inferno may we find them destroyed never to be consoled or brought to light or conversation? At the end of whose dream will they lay unfettered and unfulfilled for reason?

Look my heart is no man’s or woman’s dream. It is the fire sparked by the fears and promise of everlasting. There is no right or wrong when plunging into the hot and cold waters of experiential recasting. What I am I always was made new by the fires and furnace of a hand beyond my own control. I am and will forever be an outcome of His wanting. To rage or remain silent on the hills, valleys and sands that temper my condition for existence and aspiration to spend a long day with God.

In beauty find you damsels deep, locked away in frozen keep? With leg and chain and wind swept mace all the years shown upon your face. Each slip or thought may be the last, way before the die are cast. Simple says as simple does why and when or just because.

Frame and reason prayers and doubt what has this fighting been about? Walk joyous in the midst of rage just for daylight to turn another page. Each tear or scream each prideful thought cast the walls of prison bought. Way too easy, way to cheap, it’s just too far to make the leap.

In math and figures find our fears, quietly waiting all these years. To surprise and shake then stretch and shape what we sought to gain escape. In white we find all colors pure leaving darkness alone unsure. To this day we lay our claim tomorrow objects and thinking same.

No place to run or best to hide, with mountain high and chasm wide. For soon He’ll return to snatch His Bride. Many lost and none were tied. Unto the Lord I must confide. I truly sought the winning side. Unto His Hand my Soul abide. For times we fought and tales that lied. For my neighbors cow that I twice eyed. He alone is left to decide.