... this very juncture in time; the backdrop that has been painted ever so delicately on the canvas; the cobble stones on which my weathered and tattered feet are bound; the sea of faces, the ripples of colors and textures, the beckoning of light and of sound. You, Lord, have penned me in this chapter with ink and with steady hand; love calling out the beauty that has been held hostage for so many years. Illuminate all that I must see and lay hold of; calling to the water's surface the destiny within each fleeting moment in it's brevity; aligning each puzzle piece to reveal the intended design. Their faces; their countenance; their very spirit and confession; a reflection of who I am, and who I am becoming. The impossible stands before me; green eyes setting their gaze upon mine; whispering into my ears the Author's truths; the Author who knows nothing of impossible. They are only a shadow of who YOU are becoming...

.... soak in every moment; drawing from it all that God has for you; a stepping stone into God's best for your life; a life that WILL change the trajectory of the multitude. You are a mighty[ANG-ker]!!! Hold on to your Everything; the one who has given you everything.

Anchor, we are chained to you; permanently fixed and held stationary by your unrelenting strength; a divinely crafted marriage that not even death can separate. The tide cannot lay hold of our hull and steal us away within the night; the waves will not rise and abandon us on distant shores. Our roots shatter solid ground and dive into the depths of the nourishing Soil; anchoring into Life itself. Winter comes like a thief in the night; stripping us bare of all external beauty; Summer bullying us with thirst and parched lips; Spring and Fall dancing with our emotions; clothing us with vivid and stunning colors; dissipating and fading within the seasons that proceed forth with no patch of loyalty sown upon the breast of their coats. Anchor, we are forever anchored into You; the confession upon our lips being that “you ARE good; it IS who you are; faithful through gales and tidal surges; eternally dressing our branches with heavenly fruit in, and through, each season that arrives and quickly fades away.” Our eyes are fixed upon yours; patiently awaiting Your slightest signal.

… We are watched over in our coming and going; never found separated from the One who created us. Adopt that which has been exampled for us; becoming the guardian and watchman over those written into the pages of your book; tying off their vessels to the [an-chor] that you ARE. Protect and nourish. Amen

Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

…He gave the failures names; he gave them faces; carved within smiles and shimmery blue eyes, he took what was intended for good, and with his own words, dissected and divided it against itself; sowing questions and doubts in the fragile and vulnerable minds of the innocent and naïve. The critical critique of the uncommitted; one whose tongue violently, and in haste, heaves stone after countless stone of opinion at the “glass windows” before him; ones that have boldly and courageously AND TRANSPARENTLY placed their lives on the target of critique; stepping forward on the frontline to lead and guide the trembling flock to safety; offering up their lives as sacrifices to feed and nurture them; lifting and building and preparing them for this life and the life to come; far from the wolves that beckon them into the shadows of isolation. How quickly his WORDS were rendered, but, how impotent was his ability and willingness to act; the uncommitted wolf in sheep’s clothing….

… a need was perceived, but the uncommitted wolf was unwilling to be the solution.

… opinions must be harnessed and kept at bay if we are unwilling to sacrifice and be a part of the solution; bringing a greater state of healthiness among the Body of imperfect and broken believers. If not, they are just critical cries of the uncommitted…

Beautiful Giant

“oh, what a beautiful giant you are; awakened from slumber; peeled away from the very dreams you were having. How long have you been asleep? … buried in the recesses of my heart; locked behind ribs and muscle tissue in a state of hibernation; awaiting the infiltration of light through the key hole.

Oh, beautiful giant, what distant lands have your eyes laid gaze upon; what castles and kings have you conquered and taken possession of; what future and destiny to you cradle within your powerful hands??? … it has taken so long for you to open your eyes; shaking off the cobb webs and dust as your lungs fill to capacity with the breath of God; willing your very existence to be.

…from here, I cannot bridge the gap in perspective; shaking hands with the end of my weak, finite state. My eyes do not see what lies over the next mountain, but you smile knowing the victories ahead; the smell of them; the very shape and form of them; the sweet melody that they sing.

…but.... I smile knowing that my God is bigger; from His perspective, you are just a small beginning beautiful giant.”

...Mighty Messenger...

... a message only has as much authority as the one who sends it...

... knowing my humble position as a chosen and adopted VESSEL allows for the very message entrusted into my care to bear weight and carry authority; the posture that was purposefully intended for all messengers alike. As quickly as the focal point shifts and plays away from "sender" to "messenger," all the quicker the diminishing of authority of the message that is held; God's precious, life-giving words that you harbor. The message itself dissipates in the wind; withering like parched, moisture starved pedals in the unforgiving sun; it loses the very power in which it was conceived and pinned; finding itself lost in translation; long forgotten due to the inclusion of "self" and it's message.

... who's words are you carrying mighty, messenger boy??? Bring to remembrance that you have been graced with authority by the the ONE who has authorship of ALL authority.... the ONE who sent you forth into all nations holding high His banner of salvation.

... carry His words well...

Matthew 28:18-19; Luke 24:47

"the forgetful"

... God tattoo them on our hearts; not for the mere purpose of becoming a life raft for our flailing appendages to cling to, but ever more, to be a recoil that smashes the Alzheimer's that attempts to rob us from the very traces of your touch; fragments of your miracles in, and throughout the eternal narrative that has included us thus far. Oh, how we have forgotten the morning; the intimate beckoning and wooing of our Christ; the groom that cherishes every breath that is expelled; every unspoken dialogue of the heart that dissipates in the shifting wind.

...Night has arrived and we have become enamored; paralyzed by the kaleidoscope of lights and sounds.

...Tattoo your miracles upon our hearts; measures in time where Heaven penetrated the very fabric of Earth and all its human finality. Tattoo us Jesus, so that when you call out to us to climb overboard; scaling the exterior of our vessels of comfort and buoyancy; we will lower ourselves onto the water's surface with boldness and courage; standing tall above the wind blown fetch of life and it's plans to level and to afflict the Called and the Chosen. We WILL gaze into your eyes; familiar eyes that have been carved into impressionable memories from Heavenly intervening long ago.

... We fix our eyes, and turn our hearts toward You... and You faithfully reach out and grab the hands of the doubtful and the frightened.

*Matthew 14*

"I am..."

... solitude knocks on the sliding glass window; beckoning me to quietly slip away from the race being run by the world within the dusty corridors of our home. Everything within me knows, and whispers of communion with Christ. Perched upon a rustic deck composed of rotting wood and rusty nails, I deny myself the imagery of nature itself and the assaults of my unrelenting thought process; quieting my muscles of the tension they hold with every breath that is taken in. Prayer is conceived...

... I thank Him for His goodness; how evident His grace and mercy become within the heart crushing fact that He allows, and yearns for me to ask of Him; petitioning the desires of my needy heart; and affords me the choice to dwell in the shadow of His Holy presence. Like the sun’s flames torching the dawn’s horizon, I render the requests congregating on the forefront of my heart and soul. I ask God to speak to me in the quiet recesses of my heart; asking to be privileged enough to hear His soft, gentle voice, and, tangibly feel His fatherly, love within a sweet embrace; wrapping His arms around me to calm every storm that has battered the shoreline of my heart; resuscitating the palpitation of a heart that has given up and slipped away.

As the words surface from the uncharted places of the abyss, I ask God to transform ALL that is me; every shard and fiber; to reveal Himself and His furious love; to encourage and carry; to guide and to equip; to bless and to favor; to cry and to mourn WITH me; to be close..... And, as my words and the prayers of my Spirit begin to cease, I hear a faint whisper say...

.... I am...