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.

Found out as my own fool. Laughing when things get serious, the clown reveals sleeves full of fake flowers and funny faced encouragement. Pulling rabbits and painted scarves from a hat way too large for simple cranium. Piecing together the ramblings and testimony of a man who has no conscience of the road ahead, never mind the road behind.

What does a man say to himself when he realizes his own vapid activity? Where nothing is lost because it was never found. Where darkness is simply an aid to conceal the lack of light in the cage of hopelessness. What does a prince of an imaginary kingdom proclaim to keep his subjects from the knowledge of his lack of talent, purpose and worthy thought?

Who are dreamers if not men who have no capacity at rational concept who then venture into the land of the imaginary campaign? What caution is spoken when dangers are ill perceived and timing is absent at the outset and the ending? What does a man say when the only phrases available are filled of folly and ridiculousness? Sans destination.

To what bank of fortunate memories is he led to find the experiences and epistemology requisite to recovery, endurance and triumph over difficulty? Are dumb men as myself doomed to repeat their babbling brook of nonsense indefinitely for all the tribe of worthy men to see? What trees may be felled to feed the dying and unsurveilled? What bait may be offered to lure those seeking the honey sweet kindness of a man absent understanding?

From the ridiculous to false pious you vacillate. Hoping by chance to rest upon virtue or character. Finding nothing in the coffers of honor and density, you spout vapor and dust. What is achieved in the lengthy day of unshod attempts at trail navigation? Each slip reminder, each failed footing bringing the party closer to descent. What is found with no knowledge of that which could possibly have been lost in the first place?

Most of life is showing up prepared to take action. Sponsored by commitment to a set of ideals garnered from perspective decisions about your view of the importance of life, well or poorly lived. There is no tomorrow for those who live for today. For only in promise of something greater than this moment are we found hopeful of a better day to come. The rest will consume, condemn and consummate the pleasures, treasures and measures of the moment. For eternity must be denied if all our value is placed upon what my hand may build or capture. Stuck in this moment ignores the fact that all things change, the foundation of promise.

Where did we start? Where do we plan to go? Who will we have beside us? How adept and equipped are they to individually and corporately face the deceptive challenges of our spiritual enemies? Who do they believe themselves to be? What value to they place in trust of their family, friends and faith? Who are our heroes? What do we do with our assets? What is our shame? What are our fears? What are the towers we seek to climb? Who speaks clearly of our perspective? What is at the end of this struggle for maturity, safety and compromise? What is the perfect relationship?

Are my dreams leading me to God’s achievements that bring glory to Him alone? Do I contemplate hate or longing indicating the seeds of internal wounding? Am I filled by the Spirit as God has instructed I should be? What compels me to take the next summit? What breathes air into my lungs when I feel claustrophobic, captured or have my wind knocked out by troubles? What brings me peace? Can I generate it on demand or is it a scarce gift of moments in praise? How long does it take me to recover from loss? For whom are my tears released? Is it all about me or those around me, even those I hope to know?

There are illogical benchmarks in performance that must be reckoned. If I am told to go yet spend my time assuring and observing the comforts I’ve erected what then is my truth in obedience to calling? And knowing that my love for my Maker may only be demonstrated in that obedience, how then may I justify satisfactory or committed performance to my ideals? Things have to make sense and most times we spend our time looking for the proper excuse or explanation of our disobedient stance or deceived understanding. Aren’t these two the original sins of six thousand years ago that got us removed from the Garden? Are we trying to find our way back? Or are we neglecting, ignoring and failing to understand the basic ideas of grace?

Abnormal indecision. Calculus removed. Equations throughput, only set aside in hold of the things about to occur. What is the color of your true horizon?

Do stars inhibit interstellar travel. Gateways of interaction both physical and thought. Polar necessities. Into the waves we plunge, washed clean of alternatives.

What then happens when a choice is made, a date set a path selected? Is transformation normative? Do hue, view and history make up man?

The things that we are about to know will make all of this unimportant, except as steps leading to next platform. We will be becoming the future.

And for those who seek not the hand before them. Believing themselves an extension or completion in and of themselves. Why are all things tethered?

This emotion is not my answer, but guidance in valuation. What then are words that we repeat those which give us confidence or authority? Existential.

The Queen pondered the implication of her trappings. Ordering lesser men into battle comes with a finite set of consequence. We must altogether accept or deny.

Trust is hope. Belief in a list or subsequent set of outcomes that have no logical underpinning except the promise given. We will reside in the storm rejoicing.

You don’t know what prompted you to listen until you heard the call. Nothing else will ever suffice, no nothing matters at all. You cast away indifference and a boatload of your things. For happiness and heaven and what the Gospel Brings. You try and try much harder until you understand that it has nothing to do with effort but to respond to His Command. So, you tactfully argue, wrestle and withstand. To get all your prayers answered in reaching all you’ve planned. But surrender is quite different than the world tells us all. No child starts running or walks before they crawl. To find the will of Father, Holy Spirit and the Son its less about where you going than where you’ve first begun. Conducting the same experiment the same manner as before, will simply give you the same struggles, same frustrations and same war. To reach the greatest meaning to reach the highest highs is to surrender to the savior all the outcomes you’ve devised. For He alone knows the places and the achievements you will see for who the Son sets free at first indeed eternally will be free.

So thankful for the breaths in between. Letting the cool breeze of distant vales pass along the silhouette of my out-curved ear. Arriving distant or silent in the elastic moment without expectation of umbrage. We are not the royal few contesting previous mandate’s revision. We are the welcome youth of new Dodge. Enthralled by all the pistolero’s we found along the path. And the niceties we delivered to those who found nothing but anger in their cart.

Thespian delivery, failing to capture the timing in moments but long delays and promised pause. Where from here shall a sullen man escape? What form of relief do the proud offer the hungry? What sloped stairway do we ascend that leads to the promises of heaven’s grace? What timely retreat does a man find ready when seeking a smidgen of success? In brief contemplation perhaps the beach was too far and the bridge too narrow for presumption.

So I aligned with the winged few. The bravest among the many who could accept the charge d’affaires preferring to summit before relief accepted. So we jumped the precipice and dreamt of tomorrow finding comfort from those things along this highway. Not knowing anyone from the jilted escort we thought ourselves hopeless in the middle of sparse roadways. To sleep and escape reason or upset we alerted the guests to checkout.

Thank you for the double barrelled answer. Our pretense was dismissed. Aghast at the revision of my past I new found confidence in provision. Silence is often the best measure of damaged hearts and abhorrent weather. Into the realm of peaceful praise and slumber we slid down the sandy slope, seeking soft landing and met expectation before leaving for the wonder. At heart we were dumbstruck and delivered. Into the smoky east we walked adept.

My eyes, this heart in league with enemy forces. Divulging internal compunction and revealing the porous nature of human conditioning. What fake fealty presumes to lead the deception? The honesty found in uncovering. Catalyst is not identification unless left to metastasize, decay or assimilate into persona. We are corrected or fail sans maintenance.

Why does it break? That it may be fixed or pass into irrelevance. If plastic or born of unforgiveness relegated to poisons within the soil and heart. I wish that I were immortal and free of mistake and pretense, but that is the soul of transformation. There must be dense matter and spirit, provoked by experience and interaction with gases, earth and catalyst. Then abrasive relationship with the universe shapes, binds, converts and awakens. To see the face of God within.

What governs the intake? What control manages receptors to divide the prime from the useless? What aperture the eye to filter that which is dangerous in seeing? No filters but the faith or intention. If I see it I become it. Challenging this statement we are left with the nature of our helplessness against evil. Without a presumptive understanding that protection may be acquired both externally and internally we are bereft of alternative. There is comfort in salvation from dominion.

Who leaps to defend the innocent not against tyranny but against prostitution of its inherent and exceptional beauty? What of the purity of my heart? Is there salvation for that which has been tainted, spoiled left to rot in the burning desires of man’s wicked leading? Yes, as all things heat makes it pure, no antidote but the burning fire of Spirit to rive the good from wicked. In the crucible things are made new, purified, sanctified in the approbating rebirth of master craft-work and metallurgy. What becomes of the renewed thing in man?

Turn me loose and I will be spoiled by the leadership of my own understanding, heart and defunct thinking, need or purpose. My eyes way too wide to control that which intrudes and is stored to be used against me from deep within the well of memory, fear and anger. Oh, Lord that I would be made anew, cleansed and remade without the unfiltered charge of my own light brigade in foolishness. Take it from me. It being that which I should not have, a thing that may only be seen or perceived through the eyes of your foundation. For I must compare my reality against the rock to see congruence or departure.

My ears scan the nonsense, the inspired and the malignant yet are fawn to its intelligence and application. What hand should remove that mean spirited shouting of my youth and ignorance? What eraser separate the intimidation and fear from the mere hearing? What slate to start again free from causality, pain and words used as hammers against doves? How are we to find peace in silence with the World screaming in perpetuity? What shield shall govern contempt in reason or paralysis in fearful adaptation? What of God helps me to shut out the unwanted when a model presented?

If each touch made in love then the fear of interaction removed as the intended becomes the assured. What youth adorned in promise? What shelter found in embrace? What dream realized in comfort, gesture or encouraging shoulder pat? Who then would remain poisoned in the pursuit of perfection, but those who have chosen the journey of wickedness? If only the world and my vulnerabilities were determined simply in choice and not so inalienably defined by the violence upon me. Oh, that this world would pass away, leaving children to their fancy, guided by the goodness of God, protecting all that would otherwise be wasted.