From catastrophe to peace, whine to weary, whimsical to hardy, the environ most often makes the man. We plan as we hope to make the most of each opportunity but most clarity comes in realization that what we thought we could produce was way less than was adequate to fill most wish lists. At time of execution the unexpected hurry or collateral influences traditionally make short work of folly filled expectation’s. Just once would be sufficient to see something happen according to plan just to say that the possibility does in deed exist.

Bred for cannon, made for mystery and headed into the mouth of oblivion, my pride becomes torch and my regret forgotten as unimportant to the task at hand. Inclined to bravery on paper and comedy in repose I witness the cross between organic ministry and a ill choreographed dance video with people a bit too large to sell copies. Where is the fan fare? Who’s brought the diamond ascots and Italian leather shoes when it comes to intel and reason? Skirting the critics I bid them quickly rush out platters of olive drenched hors d’oeurves and begin filling drinks til they wave off the servers. What makes a party but over indulgence and soon the bleary eyed addicts are apparent heir to the cloister that was once intended as academic.

Tomorrow, the discussions brief as the sun and dry heat remind all how many years have passed since they pulled all nighters. A stroke of wisdom and none share your own regret but rather are catapulted in personal nightmare at work, play or castle. We all must refrain from willful resumption of the self servant business of social importance, but many will wait until Dracula beats them to bed before learning the lessons of mid life. What hopes have those who look to the weekend for reaffirming life’s misery only to find that its promised release only means greater captivity come Monday morn? Gone the immortal belief system of youth replaced with the I will get a few and be gone by 9:15 safely home by ten, gone to the pleasures of snoring dreams and a morning where I still have some function.

What damsels defended what pride burst what wagons unrutted or grand fish to be caught bought of the robust tales of would be acolytes? Meaning in mourning yawning in warning they parade round the room in search of slayable dragons or easily plied women born of a silly romanced imagination as passage to paradise. Bad boys gone and the fawn to frail for the dance we collapse into the hopeful hands and demands of someone who couldn’t pronounce my name half sober and definitely could write or type with either twisted set of fingers. These are the days of marvelous words spoken in self interest for the sole purpose of winning from the ground the cupie doll or fealty or adoration. This is not young desire to find oneself validated by those grateful onlookers but the sad, dismal attempt of the unwanted to justify themselves among the list of has-beens’ and morons left wanting. No escape no remorse no recourse but another bold attempt at conquering the world in the daylight.

What was served, what grand intention displayed, what philanthropic mission written successfully into the annals of the wealthy? Who bought what with borrowed time, money or intellect only to find they traded up with intention of selling all they had and moving to Belize. Now finding a life of fealty and praise a new Queen or tyrant served for the cause of believing that Nirvana simply resides beyond the curvature of the globe and someday soon will see that our folly was best. It didn’t please me not because there were no prize in my category or that the acting gig displeased me but to the word waste I must assign option. Time my only asset and it in scarce season what then would I such one extra breath while it counted me foolish for missing the pearl’s great wisdom. What is buried for keeping must not have been lost for the cause of decay or renewal but for the enunciation of life’s breadth, depth, length, width and longevity across the tapestry of linear, illogical space.

In moments as emotions collide with observation do we need adequate reason to weep for those tortured, fallen or enslaved? Must I produce sufficient argument for the tears that fall across my cheeks as gravity naturally pulls them toward the Earth where God may feel them, collect them and He, my Father feel the pain this world exerts upon me? Must I have known their struggle, personally familiar with their lives or is it adequate measure that they were a fellow humans fighting against those influences seeking their defeat or protecting the lives of those around them vulnerable to same assaults? Must they be American to find way to my compassion and mourning for their loss? Am I that discriminate that they must have looked, acted, believed as I do or shared the same nationality in order to provoke my righteous tears and indignation? Must they have lived according to my judgment for it to be Right and Good to honor their passing into the Hands of God? They were my Brothers My Sisters born of the Same Creator whether deprived by design or simple unfortunate birth into a nation that did not respect their equal value, they are still My Family before God. I am not angered by God’s Will having ended their short passing through this temporary life, I am fortified against those wicked few believing themselves merchants of life and disregard of those things God Loves Most, His Created People. If we believe as Americans that ALL are endowed with inalienable rights by their Creator then we must work to assure those rights across boundaries, ideology and nation. We must love beyond our own salvation and fight for the entry of ALL Creation to find their place of rest in God through Christ. No I need no adequate argument for the tears and stomach roil that now capture my heart, mind and soul. My Family has been murdered standing up for their rights and the rights of all men guaranteed in God’s Sovereignty. His Love for them is reason enough for any mourning and honor given them as they go to meet Him. Perhaps my own Love though secondary to His is all the reason that I will ever need to mourn the loss of any one of God’s Children to violence, pain or strife. I pray for them now and for all men before the hour when we go to meet Him for judgment, Mercy and eternity’s infinite residence.

Yes the changes are tangible, measurable to predictable. Yes, they will inevitably culminate the epoch of man in turmoil beyond calamity’s description. Yes, we must mount concerted and cooperated effort for global resistance to these changes that will bring down the world of man. Yes, there are deniers those who without logic without pretense with a deliberate intention to close their eyes, hearts and minds to the devastation refuse to recognize and organize to avoid the catastrophes which may be easily avoided. Yes Global change is necessary yes, there is a coming climate fluctuation to which current evidence predicts and historic evidence agrees. This is the Global Climate Change of the Heart to which God has bid us attend. If we do not turn from this global inclination of Empire we will be included with the Powers and principalities of this World

Have you seen them? Their behavior is quickly chided laughingly, excused or simply rebuked as a mistake of word choice. The acid tongue of hate for mankind, the contempt of our Brothers and Sisters without cause places us in direct conflict with God’s Warnings against giving in to our Sin and ignores His offer of freedom through salvation. They do not love because they have no love for anything but their lusts of self satisfaction. They are permitted this behavior because it is the shared behavior of the worldly. It is simply and deceptively concealed by the bulk of the body as they know its revelation will mark them with the fallen and label them cruel or organized against the Plan and Will of God. They are clouds without rain, a walk with concept of righteousness, firmly set against meeting God though they know it inevitability.

They consume the children, why because they have yet to be tarnished by the sin of this world. In their innocence they are both evidence against the wicked and something the foul must consume with avarice born of a hunger for that which cannot be defeated only consumed. They want innocence and can never again taste of its freeing breeze. They want truth in authenticity yet are so twisted with nefarious doctrine that they can no longer speak without forked tongue. They want the hope and bright eyes of youth but can only see trough the darkened horizons of those running from the Light of the World. What they cannot be they must destroy as it haunts them in the smiling faces of happy kids.

What evil must be understood to comprehend plans that for millennia sought, fought for, deceptively fenagled or enticed Man’s enslavement? What precognitive effort told men of power that they must gather all resources, assets, supplies and land about them in order to control the efforts of man on their own behalf, Super self actualization that may only be achieved by enslaving mankind to provide combined effort toward your impossible task. What stark contrast in revelation to God’s Sovereign Grace, as God employs His Power to free all men, Men of Wealth enslave men to achieve their own wicked version of God’s intention for Creation.

There is no climate change scientifically yet they fight for it claiming that the entire planet will lose life and limb if they do not accumulate power sufficient to mount Global campaign against it. Though passion’s applause be worthy they have again created Utopian, Hegelian outcomes for which they must employ the combined involuntary of the full of creation to obtain. Yet, they operate in folly consistently, perpetually believing themselves sufficient to unseat the God who created them. Armed by failed thinking and the folly of their own inadequate planning they seek to capture each man woman and child to use their life force, their backs, their combined treasure to bring about a World against which God is firmly entrenched. They would drive all men to fury’s door, even take them together en toto to the lake of fire simply to continue an argument with God that has been resolved thousands of years ago. This is the path of the misanthropes who would deny God’s Grace to humanity in order to make a failed attempt against the Sovereign Glory of God.

Shall we follow the foolhardy? Shall we align with the wicked in their frail attempt to conquer heaven and bring down God? Shall we relieve ourselves of reason and defy God’s commands forgoing the opportunity for salvation and Peace found in Christ to serve the lusts and whim of men who cannot look upon this reality or heaven’s clarity? Let US unwind through understanding, effort and humility before God their wicked planning for our future. Let US seek God’s Wisdom given freely to all who ask, that we may see through any veiled and mad attempts to fight the immutable outcomes of God’s Plan for mankind and the heavens. Let US align along side the children embracing their truth in innocence and proclaiming the foolishness of any attempt to resist the Perfect Will of God. Let US proclaim the Climate Change of Weather a FALSE FLAG of wicked intention to enslave mankind in an effort to resist the Sovereign. Let US stand in Good Courage with unwavering faith in God’s Victory knowing ourselves impervious to the fiery assaults of the enemy remaining free men with a Free Will given by God to choose Righteousness and eternity spent with God rather then be cast in the separation that awaits the wicked in their failed attempts to conquer their Creator.

The Lilly’s and the daisy doilies provided visual reminder that some are from an era bygone. her frailty frightened me as I imagined someone so tenuous so fragile would shatter if bumped hard enough or for mercy’s sake had fallen on solid flooring. I wept dry tears as she struggled to unstick her tongue from her mouth to speak, it sent me dashing for a glass of water just so I didn’t have to feel what I was feeling watching her struggle. In the interim, my head began spinning with the big ceiling fan that appears to be changing the barometric pressure in my nasal cavity. I wanted out but in the middle of my absolute horror I saw something that changed my life eternally, True Love.

As we lifted from the armchairs and gathered all the peach things and green bean jars she had shared with us we found the oddest temptation to stay forever. As if pressed back through a mobius pathway in time we heard stories of an America that to our knowledge just no longer existed. It made us pine, longing for something that we deserved and of which we had been unduly deprived. Foster Mae, she said it in the Georgian drawl that made you immediately ponder sunshine, pecans and wide depression style wrap around porches. She had lived, not simply plodded through life looking to smell the roses but lived, with dirt, war, blood, shame and glorious revival of which we could not hear enough. My right foot would not completely wake up and she smiled at me as I half dragged myself across the parlor toward the screen door patio.

She looked on as we walked toward the broad steps whitewashed recently, and remarked on the buckets of peaches sitting on the poor awaiting some manner of Southern Recipe to turn them into Cobbler or some other goodness. We stalled our departure only cause it felt so right to love up on this wonderful example of God’s reflection. It was hard to remove myself from the premises but when I got to the car and looked over at Gina, I had never seen a smile large or bright across that face. Something had changed us that day and I just wanted more. The vehicle lurched forward as my foot suddenly awoke and I found that my heart had changed in its rhythm. As if by some magic I felt as if I had been adjusted down a speed where things moved more slowly and that was alright with me.

When we got back to Reason, not thinking of what we’d gone through we stepped right back into the midst of everything as it was. The rage hit us as neighbors and their upset immediately scoured at us with their darkened hearts and dimly lit mosquito pots heckling us with tongues of fire from the edge of their watchtower. They had not moved or by any measure of memories provision changed at all since last we’d seen them. Same clothes, same dour look, same desire to catalog and report everything that each of us did that never seemed to pass their review. We took our peaches and the marmalade and scurried into the Front hallway, simply to remove the pain of their laser focus upon our shoulder blades. Oddly enough I think I check my jacket to see if there were any burn holes on the back then chuckled as I chided myself. Our house was silent, but an odd silence as if even the crickets and birds feared utterance for fear that they’d be located and swallowed entirely. Something wasn’t right and I walked the rooms to discover just what was out of place, but try as I might nothing presented itself ample focus.

That night we kissed and said our customary exchange of love and both stopped as if equally realizing that our meeting had permanently transformed us and the same old rituals were never going to suffice. So we stopped and held each other tight at first but then just cuddled and as I heard myself begin to drift into quiet slumber she went completely still within my arms. Awaking two stages from my previous venture I reminded myself how fortunate one man could be and as I listened to hear breathing quietly I knew that tomorrow was not going to be like any other day. Our lives had changed that day for the better, as if something had been missing that was suddenly engaged or replaced in the machinery making the product operate in perfect order. I don’t remember falling asleep but when we woke up the morning next we were still entwined in one big pile of arms and legs having held each other all night without moving even a couple inches.

I looked into those dark brown eyes and waited for her to speak because I didn’t want to flinch and be the first to break the perfect silence.

Poverty of heart is the greatest form of being poor. It may be tolerable to lack things as to some extent they may be generally equated with burden, but to misunderstand or dispossess the capacity to offer loving kindness or mercy rivals depravity’s depth. What form of life may be defined by the vapid mind lacking valuation of humanity? Dog eat dog, survival of the fittest may be expressed as scientific cadence when pointing toward or studying the origin of species or man’s pathology, but a human who truly adheres to these principles in society is one impoverished beyond reason and God’s Good Fortune.

The journey into the or travel within the cities of Man forces one to redefine those ideals which many rightfully considered or determined Norm. Depravity never rests just as poison never stops looking for a its newest victim. Eluding the framework of tension I move to strike emotion from the programmed response menu. However the governor overrides. Are there commands for which I have authentication or access. Am I shamed to be simply angry in my own surmising then reacquainted with the Watcher’s review that some behaviors are so detestable that they reside outside the pale of practice? Does God preclude certain experience that is so unacceptable that it is immediately stricken from the annals of man’s history? Are some things to bad, that they signal alert and God disallows immediately?

Have we been saved from going there? You know that place beyond insanity’s Nightmare, the quest for that which will immediately evoke God’s Anger and elimination, incarceration of disintegration from Creation? Is that the enemy’s objective to push the limit to a point beyond provocation where God simply cannot tolerate the level of evil even ten thousand lights years or dimensions away from His Holy Throne? Is there wickedness that can never be allowed? Reason being that there are angels that have done such acts so vial, so offensive to God that He has commended them to Tartarus until the day of Judgment. For the atheists who cry, “How can a Kind and merciful God allow so much suffering”. Have they now found answer that there are some pains that will awaken God’s hand of action ad immediate? 

What manner of mishap is built into chemistry organic or additive that it would seek to challenge its maker to react by pushing the envelope of cruelty or disobedience? What rebellion, born of man’s adjustment to his own creation that he may attempt escape God’s Witness and ordinance? How deep is the program of lust that it drags men to test every logic, each boundary, each mercy by pressing God’s Reaction to filth or unhealthy fervor? What is the counter drag upon vessel when nature calls it the heavens it seeks to burrow between the sands of time into hidden chamber of pestilence and shame? Why must we always poke God’s Eye? Is it not enough this blessing or must we always seek to be more than we have been blessed to become. Mutants, not super warriors or heroes but being capable of calling their own shots outside God’s temperance? What is the corrupt nature of man that we may not know the peace of contentment? Is this the rebel sin that cost Christ a death upon that Cross? If so how powerful and unmerciful a thing it is.

I see Lord that you may not have such things near you, for it draws upon your nature to eradicate it immediately. The purpose of this world and the fact that you must keep eye upon it are evident in consideration of how far from you things may depart. Forgive me for having any seed of that corrupt desire to command all that I see, touch and feel just that I may do that which is abhorrent in your scripture. I don’t want to be a rebel for the sake of expanding evil but for the cause of standing against evil to seek good. never having known the danger in the spirit of rebellion I consider myself educated to the nature of my specie to get outside the parameters of Paradise, always seeking what we have not been shown or allowed outside the gate even when we have been warned of its danger. This world makes sense. The way you had to conduct this creation in a timeline with control parameters of time and dimension now point to the perfect sense of your control structure. Without the boundaries of time and space we would have been the child loose with laser or nuclear device and no comprehension of its impact. Thank you for allowing us to grow and keeping watch upon us as we mature.

When you stay so long in the same rental working out of town for the family. There’s this strange accommodation that grabs hold of you such that you try to make the best of where you stay. But when you lay down at night and you’re far from your loved ones the things around become suddenly clear. This is not our home and were traveling through here it will be really nice to be where we belong.

I know that Jesus has left us in a position of service and authority while He’s gone to prepare us a home. The joy of being part of that family makes it such that we never feel alone. But we miles away from our loving Father and this place is really breaking down. It certainly will be nice to be back with Him and finally find where we belong.

We Belong to the Father and where ever He stands is Home. It’s not that we don’t love being with you but this old world is no longer our home. It is so nice of you to make steps to welcome us but I hope that you’ll understand. When this life is over all the people I belong with will live in the Promise Land. This ain’t home it’s just a promise that we are left while we overcome. All the things in this life except the love we have for you are temporary things to relinquish. We belong to another and can’t wait to get on home.

I remember that day, When you looked over and the tears at the edge of your eye made me love you all the more. As we danced I could feel your hands shaking and the sound of my beating heart gave me strength to carry you across the floor. And you were mine for as long as I could hold you, taking care to let all else go cause nothing would be the same. But then you left and my hands were left dry and empty as if the point of me loving so hard had always been a game.

This life marched on, as if it left me at the platform the carousel spun but the colors and fun were somehow gone forever. So I walked bye holding on to those moments when the music of love meant we would always be together. And you were mine as long as I held on to the memories of our great love gone wrong. But then I wake and my eyes closed and my fist clutching the pieces of my heart as I whistle our favorite song.

Take Her Lord will you keep her for me wrapped in your loving Grace. The days are long but that song calls to me Knowing this is just a race. Praise you Father for letting me love her and know that we’ll meet again. My Loving God away from both of you is something more than just a pain. It is a call to run as fast as my legs will push me to get across that finish line.

They came and they went, missing their Mommy forgiving me for never being the answer to the pain biting deep down inside. I never would have decided any different as great kids were a constant reminder of my Loving Bride. But the blue in my heart would have pushed me to treasure every breath every moment with you I’d spent. There’s nothing more precious than the Love God has for me and looking in those dark brown eyes I really knew what that love meant.

It came to me, all of the sudden and just as quickly I was standing quite lonely wondering where the time had gone. To be so happy and then live empty made it seem that all my heart and hope fell away at the dawn. But I had seen the light of Jesus in the face of the woman that I had the grace to meet, marry and love. Standing here strong cause I know before Long I’m gonna see that light before me standing next to the Good Lord Above.

Take Her Lord will you keep her for me wrapped in your loving Grace. The days are long but that song calls to me Knowing this is just a race. Praise you Father for letting me love her and know that we’ll meet again. My Loving God away from both of you is something more than just a pain. I stay here walking this path that you gave me looking for that finish line.

This Hill, was not meant for my passing. Upon which I stand in courage not determined to give my life in frivolity, but to proclaim that Word to the World that desperately craves His Mooring. Yonder valley of those seeking sorcery nor the abyss to which they commit shall neither embrace me nor provide a place I refer homeward. We are bound to glory, tied to the lot of Christ, die cast, clothes traded to affix upon time the seal of completion. There is no more work to be done but that which honors God in His redemption of my spirit to life eternal in His Work and Rest. I am bought, paid for by propitious over compensation. What I thought worthless God found invaluable.

This City, is not my home, nor the reason for my plight or passing. Traveler, temporary resident finding the richest work in serving the Sovereign King of All. All Planets, All space, All stars all faces, science, reason and rhyme. This is the greatest way that any human could be privileged to pass through creation, in service, voluntary fulfillment of Sovereign assigned purpose in completing the tasks set before me before time itself was a thing. I do not fight with sword, dagger or bludgeon but with Holy Word and Prayer. These are the battles of a man who knows victory is secured and that this enemies emasculated and stripped of authority by the only God of service and worship. May the Lord find reason and stay His wrath from the City that its people are found humbled in their sin by Spirit born again to live for life everlasting abiding in Him.

This Country, the Country of my human birth was all that I previously fought over. Now it shall find its place in answering for its ills before God. We have gone our own way though we took vow to live our lives for God’s Purpose instead we found the silver, bronze, wood and metal gods of man’s passions and pursued them in direct challenge to that which we knew would please God. We forsook faith and filled it with ambition and luck believing and telling our children to make their own destinies in their own image, power, reason and folly. We escaped wisdom and repelled into the canyons of idiocy, mediocrity and sin, feasting as we fell to depths never meant to see our measure. We forgot God and for that we ought be frightened as judgment rapidly nears.

The World is indwelled by wickedness of fallen spirit determined to dishonor God in its passing, fully aware that time’s passing will find them in the lake of fire. Powers, principalities and puppetries enslave as many humans as may be captured to join them in their self determination to fight against all things Godly. Religions, nationalities, cultures have collectively reviewed God’s Truth revealed to each of US and either chosen self or Sovereignty. For there are only two positions in this World for God and against. Those who fool themselves into passions believing themselves the next evolution in utopian man have simply blinded their own eyes to the Truth of God and now been turned over to darkened hearts and repugnance of their own corruption. This World will stand and kneel before God. It is my greatest blessing to stand behind or next to Him when that faithful day arrives. He is God and I am His Man.

Reaching for the sandalwood and cinnamon finding the fowl odiferous malignancy of humanhood gone so wrong. Melodious, putrefied embolism pock mark the face of reason tampering with character formation and delimiting time everlasting. A breath of crisp mountain air in mind I stumble through the broken bones and shards of man’s happenstance, confronted by stench, eyesore and social puss. Knowing well what looms in dark places I confine myself to gray. The world lurks.

Not cries but agony filled moans search the night for hearts conquered and squelched in merciless fear. Poverty and plenty mix producing the black market youth and pick pockets born to sell themselves in any manner possible survival simple purpose. Tenants of the forgotten, of no value to anyone but God and a weapon for kings to use against the prosperous in threatening their contrition. Eyes empty as the soul behind them peer at me praying somehow to free me from my scabbard and wishing for my cold cotton socks of shoes without hole. The delirium of men’s rotted fantasy found in impoverished children. How morally repugnant a man who would be found in confines improper to slake the call to temptation’s feast.

No counted children, no tears for the last breath of baby’s passing, no roster or health and welfare review but those who seek their capture. Hide them each Mother presumes, floor boards, attic or basement room especially the girls as these frumpish men take special care to make memories of their plunder. Of that which they are deprived by God they take making themselves feel the power of destruction having been denied creation’s gift of love. We look away from such, praying to forget or dull our senses to the existence of their ardor. What happy picnic may the masses find knowing that millions of children this very night will be sacrificed upon the altars of men’s call to anti gods. The refuse of one’s plight it is jettisoned with properly fragranced baggage to curbside.

What then do we feel is proper for God’s allowance to downtrodden, ragged or impoverished? Shall He ponder special exception for the poor used by the rich as play time asset? What they have been denied by leisurely life let them gain in grace, mercy and provision of stout heart of hope and wonder. What prescience the young woman possess telling her of life everlasting and rest found in a saving God? Shall the message poor to preached reach more deeply than suburban cradles mooring? Shall those of meager means be given a gift beyond comprehension in this life owing all to the next? What dreams a man may have who has nothing on plate or cupboard? What special strength of heart and courage given to the impoverished warrior fighting hard to reach the mountain where he may reside at the footsteps of his Lord. What reward is there in God’s placement in poverty if not the aspiration of escape whether in this life through social climbs or in the next by deliverance?

Asking that it be done. In tragedy there is pain leading to triumph and if you have the skill of writing for a Greek audience, comedy. None appreciate pain in the midst of joy as the sophist put it but those who would be fed by the attention paid their gloom. Twas dancing upon the sofa madly when sadly Santa up the chimney made it leaving nothing but fading dreams and the unresolved conflicts of a childhood promises unfulfilled. How dark and perpetual those things which dampen and darken the precious requiring a defense of pity, victimization and Hollywood humor bent upon raising the dead of days lest prosperous.

Where in the grasp of maturity do we find our lost hope better passion then believing upon the miracles of possibility? What crossroads and devils bedazzled must we folly to comprehend humor, delight and the gifts unrelenting, paid for by the love of someone simply watching, correcting and empowering this wonderful life. How tender the moment of our passing in reflection to make special each pain, victory or breath given to sustain the poor and forgotten. Reason ponders itself and folly supports a myriad of misunderstandings that tend to the entitled heart of a youth believing himself complex or simple. Where are the rules of compassion inked? Where is this dream painted upon rock or sand that we may demand of maker some ease of passing and prescient insight to tribulation? A player not the game. A dreamer not the author. An oversight of adoration in the respected products of God.

Looking East, not for morrow or signal of reduction in pain’s harbor, I North to find the answer to riddles lightly made that gather to my character the aspects most becoming. Delivered from the casual causality of marches and prefecture. Limelight wanders searching for the self facing moments of fame, glory and meism. This too passes as love calls a heart to fight for the battles worth plunder, a time worth investing a day worth the blood we would spend to its wonder. Flowers, trees bout our heads follow windows of morning writing a day that would herald the splendor and reward of tomorrow. Longing for the order select, the challenge direct and the wind swept corridors of GodSpeed I follow the light of night’s safety awaiting the calamitous day’s arrival. With laughter not of my own but provision from angels transfigured to deliver this saint from the depths of life’s grievance.

There’s work to do in the gloom and blue transferring power from one to two, into the nebulous dark I launch the search of fear’s penetration. Seek not the hopeless intolerant dwell voiced in the Fallen’s misgivings. The ship shall not sink nor sky fall nor harbor reject your mooring and dawn will delight after peaceful plaintiff night spent in the court of God’s listening. These are the days of Wonder, of tragedy and that overwhelming beacon guiding us into courageous laughter in the face of it. These are the sharpening trials of normalcy preparing each heart for the redeeming power of Grace and the opportunity to make miracles from the mud that surrounds. Befallen glum a place that would enslave us in madness and consistent discontent truly the fertile ground of yesteryear’s difficulty reaching into this day to steal delight. What then shall we answer this palsy? With what fortitude may we gaze upon possibility’s reason forgoing the evidence of failure’s promised? This is the universal glue that staples tomorrow to each glorious unfolding morn, the Love of Christ for each of us born again to live in joy without care for loss. This is the Good Stuff in the box of calamity. This is Love.