Through silence I have seen it all. From the breeze pestering my arm hairs and mustache to the gravel twisting and crunching beneath the soles of my well-worn boot. Along for the ride with intentions by my side seeking guidance not pride with no need to hide. Leeward leaning for the properties and aspirations of great men whispering to me from the pages of what God wrote. In dawn I see the purple’s passion and crimson’s crush upon the heart of man. We are not made for fallow work to dust the muck from boots but to plant them deeply in the wealth of promise and harvest. I walk too slow for a man who should be worried about so much.

Elbow’s greased somehow delivers sloppy connotation. Hands ripe with callous and strengthened by grip on plow, have been salted for the Earth’s working. Twisting in the winds and whims of fate was never comforting. I wanted mystery and unknown dates of secret episodic miracles that delighted me with wonder. I wanted something beyond the edge of midnight, not monster or ritual but the dreams of man’s remaking. The shaping of something wrought for the Good Pleasures of the author. This is no chemical or mechanical course for engineering, no mathematical calculus of how the universe works and why I must bend it to my will for pleasure, or cruelty in power.

Being brief is when you’re not saying much worth recalling. To love you must know love then know the person you wish to give love. There is no love in simple taking or dispensing of gracious pliability. Lubricant to release the well-kept secrets and jewels of man’s conquest. Having been to this place of remorse and false hope found in moments of lurid recall I flee from the deception within me.

There is no ground upon which to make a sound house. There is no rain to douse the seeds beneath my booted feet. There is no honor in the taking, only in the giving of those things that lead to life everlasting. Removing tarnish in tumble as I mumble about the difficult associated with the road to perfection. In my recollection, not much perfect round here, so it must exist outside this time and place. Is that where I strive to go or ramble to and fro in the same plot of land passed over for the length of history’s remembering?

To what lengths has the seed landed for promise? What shall be grown on shallow dirt or upon the wind pounded slopes of tidy nightmares? This is not the ride of a man found daunting or dancing in the darkness to steps laid bare by barons and princes of the night. These are not the cuspids to cut the life short from investment. But the teeth to loosen tether and shatter hope of jailers with captured treasure set free by the wealth of God’s pleasure. What exists beyond my thinking? What upside down lands that violate gravity’s thumb await us in the light beyond tomorrow? What joy will I know in seeing the eyes of the one who found good reason and pleasure in my making? Will I be other than He made me?

Intrigue and affectionate displays. Mediocre mysteries written to audacious measure stormed to set the world’s passion aflame. In tandem we treat retreat as applause and victory as cadence on the way to battle. As marches go the boots set the sand and fire to rhythm catching the flash from boot buckle in the lens of preparation. These are no accidental pleasures, but the gifts of love and life wrapped in the sinew and bone of life’s treasure. Sing true, me and you, to address the stellar call of character and heart. Believing ourselves well made to dance in the light of King’s viewing.

What does it mean for a man to love someone proper? Is recipient or creditor adequate judge? What of expectant yearning and scintillating hopes of a girl and her invisible dear? What then does dream have to bring relief in a world so real, caustic and pain ridden? Are we to punish hearts with the daydreams that match clear projection. Or will a crippled man or child remain so even in the overlay of youthful hope? Do we make an ignorant man wise but simply loving him? Or the uncomely pleasant in ownership? What is a mate but the match of our own simplicity, flaws and success?

This is a road to be ventured with intention. Choice governs all even the efficacy of marriage. The right road must not only be chosen but dedication ventured in the will to carry on toward perfection each, morning, late day and on to loving slumber. There is no magic potion or spell of romance that will make the reality of a Godly marriage materialize without choice, Love, sacrifice and cooperation. Unless you rely upon miracle which demands the prayerful Hand of God. Don’t go into union believing what they’ve so you. For this world understands moments and has no idea of things eternal. Focus may only be found in relationship with Majesty that it directs joint understanding of the path to its achievement.

Do not look upon the tales tall and splendiferous, when seeking a cooperative pursuit. This life that functions smoothly must be named, chosen and chased within the grace of God. There is no easy path to good life and suerte, but the humble decision taken on by two mates, man and woman working within God’s identity and direction, to become that which is impossible alone. Do Your Work and leave the changes of your wife/husband within their walk in sovereign identity transformed by God’s answer to your continuous, thankful and spiritual Prayer.

Wishes won and titles lost. All for the sake of my sovereignty. In allegiance to no one or nothing I am free to pursue whatever imaginary conquests the world offers or compels. Into the depth of my deception, I carry everyone who will listen and give way to sound judgment or reason. For this is my charade and you are willing or cajoled participant holding up your cardboard effigy to conceal the real person beyond it.

In what dream can this be deemed real, as I cast another spool of fishing line across the pond of those who’ve done no research, study or thinking. Or produce another reel of digital folly to suck them into the vortex of calamity awaiting all who fail in acknowledgement. What has become the real to which we find foundation? Who is the leader of my parade toward insanity and social collapse? To what sirens have I been called upon the rocks of my ship’s destruction?

Into the fields of poppy and synthetic hope I Plow with my cart seeking nap and nonsense. How ironic its pages sell as cinnamon buns for those seeking escape from pure logic. Are we to be captured by the impulses within, voices calling us to capture within the jailcells and pylons of our temporary expectation? What is time but an alarm of urgency to come to grips with the mass, acceleration and gravity of this manuscript entering denouement?

How fine the plantation of my Lordship. Casting my eyes upon the lush green acres of the taxpayers planting. Espousing the doctrines of appellate saints having earned their degrees and approval from each other. Calling their blood blue to set themselves apart from the humans they are fleecing. And to them I give fealty? Working this life through to make sure they have a seven-course meal whilst we’re starving. But there is wealth beyond station, measure and bloodline.

God is no respecter of persons. Self-erected pedestals of name and valor present not the approval of His Deity to call oneself supreme. These are the days when mud defines each of us. Either heaping it upon the subjected humanity or digging into it to find the toil in the blessings of God. For this is not freedom but fancy. I am not liberal because I hate everything God created and planted. For in antipathy, I despise my own crafting solely found in the evolutionary opportunities divine.

World’s. At the limit of imagination, a prophecy beckons me step. To the edge of my command. Understanding nothing but in all adoration, relying upon scant information. What is a leap, step or jump? Is action appropriate? Does this situation call for analysis, perhaps lengthy discussion? Is the barn burning, the tree falling, the bridge collapsing or the sun imploding? Why then take preemptive action without verifiable evidence?

Shall I be the odd bean out, differently painted, believing it time to be planted outside of season? Or shall the whisper of winds yet sustained deliver me to launching well prompted? What are wings folded and stowed against my back? Who them resists this enemy? What shall grow without good Earth and the mist, water or tears of God’s bidding? To be sufficient testing then choices, mistakes and successes must all be present or possible.

Do I seek enemy movements to muster my cannons to ridgeline? Must I feel his foul breath upon my neck to roust myself in preparation? Will I find his eyes gleaming into mine when first I test the wind for danger or peace? Then if I respond solely to stimuli what happens when deception has been promised out outset? Endurance requires, no demands adequate and mature muscle mass to bear the burdens of battle, even as victory has been assured.

Showing up is meat upon the bones once laying dry in yonder valley. But flesh needs blood to breathe. Oxygen, the life and the death of all men, alerts us to frenzy and frolic. Bucolic though the picture paints, standing on frozen or muddied field to meet enemies in frenzied display is not the same as farming. For plow shares must be beaten to pike, sword or axe. And he who lacks weapons shall water the fields of this night with the blood that was absent in veins and heart pumping.

How then does mouth make a sword of two-edged glory? How may the light be discerned from the darkness well hidden? How then the good from bad, shame from delight, warmth find the coldness of dawn? This is the time for each season. A time to love, a time to build, a time to stand and a time to believe upon God’s War on our behalf. As enemies are laid in the puddle of their founding who shall sit and regard the scenes glorious appearing love. What is victory in promise but the preparation for its arrival?

This hill is arduous. This rock won’t move. This problem refuses my will in resolving it. The wrongs won’t be right. These songs remind me of the sad moment I wrote them. This dawn is cloudy. This rain sure is cold. These raggedy old jeans are on their last thread. August ends my summer. Good times never last. People are all too busy. These fries are too small. This drink too warm and this sky too crimson.

This life presents the troubles. Very little is suitable or in agreement with vision I had for it. My reactions to stimuli, good, sad, awful or bad may if left to their devices define my universe. Is my identity that simple that it is easily reflected by my knee jerk reactions or inadequacies determining the quality of my afternoon? Does the weather make my day? Am I so inexperienced or convinced that I am a product of circumstance that an episodic event whether good or bad creates the boundaries of my joy or lack thereof?

Understanding and choosing joy requires a litany of emotional context. For example, to truly be fulfilled or overwhelmed in joy we must have thorough regard of: fun, contentment, laughter, silliness, beauty, love, worth, purity, life, innocence and victory. That is why joy is infinitely superior to the simple quest or pursuit of happiness. Joy comes in the midst of trouble. Joy remains in the midst of pain. Joy is free and self-sustaining. Joy is outwardly focused to change the world where happiness is all about me.

Joy is also the key to invitation of the Holy Spirit’s intervention, direction and education. Especially in the times of trouble, trial, doubt and painful circumstance it curbs the swell, lessens the pain and keeps us close to God. Joy is the secret to establishment and wielding of the Fruits of Spirit. For when we choose joy in the middle of conflict or unpleasantry we are saying to God, “Lord I welcome this pregnant opportunity, trial or training”, allowing the Lord to transform us more readily. When we see the world through joy then we no longer dread the trials and temptations but await them in the confident knowledge that they will lead us to perfection as Patience, Peace and Love temper the learning.

This life is about choice that is why the enemy uses the word choice to explain away the eradication of life yet realized. For each action is preceded by thought and therefore it is the willful act an accountability for choosing that commits us to review in God’s Day of judgement. Additionally, the choice of everlasting life through forgiveness in Christ is done by choice to spend eternity with Him instead of in dreadful separation meant for Satan and the fallen angels. Why not choose Joy? It will be on the list of the most powerful choices that you ever made and enhance the quality of this life while preparing you rapidly for the next.

Avatars within me, some society would have me ingest or obey, vie for the control of this vessel, a vessel constructed solely for the purposes of God. Therefore, any voices, fractionated splinters from childhood, opinionated family, friends and those of psychological credential, although acknowledged and heard have no authority and overestimate their leverage in my service to my making.

All well and good, bidding you wonderful days please remain silent with regard to the chatter as the noise interrupts our waiting upon the Shepherd. I am accountable for my thoughts and of those of subsequent action and as such don’t really entertain the impact of your lack of control over this vessel. Please refer to the five stages of acceptance and know this that God will assist you in getting over it if and when you ask Him.

To those who would encourage, edify or provide their insight and talents as Brothers and Sisters and want the same respectful accord, please know that I stand ready for the Holy Spirit’s guidance in so doing. That having been said I don’t blame the enemy, my woman or my friends for my mistakes, especially for disobedience to God. I kneel in contrition for my offenses to Him and you asking forgiveness and restoration to good measure. Mine is not a world where scape goating serves anything good. Thus, since I alone have accountabilities for all that I have thought, said and done, then let me alone prepare and exceed to the consequential chastisement I know God will give me.

Let us walk with confidence and gravity into the crafts of our making. Fully aware of both origin, action and consequence within the paradigm of God’s requirement. I conquer and sympathize with the divine learning and opportunities granted you in this venture. It is time for the realistic boundaries to be set between individuals of faith and doubt that this ministry is my responsibility as is my growth. The direction for both and the catalyst, promptings and correction for both are God’s and mine in response to His direction. I cannot nor would I presume in arrogance or otherwise to tell you how you are supposed to listen to the Maker. However, in my choice I will do just that and listen intently for HIS Commanding voice even as whisper and disregard or silence all others believing themselves somehow falsely between me and the Voice of God Almighty. The veil is torn, resist the temptation to attempt submitting yourself as replacement. In Jesus Name.

Bright white shutters with light yellow shell and beige concrete fence foundation where a myriad of brilliant flowers dance to the rhythm of the late May breezes. Butterflies rumble while bees lazily collect pollen to enhance the quality of life through a batch of new golden honey. Chocolate labrador brothers slumber eagerly soaking up the shade of Spring grasses beneath the sycamore’s outstretched branches. It screams “peace” yet no human takes the moments seriously finding time to use time for the sake of not worrying about, time.

No snakes, just sandals and saddles and smells those things seeking to take over the neighborhood. Grills and the skills that foster the wafting beauty of burnt ends basted smoking arduously atop the mesquite offset. A dash and a pinch added to some pasta salad, with beans and greens galore, bringing to fore the quest to get our grub on. What daylight is left let it remain within the grasp of soothing sun. Already the brigands barter for the best spots, with spilling drinks and hip checks politely jockeying for the spot closest to the cooler. In all things life could not be better on this soothing day preparing for Summer’s arrival.

Sold into slavery and bought back by a price greater than the totality of man’s riches. Debt’s paid, not afraid, just happy to see that He Is obeyed as rest comes to heart heavy laden. Letting it be whatever it becomes, not workers or bums but family seeking the delight and comfort as all are welcomed and bid find something tasty from the buffet. Plates passed round and soft soul praise sparks joy across the deck and patio alike. Smiles and laughter make us forget that cares even entered our day, this day, the one that God has made for each of us.

Hair, nails and outfits kempt. As one Brother makes attempt to win the love of the maiden he has followed for what seems a century. Burning candles on the mantle of his serious heart stricken with the disease of love never stopping to count himself among the wounded. He trips over his great big feet and the tongue that seems two sizes too large for his mouth as he attempts to pay complement to our hostess. What a mess as his friends and family look on amazed, giggling in the knowledge that he is owned by the thing that he wants most to possess. All is not lost as someone eyes him with the same candor, seeking attentions that currently have never turned her direction.

This day abides, in delight of the abundance of life. Not eternal but moments so precious surpassing the wealth of our fellowship. And all hearts pause to thank the Lord for the blessing of family, peace and loving. As children arrive it is clear the need for parlor games and circus have come upon us. So, we make time to take time for the reason that precious time is upon us. Into this life we dive and dance for discussion, romance and God’s good pleasure of kinship. We are oddly made whole by the welcoming hugs and smiles of All God’s Creation.

Sighted in the wounded realms of fear where pain and purpose are co-conspirators. In Life, and cause we dwell too long, dreaming that someone else determines fate and length of song. For hope’s good work we look inside knowing that some things will escape our reason. In demolition’s quest we reconstruct the altars of our own volition and surrender.

This is not moral turpitude. We seek the space between the worlds, where we may play and have things matter in consequence. But unlike interpretation, steel leaves a mark having touched the skin with the inescapable fact. Scarring, lesion or dismembering especially in thought so little may be known without intention and action. We have always been products.

Into outcomes I investigate the source. Upon which set of calamities am I transfixed. What will the sovereign breath of stars awaken in this dying heart? Will there be freedom from allegiance, vow or promises made or kept? Alone upon ridge line feared, staring into the valley and abyss, precariously perched upon the realization of time’s requirement. With light and pitch we approach the dawn of random affect.

Holding him in stitches we masked the keys and symbols of our export. We gave and took but shan’t forsake the sound chimes in navigation. Up to the island we moor, seeking entry unannounced and egress without pursuit. Slipping free from sheath we loose the hounds of man’s startled heart. Panicked paddling and darkened surf we most fear the things we know were never seen.

What now my Lord? In patient breath I wait upon the signs of sound and searching. This is no brilliance of gifted glade, nor blades so sharp that even gravity fears incision. To lacerate the definition of life’s direction we cry out for healing, hope and fall upon the steps leading to the throne. Only to find ourselves alone with random voices pleading we fear and run or dance. For there is no council in false offering.

These are the days of wondrous repair. Erected in monumental to selves of passing. We are only limited by the freedom we accept, the air we breathe so freely. Discomfort. The lurch of passing from here to there and places never pictured in the reviewed brochure. Understanding most often located outside the closet of comforting emotion. Into dark things and imperfect thoughts, we sift knowing fully that the end will be unpleasant.

Relief and escape are located on the other side of easy. Yet fate would say that through difficulty the possible is born. Into the arms of adult fealty, we are injected into the hopeful realities of maturity and faith. Dedication to anything reveals the paths less ventured. Perfection in a quiet place where honing and shaping erected the polishing work of time.