Jesus…That's All

04/23/2021

I sat, discouraged, frustrated, angry, simply wallowing in self-pity as the water lapped ever so gently, time and time again, against the side of the boat, in a state of utter disbelief.  The morning sun, now in its fullness, began to warm the chill that held me entirely just hours ago from a night of unsuccessful fishing.  We had caught nothing, not one single solitary fish; “how could I provide for my family, what could I do differently, to reverse the sense of failure that accompanied my thought process and greater still my life in general?”

The nets were in desperate need of cleaning once again and I grumbled under my breath still knowing that an hour or two would be spent ridding them of the dirt and debris that had accumulated during the nights outing.  My hands, blistered from the unending hours of rowing, casting, and retrieving, now burned as each pull of the water-soaked fibers slid through them.  The previous unhealed “cracked wounds” opened up once again and the blood began to darken the surrounding water beneath me with a crimson red that dissipated quickly with each small lap of the water finding their end at the boats side. 

Near and just to the right of me, a small crowd gathered, and they were listening intently to a man speaking that I did not recognize; this was a small fishing village, and we knew most everyone here but periodically, as in the past, a stranger would find themselves in our midst.  I was just far enough away that I could not hear entirely what he was saying but it must have been captivating as the small crowd now grew substantially.

I was so focused on the nets that I had not noticed his attempt to get my attention until he beckoned a bit louder.  I secured the net in hand that I was working with and walked the few yards to where he now stood, in my boat, on the shore of the lake.  I was irritated for various reasons.  Firstly, that I was being summoned, by a complete stranger.  Secondly that he had the nerve to assume that he could simply step into my boat without permission and thirdly that I was near to being finished for the morning and only wanted to go home; I was tired and in no need of such “beckoning”!  Yet, for some reason, I was intrigued as to his message and why he had caused such a stir so early in the day; I meandered over, of course, at my own pace, allowing my body language to speak of my displeasure as I approached nearer still to him.  He asked me, most humbly, if I would assist him in thrusting him out and away from the shoreline a bit; I was incapable of denying his request.

He sat down and began speaking further still and I too found myself captivated by the tone of his voice.  It was calm yet commanding, meek yet filled with power, compassionate yet cutting and I was fascinated, completely, by His words as they spoke to the areas of my need; it was almost as if he was specifically speaking to me?  Eventually, as “time” no longer mattered, he ended and all that were in his command sat, quietly, not wanting to leave and the silence hung, hovering, as a thick morning fog; no one wanted to leave including me.    

I had been sitting, head down, in deep contemplation, and I felt him stand up in the boat and the weight shift caused us both to steady ourselves.  Now looking up and directly at him, I was surprised to find him also looking directly at me, a collision of eye contact, as he stood unconcerned with all of those around us.  Our eyes held each other intently and I knew, with a certainty, that this man had changed me, from within, with the simplicity and the power of his words.  Looking deeply still into my eyes, almost as if he was looking through me, he said, “Launch out into the deep and let down your nets for a draught.” 

My place of calm dissolved in an instant and reality, that of daily life, came rushing back and into the forefront. Immediately, I felt tired and wondered if he, in any way, realized what he was requesting and the laborious effort that would need to be extended to fulfill his call?  I did not say a word and played out in my mind what was being asked, actually commanded, of me.  I would need to gather my nets back and into the boat and row, once again, not just to the close proximity of the shoreline but he had indicated “into the deep.”  I was near to deny his request, the words forming themselves on the back of my tongue, until I looked up and back into his eyes; they would not let me decline and I, with little volume said, “master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing; nevertheless, at thy word I will let down the net.”

Father, this thought, of “launching into the deep” has touched me to the very core of my existence.  I am fearful that I, that we, those that would be called your sons and daughters, have been toiling long, taking nothing that holds any value whatsoever in the eyes of Him that longs for something greater in our lives.  We hear your call this morning Lord… “launch out and into the deep.”  It will be filled with some redundancy of life, it will offer more opportunity of labor not necessarily desired, but we too will do as you command.  It is no longer acceptable to linger near and to the shoreline, to the boundaries that seemingly hold us in their captivity.  Pondering still this morning, a strange thought has emerged and an image of a creature, of the deep, has been brought to the forefront of my imagination; an octopus. So many tentacles at ease within the deep, floating, hovering, reaching, but one finds itself anchored.  This should be a model, an example, of how our lives must be lived.  We must with the strongest tentacle we possess, two if necessary, hold on to our foundation, that of Jesus Christ and never, ever, let go no matter the tides of life that, will, attempt to cause us to lose our grip.  It is essential that with the other tentacles, freedom be given to accomplish much.  Some of them always to the front, reaching for the future, searching out interactions with those that find themselves in our midst while others, some to our sides and to the back, hold on to past acquaintances, those that we share life with daily, and pull them in close to our being.  Comforting, encouraging, listening, reassuring, and loving without end; these instances should be many!  We must, “launch out and into the deep” with the greatest of energies and begin to look out and beyond our “selves” and though the distance that is accompanied by darkness, at times, hinders our seeing, let us row, let us walk, one row, one step at a time.  Let our commitment, to the fulfillment of your word to each of us individually and collectively, be the illumination that pulls back the curtain of dark in the lives of those that need to know of you, that need to experience you and may our eyes, be nothing less than that of your son Jesus’ reflecting the great love that awakens the souls of those that we/you would encounter.  Time is of the essence.  Lives, so many lives, depend upon the contemplation placed before us this day.  Let it not just be another passing thought, let it not be overtaken by life as we know it, but let it rather, simmer, in the back of our minds, to the point of being inescapable from its call…

“Launch out and into the deep” 

Daniel

12/18/2020

“Lord, lay not this sin to their charge.”  No matter how hard I sought for the phrase to diminish from my thoughts and the guilt that overwhelmed me, the voice that accompanied the words was crystal clear, dripping with a sweetness, certainly not of this world.  I could sense with clarity, with a newfound experiential understanding, the passion with which they were spoken years earlier by the young follower of Jesus, Stephen as I relived, to my dismay, the stoning which he endured, witnessing levels of love for his fellow men that alluded me with its ferocity.

The pain which previously had overcome me, one stone at a time, began to subside and I felt a warmth, unsure if it was from the blood that profusely exited my body from multiple avenues or if it was that of the great light that shone so near and in front of me…coming ever so very close with unfathomable power.

My life, those of my early years and later as well, began to flash before my eyes and I was both sickened and elated at the same time.  So immature, so full of pride, so full of tradition, so full of religion, I became nauseated and yet, I was enveloped with His grace, His mercy, His compassion, His kindness, and without limits the love that was so very thick, hanging in the air, consuming me in its entirety.  I only wanted to cry, to release all that had been bottled up for so many years, to allow myself the freedom which I somehow withheld unwittingly.

The light was now upon me, and though its brightness was in itself a great wonder, an array of color began to flood the visions of a paradise beyond human comprehension.  A voice, now thunderous, yet at the same time, so very subtle, began to speak, words which were foreign to me and I simply basked, with all of my senses in utter overload, in the moment, now wholly shrouding me as a participant. 

Then, in an instant, the voice, once so filled with power, began to wane as did the light that swaddled me moments earlier and I faintly heard voices familiar to me; those men that I held dear the last few years.  One after another, and though I could not make out what was being spoken, they cried with the same intensity similar to that of my out of body experience.  I kept hearing my name, over and over again, Paul, Paul, Paul, and soon my eyes began to flutter and come into focus once more.  As I reached up to wipe the hinderance of blood, now thickened and sticky from my forehead and eyes, the pain which had subsided and all but disappeared, came flooding back and into my body.

I opened my eyes, now widely, unaware of what I was experiencing, and beheld, with a bit of trepidation, my closest friends, my fellow disciples, those that labored without fail, endured without thoughts of self and carried with great fortitude the cross of Jesus Christ.  They stood steadfast, surrounding me and began to smile as I looked deep into each of their eyes, one after another; as if in unison they broke out in praise and thanksgiving as they reached down and lifted me carefully to my feet.  We walked slowly, my body now healing with each step, out of the city that attempted to silence our witness.  I felt broken if you will, though not so much physically, but more so emotionally, as I savored a fullness of love that I had yet to experience on this side of heaven.

Father, how does a man, one that stood at the threshold of life, ever find himself to be the same after such an experience?  Further still how can one speak of such revelation without bringing further attention to themselves, wishing for nothing less than to somehow convey a heart bursting forth with love, thanksgiving and praise to those that need to be the recipients of such?  I feel as if it is an impossibility so forgive me for the insertion of “I” as I speak from the deepest confines of my soul.  I have been so full Lord, of an incomprehensible, unhindered, outpouring of love, that has humbled me to the point of absolute emotional instability.  It is too much Father for one man to be given and certainly too much to be kept for self.  How can I exist in the same realm of the living without weeping, sometimes uncontrollably, as I consider those that stood around me, as they did Paul, Father?  Steadfast in their resolve to lift my name in its many forms, Daniel, Danny, Murph, to the throne room within heaven and into the ears of your son Jesus with unwavering intercession.  Does any man, truly, ever deserve such affection, such warmth, such an enveloping love?  I cannot Father, with all that is within me, understand the infinite waves of your love though I thought I had some comprehension.  I was sadly, sadly, sadly unaware.  This moment of an unplanned, unexpected trial, in contemplation, has never been a “woe is me” experience but rather a “thank you that it was me.”  Would I ever have been given a glimpse of heaven, and the love that awaits, without such a moment in my life?  I fear, actually know, that my flesh impeded my understanding, the limits of my mind held me captive to the sphere of life on earth and I lived simply naïve to the fullness that you desire for your children. 

You impressed upon my spirit with such fragility the thoughts of Isaiah in the meditations we shared.  “For the grave cannot praise thee, death cannot celebrate thee: they that go down into the pit cannot hope for thy truth.  The living, the living, he shall praise thee, as I do this day: the father to the children shall make known thy truth.”  I want to praise thee Father, I long to celebrate you, to thank you for life, for breath, for the opportunity to once again face the day with nothing less than your fullness; I long to rid myself entirely of the abundance and embrace each and every individual that you may allow me the privilege to encounter.  The words of John echo within my thought process, now and in this time, “He must increase, but I must decrease.”  Without selfish intention, fill us Lord with more of you, so completely that it cannot help but overflow; when the day finds itself diminishing in the darkness of night, may we find ourselves entirely emptied of the blessings that you bestowed upon us for the day.  Dare we ask, yet we must, might the process begin once again?  Awakening with a hunger, a longing, a desperate yearning for You once more, simply for the day, to be counted as one of the many, “standing round about” for one in need; that they too might experience love, not of this earth! 

Daniel

Acts 14:19-20 “And there came thither certain Jews from Antioch and Iconium, who persuaded the people, and, having stoned Paul, drew him out of the city, supposing he had been dead.  Howbeit, as the disciples stood round about him, he rose up, and came into the city: and the next day he departed with Barnabas to Derbe.”

2 Corinthians 12: 2 “I knew a man in Christ above fourteen years ago, whether in the body, I cannot tell; or whether out of the body, I cannot tell: God knoweth; such an one caught up to the third heaven…” verse 4 “How that he was caught up into paradise, and heard unspeakable words, which it is not lawful for a man to utter.”

07/31/2020

I had never seen such hate in the eyes of men.  My faith and my unwavering witness, both spoken and unspoken, to that of Jesus Christ, my personal savior, now found me standing in front of those with power and position; the high priest, the elders, the scribes, and amongst those within the council that would agree with the false witnesses that had conspired against me.  I knew, with clarity, that what I had just expressed in word, no matter how true, was, exponentially, fueling their disdain and contempt.  I paused for a brief moment, carefully contemplating my next thoughts, again knowing, that the words about to be given volume would send them all into a frenzy; yet, there came a peace upon me that enveloped me in its entirety.  The air became still and the room, filled to capacity, was awkwardly quiet.  The words within began to burn intensely and I could no longer withhold their formation as they poured forth and eclipsed the silence… “Ye stiff-necked and uncircumcised in heart and ears, ye do always resist the Holy Ghost: as your fathers did, so do ye.  Which of the prophets have not your fathers persecuted?  And they have slain them which showed before of the coming of the Just One; of whom ye have been now the betrayers and murderers…”

As if in unison, they all, in an instant, became uncontrollably enraged and their frustration, their anger, their rage and their fury began to come forth now with a physical manifestation; chaos filled the room. In the midst of the turmoil, for some reason, I looked up and again could not help but speak what I was seeing as the clouds pulled themselves back and away, the heavens opened up, the glory of God emanated brilliantly and Jesus, the Son of man, was standing, most erect, on the right hand of God, looking down and upon me with eyes that melted my very heart and with a love I had not yet experienced in the earthly realm.  Silence, once more and beyond eerie, held the room in utter control.

Without warning they now all ran upon me, so very many men, pulling and dragging me by my cloak out of the city and into the streets, infuriated beyond control.  Soon I found myself, alone, laying upon stone and dirt, a few feet away from the men, knowing what soon would come forth.  The first stone hit me on the side of my head and it stunned me to say the least; I felt the warmth of my blood trickle down and past my ear.  I wanted, in my flesh, to pick up the rock and hurl it back at the men who no longer cared for me and or what I had to share; however, the peace which earlier fell upon me would yet again envelope me, and the desires of my flesh for retaliation dissipated quickly.  The next hit, then another, until I did not feel the stones individually but rather corporately as they battered me relentlessly and without relief.  What was earlier a simple taste of the blood in the back of my throat soon gave way to a capacity of the same and I began to choke from its collection.  I leaned over to my side, still being pummeled intensely, in an attempt to allow the blood to flow out of my mouth; I succeeded as the ground beneath became stained with the crimson red pouring forth unhindered.  I began to drift in and out of consciousness for brief moments now unaware of any further pain that wreaked havoc on my body.  Sheepishly I looked up towards heaven, again seeing with clarity, the form of Jesus and the glory which surrounded Him and still, He stood, witnessing the scene; His tears so recognizable, ran down His face and towards me specific and as each one fell through the expanse of separation, I could feel nothing less than His love, for me, but also for those that were involved in the barrage of stone.

With little energy, I was able to mutter, “Lord, Jesus, receive my spirit” and with one last act of obedience I found my way to my knees, kneeling to pray one last time and cried with a loud voice, “Lord, lay not this sin to their charge.”

Father, I am lost in thought.  What causes men and women, not just Stephen, but countless others, over the ages, to lay down their lives so willingly, in great humility, for those that do not deserve such?  Please forgive me for I possess a mind, still so very full, of judgement; how can I even make that statement as they too deserve your love do they not?  Your word speaks with such precision, with so much beauty and explicit splendor this morning.  It floods my soul with repetition.… “Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.”  “They overcame him by the blood of the lamb, and by the word of their testimony, and they loved not their lives unto the death.”

I have contemplated much the willingness of Stephen to lay down his life but still I cannot help but focus upon the young man Saul (Paul) that consented to his death and witnessed the act of martyrdom that day.  Why was he even there, outside the city, at that specific place, and at that specific time?  What effect did it truly have upon him in the deepest, darkest, areas of his heart?  The great hate displayed, in fullness of force, was in the end eclipsed by a nothing less than a greater love emitted by a mere man for those near to him at the time, and within ear shot, hearing the request of a dying man on their behalf.  Surely it left the greatest of impressions to not only Saul but countless others that day…how could it not?

I cannot speak for others Lord, but I find myself sadly in a chasm of want, lacking in your love displayed for and to my fellow man.  Questions emerge and I struggle to answer truthfully, honestly, and with integrity.  Would I be willing, as we too find ourselves in the midst of turmoil today, to lay down my life in an act of sheer love for just one man; that he might find you, no matter the fullness of the hate exhibited, in an encounter orchestrated in the heavenlies?  Would I react in the flesh, desiring retaliation or rather in the Spirit with a greater want for reconciliation to thee Lord?  And what of my family and that of friends that cannot grasp the thought of self-deprivation to the point of sacrifice?  What on this earth is so extremely valuable that it cannot not be cast aside with love at its bidding to do so?  Recently, in the throngs of meditation, you spoke so very clearly Father.  “And you shall hear of wars, and rumors of wars: see that ye be not troubled; for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet. For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places.  All these are the beginning of sorrows.  Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted, and shall kill you: and you shall be hated of all nations for my names sake. And then shall many be offended, and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another. And many false prophets shall rise, and shall deceive many.  And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold.”  It was if you allowed a dagger to penetrate my heart with care… “and the love of many shall was cold.”  Iniquity, sin, it will abound, it will increase in great measures, but shall the love that you have placed within, through years of relationship, years of seeking, searching, desiring more of you, not just one singular man or woman, be overcome with the hate that surrounds and permeates our lives unaware; will our love, rather your love, grow cold?  Forgive me Lord, for I have fallen short, I am found wanting, anemic and filled with great sorrow.  I want the love that you poured forth to once again flow without limitation for even now, and greater still as “iniquity abounds” many years later to have an impact upon a young man, a young woman, someone, that might knowingly or unknowingly be consenting to the spewing of hate.   

May our last breath, our last words and final actions mirror that of Stephen, in an act of selflessness, as we kneel upon our knees, let love be on our lips… “Lord, lay not this sin to their charge.”

04/16/2020

His overwhelming presence, one that I had come to know intimately, was thick upon me once again. With a gentle hand I felt a lifting, slow in nature but with a sense of purpose, as I, weightless, began to float beyond the realm of the living and into that of the supernatural; I simply allowed, without expectation or fear, complete control of my being for I knew with a certainty this compassionate touch of His hand and the leading that was sure to follow.

The journey, within atmospheric levels previously unbeknown to me, was calm, enveloping in nature, as all my senses, desperately tried to drink in the sights, the sounds, and the smells that held me captivated by their crisp clarity and purity.  The air was beyond fresh, so very clean and without soil as we drifted through time, He and I, to a place of His desire; I did not want the transport to end.  Familiar sights began to emerge as the mountain ranges and their valleys passed one after another beneath me until soon the final descent quickened and I was gently placed upon the ground with the greatest of care.

Standing alone, yet knowing I was not as His love still encompassed the entirety of the experience, my eyes began to refocus, in the earthly sense, with precision on my surroundings.  What I at first thought were rocks scattered and strewn upon the floor of the valley soon would reveal otherwise.  His gentle hand, refusing to allow me to stand in one place, once again moved me slowly over and amongst the field debris.  The crunching under my feet, though each step was painstakingly chosen, horrified me with its experience.  I was walking upon bones; bones that were so dry that they easily disintegrated to powder beneath the weight of my body.  I wanted desperately to stop, right where I stood, but still He lightly pushed me further on and over the valley floor that was endless to my eye.  Each step brought further despair until I could bear it no more and I finally resisted His gentle push for the first time. 

Standing now, still upon the floor bed of bones, I wept.  Sobbing uncontrollably, my tears, unending, cascaded down and upon the bones and their parched surfaces absorbed them within themselves instantaneously.  I did not understand; why, why would He bring me to such a place of desolation?

A peace began to wash over me and soon I found myself in complete silence as the intermittent breezes whisked through the valley and upon my being; a moment earlier my face was awash with tears and now, within short time, it was dry and dusty with the bone residue affixing itself to me with volume. 

Another breeze, and then another, worked its way through the silence of the valley and then I heard, the voice of Him, that I had come to know with a certainty.

“Son of man, can these bones live”?

The question pierced my heart; I had just spent countless hours walking atop and in their midst desperately trying not to disturb the ground that they lay upon with little success.  I once again began to cry, yet, this time more controlled and with deep inner thought.  I stood defeated, within the quiet, as the entirety of my existence, both inwardly and outwardly, reflected that of the atmosphere that held me in its unrelenting and persistent grip.  I could not help but to think that in the innumerable quantity of bones, someone’s family member, a grandmother, a grandfather, a mother, a father, a son or daughter, one that at some point walked as I, now rested without in a wasteland of excess inhabitants.  If that were not enough, I wondered, selfishly, as to my individual state and if I too might be counted at some point as nothing more than dry bones; what mark, what legacy was I leaving if any?  It was all too overwhelming; how could I answer for the thoughts were truly beyond my comprehension?  They, the bones, seemed so brittle, so decayed and just too far gone for any form of resurrection.

With very little tone, after much meditation, I responded sheepishly and with trepidation, “O Lord God, thou knowest.” 

He, without any hesitation, would respond and with authority spoke, “Prophesy upon these bones, and say unto them, O ye dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.  This saith the Lord God unto these bones; Behold, I will cause breath to enter into you, and ye shall live.”

Father, I possess a great impression within; I sense you are asking each one of your children this question today.  “Son of man, can these bones live”?

We find ourselves, all of us, confined if you will, and while some sit alone, others are found with family, and we are, quite possibly, with ample time, capable of taking a few moments to contemplate; surely there must be a pause Father for the question cries out with a fervency this morning for our attention.

What are you speaking Lord so many years later after Ezekiel’s vision?  Dare I suggest, as believers, as your sons and daughters, heirs, that I am fearful, we have walked, blinded, unprepared, ill supplied, in a weakened state, amongst an inexhaustible harvest of those that too have become dry, crumbling under the weight of life, tired of fighting, simply exhausted and existing with little life, unfulfilled and listening to the lies of the enemy?  Solomon notes, “…but a broken spirit drieth the bones.” 

Yet, there is more, for this state of “dry” is not exclusive to those that walk absent of relationship with you.  We too, those that call you Father and Savior, walk also with a measure of dryness that has crept in, many times unaware, over the years.  We all, believers and non-believers alike, including your son Jesus, know, experientially, the trials and tribulations that impact those that would walk this earth in vessels of flesh.  Life is hard, unpredictable, striking us unconsciously at times with disease, hopelessness, betrayal, bitterness, anger, resentment, hate, unforgiveness, and the like. We, with open hearts, confess today, with the same passion of your love, that at a most crucial time in our lives, we need that fresh breath of life from you Father.  Please, let it sweep in, with magnificence, with wonder and in its fullness over us right now Lord as it did with Ezekiel in the valley of the bones.

So, we linger…here for a time Lord; what might our response be to the question before us so clearly this day?  Oh Father, let us all look inward but for a moment, or longer if need be, and let us allow you opportunity to search the far corners of our being, placing, all that is you within and displacing all that is self without.  Why must this be of importance Lord?  Oh, Father you know.  This life, our lives, are not our own; they are to be used as you see fit.  Time is of the essence as each day passes to the next and we can no longer afford to simply walk ineffective in and amongst the harvest.  We must with an urgency and determination, with the greatest of humility, become once again, powerful in our resolve, confident in our belief and the promises contained within your word, faithful to the call and walk as your representatives, with great care, with great compassion, great kindness, and with the unquenchable love of your Son.  Ezekiel would obey your command and after prophesying to the bones it notes, “they lived, and stood upon their feet, as an exceeding great army”. Let us stand Lord, as an army full of all that is of you and let our lives be infectious, aromatic, and may we bear fruit, much fruit, ripe for the picking for those that hunger for such!  Let us also speak, with confidence and authority of your word, to the dry bones we encounter.  “Yea, my reins shall rejoice, when thy lips speak right things.”

Father I am utterly incapable of releasing this passage from my thought process and I end with the richness of your words… “Arise, shine, for thy light has come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.  For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people: but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and his glory shall be seen upon thee.  And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of his rising.”  We love you so very much!

In an inescapable state of “undone”

Daniel

10/01/2019

With each intermittent, painfully violent lowering, intended or unintended, by the men above, an intense darkness and an equally eerie quiet surrounded me with its fullness.  I hung in disbelief, as my senses, each one specific, with clarity and precision, gave credence as to my current state.  The smell of fresh blood, its warmth as well, poured forth from under my arm pits as the makeshift rope, that of tattered rags, cut into the fragility of my flesh.  With each “drop” of my dangling body, a stench, beyond any I had ever encountered, displaced my other senses entirely and I began to vomit what little sustenance I had within from the ferocity of the chasm’s odor.

As my body slowly entered into the mire which now held my weight vicariously, I struggled out of the rope that had held me unforgivingly bound.  Soon after, the entirety of the rope fell down around and upon me and for some reason, I could not help but think that it was my single earthly possession.  Each movement on my part caused me to sink further still and in the smallness of my mind I encountered the struggle between the warmth of the muck and that of the cool of the dungeon?

I instantly gathered the rope of tattered rags and began to use it to warm my hands; I carefully wrapped the remainder around my body, now shaking uncontrollably, that was not engulfed in the mire.  Trying ever so cautiously to reduce my movement, I leaned my body and placed my head upon the side of the wall.  The warmth of the rags ushered me in to a calm, though in the midst of horrible situation, and my mind began to undertake an unrelenting loop of thought and contemplation.   

How, as one chosen by God himself, could they find themselves in an abyss reserved for murderers, thieves, and those of criminal activity and intent?  Surely a child of God, a man or a woman could not ever imagine such absurdity and circumstance.  I stood, absorbed in the muck, in disbelief.

Minutes became hours and when I was lucky, I drifted off and into a slumber of sporadic sleep that simply did not last long enough; I would awake to find myself still, as if in a bad dream, hopelessly mired in a mixture that consisted of all that was bad in the world. 

Near to me and now within sight as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed, to my surprise, a bone.  It was that of a human arm, suspended atop the mire, of a previous occupant that too once stood as I now stood.  How long, did he or she remain, alive, if one could call it such in this dismal existence?  It held itself steadfast in place, as a witness, to future inhabitants of what awaited and soon would come.  The smallness of my life, now ever present before me, became increasingly clear.  

Father, I have lingered long in the dungeon that held Jeremiah.  I have read and reread the passage, each word carefully, even considered those not written in the blank spaces, to make sure that I have missed nothing that you wanted me to see, allowing it free reign in my thought process so that what you wanted spoken was heard with clarity and that I gleaned every tiny morsel contained therein.  The darkness of the confined space, the horrifying stench of rot and death, the eerie quiet, the “alone” lie of the enemy, the sense of being forsaken, and his struggle with hunger and thirst, both in the physical and the spiritual realm, have had such a profound impact upon me.

In truth Lord, I too, have been held within the muck and mire just recently; obviously not in the physical space that housed Jeremiah, but in life with its trials and tribulations.  I know with a certainty that I am not alone; one conversation after another emerging from those close to me have alluded to such.  How does this happen Father?  Your word reminds us that “the Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ…” One would imagine that as His adopted children, as His sons and His daughters, those grafted in painstakingly and at such a great cost, that we would never, at and time or moment, experience such feelings of being alone, being held bound, with cruelty by worldly circumstance, hungry, thirsty, and longing for release. Yet, at times we find ourselves stagnant, addicted, conflicted, confused, dazed, stunned, overwhelmed, oppressed, possessed and sometimes utterly overtaken; believers and unbelievers alike.  The enemy, if we are honest, knows our weaknesses, he cunningly preys upon such and holds us, unforgivingly, in shackles made of time tested, tempered steel, constantly speaking lies into our ears, ears somehow muffled from the truth.     

Father, how do we escape from such when we find ourselves, unsuspectingly, weakened and in this state of stagnation, in the midst of the muck, and paralyzed mentally, physically and spiritually?  For Jeremiah, they would send 30 men to literally lift him out of his darkest of days.  Of course your word gives us the promise, that of your son, His life, speaking with simplicity, yet, with authority, “…he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised.”  We know this to be so very true but we must confess that we too, surely, must open our eyes, we must open our hearts, we must make ourselves readily available, available to hear, available to lend a shoulder for crying, available to comfort, and be one of the 30 that will grab the rope of another, their rope of freedom, that will toil, will struggle, ceasing to tire and though the palms of our hands shall burn, soil, blister and bleed from the weight of the one close to us, or not close to us, let us hold fast until that singular person has experienced your compassion, your kindness and of course your love unconditional; a love so deep and fulfilling that it releases the balm specific to and for each individual need.  Someone, today, is fighting, alone, their very life hanging in the balance and finding little, if any, success as they try desperately to rid themselves of that which binds, holds and deters them from living a life of absolute abundance.  Oh Father, open our eyes, to that of your Son Jesus and may we too, as we enter the world and our surroundings each day, find ourselves… “lifting up our eyes, and looking into the fields; for they are whited already to harvest.” 

We so love you Father, we thank you for saving each of us, for sacrificing the life of your Son, even in the midst of our sin, that we might be your sons and your daughters.  We so love you Jesus, for your life in the flesh, for your Passion on the cross, and for your life now at the right hand of the Father, ever living to intercede on our behalf.  We so love you Holy Spirit, for your guidance, the intimate whispers in our ears and empowering us to be more than we ever thought possible…not for self, but for your glory, that of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit!

Daniel

Jeremiah 38:6 “then took they Jeremiah, and cast him into the dungeon of Malchiah the son of Hammelech, that was in the court of the prison: and they let down Jeremiah with cords.  And in the dungeon there was no water, but mire: so Jeremiah sunk in the mire.”  

01/22/2019

Sights and sounds, despite the chaos that surrounded the situation, began to slowly diminish as my eyes, no longer upon Jesus, gazed now on Peter in the near distance; had I just heard with clarity what I never thought possible?  Jesus too looked directly at Peter, deep into his eyes, with a look of sheer disbelief, as Peter emphatically denied his association with him to the accuser also nearby.  I, myself, had been the recipient of the same look of pain just hours earlier after kissing Jesus on the cheek amongst the guards that I had willfully led to his location.  His words pierced my very soul, “Judas, betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss?”  The cock that crew, eerily in its timing, echoed through the confines of the room, and Peter, as if all were looking upon him, immediately began to weep and ran from our presence and into the coolness of the morning.

I could not comprehend what I had just witnessed.  I had always been the least of the twelve, always feeling inferior in the presence of the others, always somewhat considered the least, and always lingering on the outskirts of intimacy with Him; at least that was my inner perception.  But not Peter, he was the one that spoke with authority when Jesus asked us “whom say ye that I am” noting eloquently and with surety that “thou are the Christ, and the Son of the living God”?  I heard him clearly that day, along with the others, as Jesus prophesied over his life that he was “Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”  My innermost emotions were in turmoil.

It was no surprise that I would betray Jesus, but not Peter.  Where were the rest of us that had given of our very lives to follow Him?  We all, for three years, lived closely with Jesus, willingly traveled miles untold, listened intently to his teachings, witnessed unbelievable healings, participated in the deliverance of unclean spirits and countless miracles of all manner, yet, Jesus, was now alone, except for me; I stood by guiltily, regretfully, as they relentlessly tormented Him that I truly loved but had forsaken entirely.  Tears dropped uncontrollably and warmed my face as they disappeared into my beard. It was all too much for me, and I wavered, my knees all but buckling as I contemplated the extreme hurt of complete earthly abandonment that must have consumed Jesus.

Eventually, they led him away, to be delivered to Pontus Pilate, and his fate would now lay in the hands of our sworn enemy the Romans.  How could this be? I walked the streets aimlessly, unaccompanied, as the crisp morning gave way to the impending heat of the day.  The thirty pieces of silver weighed more than heavy on my being as I began to relive, with great despair, the last couple of days; my mind was tired yet small glimpses, snippets, one after the other, unfolded and played out to my dislike.  I was a participant at times knowingly and still at other times so very at a loss as to my actions… 

It all seemed to begin one evening, again desperately alone, when there was and entrance, into my very being, from and outside source, similar to the ones I had seen, and heard, depart as Jesus commanded them to flee from countless people, and I felt utterly helpless to its power.  My inward thoughts were changing instantaneously; evil meditations and hate filled deliberations soon gave way to that of greed, the singular weakness that dominated my life, and I struggled to combat the imaginations that now had formed a plan to fulfill the lust that consumed me.

I found myself, not quite knowing how, in the very presence of the priests that wanted nothing less than the death of Jesus.  How I had arranged this meeting is beyond my remembrance yet there I stood, negotiating with them for a sum of money if I would but betray Him, Jesus, into their hands.  They were steadfast in their demands, I was as well, as the darkened eerie presence that now controlled me dictated my every thought.  We agreed upon the 30 pieces of silver and I left, wandering the streets, once more alone, despondent, grasping the coins under my tunic, and what I thought would bring me much comfort with its fulfillment was more than heavy in my hand.  I felt disgusted, I felt shame, I felt anger, and yet I felt so hopeless to my situation; how had I gotten to this place?  I was simply lost.

Time crept by, each hour passing into the next, and I was incapable of feeling, any emotion, and though I knew clearly what I must soon carry out, I was excited to be in the presence of Jesus; there was an inexplicable peace that always loitered in and amongst his presence.  I was to dine with him and the other disciples for the Passover meal and as I approached the upper room where we were to meet, I lingered outside of the door without their knowledge.  I heard faintly concealed chatter behind the door, and I hesitated further still as I grasped the cool handle.  Would Jesus know?  He had that uncanny ability to see, beyond the norm, the thoughts of mere men.  Would the eleven know?  I was held captive, standing without, unable to move as I considered all of these questions and the answers that might accompany them.

It was a most intimate time as Jesus’ words dripped with a richness so unlike any other man that I had been privileged to encounter.  I watched Jesus disrobe, and carefully, with the greatest of compassion, wash the feet of my fellow disciples.  If I had felt shame before, it was but a foretaste of what I now experienced firsthand as I felt the sensitivity of his hands and their tenderness upon the feet that had walked many streets without purpose and unfortunately, now, with a purpose that entirely displeased me.  Now below and directly in front of me with the vessel of water, He looked up at me, and without speaking a word, repeatedly cupped the water and allowed its warmth to cascade down and upon my weary feet.  I sat, though surrounded by my peers, for the first time, with Jesus alone and to myself; it was as if there was no one else there as I experienced this outpouring of love, from one man to another.  How…how could I betray this man?  My resolve for such a cowardly task of disloyalty now wavered as the stirring of the water, from the basin, filled the room with its orchestration. 

We would sit longer still, as in times past, listening to the words that would come forth from Jesus and in an instant, I noticed a change in his countenance.  He, with hesitation, slowly looked out and into the room and into each of our eyes as silence fell upon us.  With a voice cracking, almost not wanting to speak, he said, “verily, verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me.”  I felt a wave of shame envelope my entirety, running all over and through me as the quiet gave way to doubtful discussion and confusion.  Others spoke amongst themselves, but I sat, silently, held bound by my thoughts of unfaithfulness.

He then said, “He it is, to whom I shall give a sop when I have dipped it.”  I watched Jesus, with my eyes cast down, incapable of looking up, slowly break a piece of bread from the larger loaf, and as if in slow motion, dip the bread into the cup. His eyes, also held low, eventually could not help but follow the rising of his head and without looking at anyone else, extended forth his hand ever so gradually and towards my direction.  Still with my head down, his offering hanging in the air and directly in front of me, I refused to take it.  It was so quiet, disturbingly quiet and the awkward moment grew to a crescendo waiting for a response; slowly I began to lift my eyes until they found his fixated upon me.  I could no longer decline and reached out, sheepishly, and took the bread that betrayed the betrayer.

At that very moment the evil force, that earlier had influenced me viciously, did so once again with a matched possession.  Jesus looked at me, dejected, and simply said, “that thou doest, do quickly.”  I rose from the table, bread in hand, still dripping with the wine, and walked away from the greatest love I had ever experienced and in to a dismal moment of uncertainty.  Closing the door behind me, the creak broke the silence that remained in the room and I left not simply crying but weeping.

Father, I have toiled long, in an attempt to understand the mind of Iscariot.  I wonder if we might ever truly know the turmoil that this man felt?  It is easy in our flesh to judge him so very quickly but when we step back and consider that we too are wrapped in the same sinful covering, capable of the same betrayal and unfaithfulness, shall our hearts not turn from that of stone to ones of compassion? 

That evening prior to his betrayal, I see Jesus, resolute, attempting so skillfully, to strengthen Iscariots resolve with the washing of his feet and with his most tender touch; surely Iscariot must have remembered the countless times that the hands of Jesus, placed ever so gently upon suspecting and unsuspecting people, brought healing and forgiveness as they massaged his feet with the same kindness, compassion and care?  And finally, as in a last ditch effort, Jesus, hoping so very much, that the handing of the broken bread to him, in such a curious and significant way, would stir deep within Iscariot the moments of times past in their walk together and the desertion of so many disciples. “verily, verily, I say unto you, he that believeth on me hath everlasting life.  I am that bread of life.  Your fathers did eat manna in the wilderness, and are dead.  This is the bread which cometh down from heaven: if any man eat of this bread, he shall live forever: and the bread that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the world.”

For a certainty, the presence that possessed him was not simply one, or a few of satan’s minions, but rather still and more exceedingly vicious satan himself as noted in thine word, “satan entered into him.”  Though I dare not give satan any credence, can we really begin to imagine the strength which consumed and compelled him to action that fateful night and beyond to that of a noose?  Father, many of us reading and considering this life of Iscariot must painfully admit that we too are being held captive by darkened forces.  We too are capable of being used as conduits of hate, unforgiveness, spewing words of condemnation, and judgement without even a thought as to the damage we are inflicting upon others.  Forgive us Lord, we sit, we stand by, ashamedly guilty of such atrocities, and beg for thine forgiveness that you so wonderfully offered Iscariot that night.

Then there are some that might be reading, believers and non-believers alike on the precipice, held by loneliness, bound by depression, captive to anger, and enslaved by satan’s oppression or possession contemplating, as Iscariot, to simply end a life as it is known with an act that only he, satan, could desire.  Iscariot would not see the crucifixion of Jesus and greater still His rising, nor receive the gift of thine Holy Spirit for he listened to the subtle voice that was darkened and acted too quickly.  I wonder, if he would have just been patient, with himself, if he could have found that peace that so alluded him and experience the great love that hung on the cross, willingly, that he might have a life filled with possibility?  Father, for that person, right now, we ask, that he and or she be reminded with a clarity, hearing you clearly, audibly if need be, of Jesus’ love and the glorious plans you have waiting for them if they will but submit to your will and your desire for their lives.

And Iscariot…I have wept much considering his life.  I am no theologian, nor will I argue with such, but I want for him, so very much, to be in your arms even as we speak; somehow I think he is.  Will his life, one that held great value, though he be judged so harshly, speak through time, through the ages, through the pages of old, specific and to someone today?  You have used so many men, so many women, to speak on your behalf…use Iscariot today once more but let the story be rewritten with an acceptance of your offerings!

Daniel

09/17/2018

Sitting near to the mountainous rock base, in the midst of its cascading shade, as the long morning slipped into late afternoon, the sweat that earlier had weighed down my clothing with a great quantity now cooled me as welcomed breeze whisked around my entire being.  Looking out and over the flock entrusted to my care, carefully wiping my unkempt and disheveled graying beard of the continual flow of perspiration, I could not help but reminisce of my former state compared to that which currently held me in its routine grip; why, I am not sure but for some reason today I would allow my imagination and remembrance to wander freely.

A son to none other than Pharaoh himself, sheltered in exquisite manner, pampered, lacking nothing, with servants ready at my beckon call, for food, for drink, for entertainment and any other indulgence that needed fulfilling; days were filled with little responsibility and even lessor expectations by those responsible for my care and maturation.  Forty years later, as an aging shepherd, without title, without status, hungry, thirsty, alone, looking out and shepherding a bunch of noisy, smelly goats seeking the same hint of shade as me.  The vast differences between then and now fueled my self-absorbed pity party and I became increasing irritated as the goats now gathered nearer to me, jockeying for position, in and out of the sun.  Incapable of withstanding the tumultuous sounds and smells any longer I decided to get up and walk around the other side of the mountain away from the grating circumstance that held me captive with its mundaneness.

As I walked slowly, further away from the mountains looming presence and once again into the throngs of sun and heat, I muttered under my breath disgust, annoyance, anger and frustration, when, in an instant, I was taken back and utterly surprised with an unusual scent of fire; I knew that it seemed hotter than normal but I had really never witnessed any kind of spontaneous eruption of fire in the desert before and I was curious as to its origin.  Following the odor, not too far from where I first took notice, I saw a bush that was, in fact, on fire. Yet, as I watched it from a distance, the bush was not being consumed and shockingly kept both its shape and form; its inner substance apparently incapable of being burned. 

I stood dumbfounded, engrossed, and absorbed by the flickering of the flames, seemingly dancing without hindrance, for an unsuspecting old man, in the middle of the desert.  I could not turn away and remained held, by something, yet without restraint; for how long I am not sure?

The wrestling of the flock, in the distance, brought me back to reality.  The day was drawing to a close and I now questioned myself as to what I had been witnessing.  I began to speak to myself.  “I will now turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burnt.”  I drew near to the bush, fixated once again upon the bush that smelled as if it were burning, looked as if it were burning but somehow simply was not.  Stepping still closer, I nearly fell with fear, as a voice, out of the very midst of the bush, One of thunderous power, spoke and said clearly, “Moses.”  I quaked with distress, not understanding what was happening and proceeded no further towards the bush.  There was a pause and I lingered, sweat once again finding its way down my face and disappearing into the folds of my beard, seized by anxiety until once more… “Moses.”  I was not sure how to reply or even if I was supposed to but sheepishly I softly responded, “Here am I.”

Father, this story, inscribed on parchments of old, so many years ago, by mere men like ourselves, has spoken to me with a clarity not previously enjoyed nor contemplated by thine son.  Firstly, the light, your light, it, with great wonder, was the agent that afternoon day that drew Moses to thee, but, there is something hidden within the words so carefully written and easily read over and not given much consideration; Moses, “turned towards the light.”  Meditating upon its message, surely it is a process that has repeated itself over and over for eons, to countless men and women, without fail.  “And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.”  At some point in the lives of those created by thee, you draw each of us, individually, with such care and you make yourself known, in ways too numerous for our simple minds of understanding, yet, you do.  Then, as the One that had, has and will conduct the orchestration of the heavens, you wait, with great patience, for a response; either a movement towards the light and or, with deep reservations, movement away from the light.  It must be pleasing and painful, simultaneously, as you will never force yourself or great love on anyone; you will draw, but, you will always give a man and or a woman free will to move closer to thee and or not to. 

Oh Lord, there is yet more.  It notes eloquently that “when the Lord saw that he turned aside to see, God called unto him out of the midst of the bush.”  You waited, watching so patiently, yearning, aching, longing, hoping, that Moses, would come closer to you and when he did, THAT is when you called his name…Moses; and not once but twice to give him clear indication it was you, The Great I Am, that would call out to a man. 

Father, my contemplations have run amuck; forgive me.  What if Moses had not made the movement towards you?  Is it enough to simply acknowledge the light from a distance, never really drawing closer, and if we do not, what must that do to you, what must you feel as our indifference permeates the atmosphere?  We have so many questions Father, answers alluding us, yet, we cannot help but to turn, and more so, rather, we find ourselves running towards you.  Why Lord?  What propels us to such fanaticism in the eyes of the world?  As age manifests itself, as if time were fleeting, the call comes forth, with a clarity, with an urgency, no matter or remembrance of time now vanished, as you call us by name, to a more intimate relationship with you.  As with Moses, and let us be keenly aware, it shall not be for self, for he truly suffered greatly as he led your chosen people out of Egypt and through the deserts of time.

Lord, give us courage to take that first step and or step once more towards thee, let us tarry no longer, and as you witness such movement, oh that we too might hear our names specific, privileged, honored, and that we would shine brightly, with a brilliance so not of this world, to illuminate darkness and rid those that are held captive to its bondage!  Though each call, specific to our individual lives, may be different in manifestation, the desired end result is the same.  It is, quite simply, in the absence of your Son’s walking of the earth, for us, to now be the agent, to be the light, to be the salt of the earth, to draw, men, women and children alike to your amazing and unconditional love.  So many are hurting, so many are lost, so many are painfully withering away in the confines of darkness.  “The people that walked in great darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.”

Father in closing, burn this verse deep into the realms of our existence, while we still have opportunity, while we still have breath, and let us walk each day, lit, ablaze, by none other than that of your Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Isaiah 60: 1-2 “Arise, shine; for thy light has come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.  For, behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people: but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and his glory shall be seen upon thee.”

We so love you Father, we thank you, we worship you and find ourselves time and time again, undone, with words too wonderful for our thoughts.

Daniel

Exodus 3: 1-4 “Now Moses was tending the flock of Jethro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian. And he led the flock to the back of the desert, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. And the Angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire from the midst of a bush. So he looked, and behold, the bush was burning with fire, but the bush was not consumed. Then Moses said, “I will now turn aside and see this great sight, why the bush does not burn.”So when the Lord saw that he turned aside to look, God called to him from the midst of the bush and said, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.”

05/15/2018

My eyes became exceedingly dry, without moisture as I laid irritated but anxious, tossing and turning, colder than normal, and fighting to close off my mind to that of Jesus.  I had seen Him earlier the previous day, surrounded by His disciples, as they shielded his appearance to that of the masses; I found this odd as I, along with others, were always so very excited to be near to Him, anxious to listen, amazed as to His healings and simply loved being consumed by His absolute presence.  I had not witnessed this manner of secrecy before, as He normally walked openly among the people, and it stirred my curiosity as to their purpose.

They walked slowly, yet, at the same time seemed to be in a bit of a hurry towards their destination.  I kept close, as they talked among themselves, their voices muffled, causing me further intrigue, and they were just unaware of my proximity to them as they all clamored near to His being.  They turned the corner, close to my home, and descended into my neighbor’s home and proceeded up and into an upper room.  I stood closely, hugging the stone, still warm from the day, yet now cooling quite quickly, at the base of the home and listened intently to their conversation through the opened window directly above my head.  The windows, open to the full originally, soon were closed as the evening breeze brought forth a sting of cold.

With their conversation now completely cut off to my ears, I wandered back home, somewhat frustrated and ate our traditional Passover feast with my family.  I went through the motions, but I was somewhere else within the confines of my mind; I knew that Jesus was probably enjoying the same tradition and I longed within, deeply, to be partaking of such with Him.

I also had become aware that Jesus, His disciples as well, would, as in the past, head for the Garden of Gethsemane at some point in the evening; it seemed to be one of their favorite gathering places.  Tonight though, if they were to go to Gethsemane, would bring opportunity for me to once again be amongst them without their knowledge; they would have to pass right by my home and more specific my room.  I went to my bed early, purposefully leaving my window open wide, anxiously anticipating their possible passing by?!

Minutes turned to hours and I found myself dozing off, only periodically, as unsuspecting passersby would cause me to take attention to their steps and or their voices.  The early morning chill, now biting a bit harder, caused me to wrap my naked body in my bed linen.  I had lost hope that they would venture to the garden, yet I laid, still, aware and anticipating the possibility.

Without warning, I heard not just a few walking, but surely a small group and I wished it was them. I lifted from my bed, peering out and towards the sound of the voices, careful to stay hidden within the cover of dark, and they came nearer still with each passing moment.  As they approached my window, I slid down and away from their sight, but still close to the opened window and listened with all that I had for the voices that might be familiar to me; it was them! 

I waited only until I was certain they would not see me follow and jumped out of the window quietly with bed linen still covering me; I wrapped it tighter around my body and slowly shadowed them to Gethsemane.

Soon they came to a stop and I witnessed Jesus, from a distance far enough not to be seen but within ear shot, and He said to His disciples, “Sit here, while I go and pray yonder.”  He then took Peter, James and John, separating them from the rest, and came closer to where I was hiding.  Almost instantly his countenance changed; for the first time, I saw him filled with grief and uncertainty.  I had no idea as to the cause and sat increasingly disheartened; this was not the same Jesus that I had encountered so many times before and I began to break emotionally.  He then said to them, “my soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me.”  I began to cry, trying not to be heard, and was overcome with a myriad of emotion as to what was playing out before my eyes?

He then, alone, went a little further still, away from their sight, and fell on his face.  I stepped closer, unwilling to leave Him alone as the others soon fell asleep, and He prayed, saying, “O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.”   He was in tremendous agony, praying more fervently, and I watched, crying all the more, with eyes now beyond blurred, as droplets of sweat fell as blood to the ground.   I wanted to scream, I wanted to yell at the disciples, now sleeping heavily, to awake and come to His aid but something held my tongue.

I could do nothing but sit in agony as my heart burst with compassion and with a love not of this world.  I wished I could have reached out to him, just to let him know that he was not alone but I felt as if I was intruding on such an intimate conversation that I simply sat whimpering as a small child, under the cover of darkness.

Without warning, He rose, and walked back, again His countenance changing instantly, now with a profound confidence, and approached those disciples still sleeping.  He simply noted, “the hour is come; behold, the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners.  Rise up, let us go; lo, he that betrayeth me is at hand.”

No sooner had he finished his sentence, I heard in the distance a small group of people quickly approaching our location; the closer they came it became evident that something was dreadfully wrong as swords and clubs accompanied their arrival.  I soon was overcome with fear and began to distance myself from the situation; I walked away quietly and soon their angry voices began to diminish with distance now between me and them.  My heart began to beat terribly within my chest and each step away from Jesus brought forth a greater revelation of my cowardice.

I turned back and as I came close to them once again suddenly, His disciples scurried past me, one after another running and fleeing for their lives and I stood utterly confused and conflicted.  I watched as the angry band of men forcefully bound and led Jesus away and from the garden; I simply could not bear seeing Him forsaken and though I knew my life too might be hanging in the balance, seeing Jesus alone was too much for me.  I stood crying, now in full sight and I screamed with all that was within me…Jesus!  I simply wanted him to know that He was not alone, that there still remained one, near to Him.  

Several of the men broke off from the group and quickly began to push and pull me angrily as they beat me with their clubs; the pain from each blow somehow quickened me and I struggled with them as they tried their best to contain me.  With one last burst of energy I twisted and turned and felt freedom from their grasp as I ran away naked from them.  I ran and ran, not looking back and soon found myself exhausted from the early morning experience.  I was tired, thirsty, naked, cold and ashamed that I had not been brave enough to endure the suffering with Jesus…

Father, this story has caused me to contemplate much.  Why is the young man, one that followed you with fervor, endangering his own life, on that unforgettable early morning, held in scripture with no name?  I can only imagine, simply, that it is so, because it affords us an opportunity to place each of our names in his stead.  How many of us have followed you with a zeal that is unmatched, loving you with much passion, seeking your face with urgency, only to find ourselves too, unaware and or aware, of our forsaking you for something else of this world, absolutely naked and with our heads, once held high, now hanging in disbelief, in doubt, in confusion, in uncertainty as to your presence in our lives?  Recently Father, you made it so very clear as to the tactic of him, that I want desperately to refuse to mention, but must so that there is a clear understanding as to his subtleties.  The very first question posed in scripture was that of the serpent, to Eve, as you heard it voiced and brought to life so many years ago.  “Yea, hath God said, ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?  With that question he revealed the one tactic he would use on each and every human being that would seek relationship with you…doubt!  If he can take us down this path of doubt, indecision comes forth, hesitation arises, confusion resides, and mistrust finds its way into our lives, weakening our resolve, hindering our walk and, if not addressed, traversing this earth, inadequate, in your stead, amongst and in a world that is so desperate for light; the light that shall expose the darkness and what binds them, and us too as believers, rendering us ineffectual, weak and woefully powerless.  It is time, as each day passes into the next, bringing us closer to the end, for us, that follow Him quietly and, in the shadows, to awaken from our slumber, to hear with a sense of urgency, the words spoken by your Son, to those closest to him that early morning in the crisp air of the Garden of Gethsemane, “Rise up, let us go…”       

Matthew 25:34-40 “Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: For I was hungry, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.  Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee hungry, and fed thee?  Or thirsty, and gave thee drink?  When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in?  Or naked, and clothed thee?  Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?  And the King shall answer and say unto them, verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these thy brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

Father, as with Christ, we acknowledge that the trials, the tribulation, and the persecution WILL follow our rising.  Fill us, Father, with nothing less than that of the Spirit of your Son, that power from on high, that will cause us to endure beyond our own limitations!  We love you Father, we thank you for the Passion of Christ and for the gift of thine Holy Spirit.

Undone,

Daniel

01/05/2018

I sat waiting and in disbelief, with great fear and trepidation, as to what I knew was forthcoming.  Yet my greater focus was not so much on me, but for the other man, beaten horrifically beyond recognition.  He was bleeding profusely all over his body; his flesh had been ripped off and away exposing his inner tissue, his tendons, his muscles and his bones.  He was in great pain, shaking uncontrollably, as the dirt floor became saturated and stained with the crimson red pouring forth from his body.

The soldiers, preparing for our punishment, were frustrated and angry that there was now a third prisoner that would require a cross of crucifixion.  I could barely watch as they now, the entire band of soldiers, began to abuse him mercilessly.  “They plaited a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying Hail, King of the Jews!  And they spit upon him, and took the reed, and smote him on the head.”  I was astonished when his blood and fragments of his flesh traveled the distance between us and found their way upon me; they both peppered my body with their heat.  My first inclination was to wipe and rid myself of this intrusion, but for some reason, I could not and simply allowed it to remain untouched. 

I sat, dumbfounded, as he held the agony of pain within; he seemed resolute, beyond any man I had ever encountered, to portray nothing less than an inner peace, to hold his anger, and carefully hold any indication of judgement to those that railed against him.  He uttered not a single word, refusing, with the same resolve, not to stoop to their level of unhinged madness. It was all too much for me to take in, too much to consider, too much to understand and for the first time, in many years, tears puddled in my eyes.  They soon, without capability of being bound any longer, eventually overflowed unhindered down and into the crevices of my aged face leaving a trail of warmth that equally matched that of his blood; they felt good.  I wondered, in the midst of the turmoil and chaos that surrounded our last hours, who this man was?

As they dropped the cross upon my shoulders and back I nearly buckled under the immense weight that now became an unwanted part of me.  My flesh screamed with pain as the splintered fragments of wood from previous uses pierced me relentlessly.  Now carefully balancing the cross and gaining a sure foot hold, my eyes were fixed upon the man that had captivated my thoughts; how could he bare such a weight in his condition?  I saw and heard him gasp as they too dropped the ornament of pain upon him; he fell instantly to his knees as he unsuccessfully tried to steady the weight upon his gaping wounds.  I could no longer simply stand by without action; I immediately dropped my cross and went to him.  I lifted his cross while he, once again, stood slowly to his feet.  The loud threats and stings of the whips from the soldiers did not deter me.  I assisted in placing the cross gingerly on his back and withstood the onslaught of further beating until I was certain he had the cross in balance and under control as we stood together.  

Walking slowly towards the place of the skull, that of Calvary, and the crucifixion that awaited us, my thoughts were overcome with him; if all he had been through at the hands of the Roman soldiers were not enough he now withstood the mass abuse, from his fellow countrymen, along the streets leading out of Jerusalem.  Some were yelling and screaming, almost in unison, “crucify him!”  Others threw rotten fruit while still others spit upon him as he passed near and by them. 

I heard, through the mass of hysteria, someone shout his name; Jesus!  Yet it was not in a tone of disdain but in one of compassion.  I looked to the place of the herald and saw a woman crying without hindrance and uncontrollably, reaching as she repeated his name, Jesus, this time now with greater volume, with groans of disbelief as he passed by.  She fell, unable to stand, as she witnessed the horrific state of his physical being and the dreadful scene playing out before her very eyes.

Suddenly and without warning time slowed and an eerie quiet fell upon me.  I began to hear my father’s voice absent so many years from my life; I was instantly transported back in time, to a place of total comfort, as my father recited passages from the handwritten scroll that consumed his free time.  I was too young to understand the words that he spoke but somehow, they brought me comfort.  I watched, somehow in a time warp, as my father, sitting beside my bed, began to tear up, his voice cracking, over and over again, until he cleared his throat with a great cough.  He paused for a moment, trying to gather his composure, wiping the tears now cascading upon the old scroll, and repeated once more what he had just read, with a very quiet but clear tone; yet this time he read it slowly as each word hung on his lips…

“behold, my servant will prosper, he will be high and lifted up and greatly exalted.  Just as many were astonished at you, my people, so His appearance was marred more than any man and His form more than the sons of men.  Thus, He will sprinkle many nations, kings will shut their mouths on account of Him; for what had not been told them they will see, and what they had not heard they will understand.  Who has believed our message? And to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?  For He grew up before Him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of parched ground; He has no stately form or majesty that we should look upon Him, nor appearance that we should be attracted to Him.  He was despised and forsaken of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and like one from whom men hide their face He was despised, and we did not esteem Him.  Surely our griefs He himself bore, and our sorrows He carried; yet we ourselves esteemed Him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.  But He was pierced through for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the chastening for our well-being fell upon Him, and by His scourging we are healed.  All of us like sheep have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; But the Lord has caused the iniquity of us all to fall on Him.  He was oppressed, and He was afflicted, yet He did not open His mouth; like a lamb that is led to slaughter, and like a sheep that is silent before its shearers, so He did not open His mouth.  By oppression and judgment, He was taken away; and as for His generation, who considered that He was cut off out of the land of the living for the transgression of my people, to whom the stroke was due?  His grave was assigned with wicked men, yet He was with a rich man in His death, because He had done no violence, nor was there any deceit in His mouth.  But the Lord was pleased to crush Him, putting Him to grief; if He would render Himself as a guilt offering, He will see His offspring, He will prolong His days, and the good pleasure of the Lord will prosper in His hand.  As a result of the anguish of His soul, He will see it and be satisfied; by His knowledge the Righteous One, my Servant, will justify the many, as He will bear their iniquities.  Therefore, I will allot Him a portion with the great, and He will divide the booty with the strong; because He poured out Himself to death, and was numbered with the transgressors; yet He Himself bore the sin of many, and interceded for the transgressors.”  

I felt the heat of the nail near to my wrist and then heard the loud clash that brought hammer to nails head.  It was the extreme pain that ushered me back and in to my circumstance.  The next nail, it too hot from sitting in the sun, penetrated my flesh with the same intensity.  Looking down, as they placed my feet, one on top of the other, I saw the larger nail, twice the size of the other two being carefully placed upon my foot.  I watched fearfully as the soldier raised the hammer much higher and with greater concentration.  The clash, of hammer and nail, once again, resonated throughout my entire being and I quivered with pulsating pains as the second and third swing brought a sure fastening of my feet to the foothold of the cross.  My entire body now shook with pulsating shockwaves of relentless, persistent, unyielding agony.

Lifting my head, gasping for air, I saw, in the distance, the man, Jesus, now being assisted by another man towards us.  I, unfortunately, relived my earlier experience as they, methodically and void of any mercy, fastened Jesus to his cross of crucifixion!  I closed my eyes tightly, unwilling to witness the savagery being released, yet, the sounds refused to be muffled.  The hammer to nail experience, through bone and tissue, once more reverberated upon the hill, and it only ceased when the securing of man to wood was sure.

I could not help but cry out as tears flowed freely and without interference and I felt their warmth running down the front of my body.  Looking over at Jesus, through eyes partially blurred and distorted, I saw him lift his head and eyes up towards the heavens.  I thought he too was gasping for air, yet he began to speak softly through the turmoil that held us in close proximity to one another; our arms seemingly stretched out and reaching towards each other.  “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

My heart felt as if it exploded and I simply broke! 

Broken not for the circumstance that held me fast with its excruciating pain, but because the words of my father echoed once again within the confines of my mind and with a clarity that now shook me to the very core of my existence.  “He will be high and lifted up,” “his appearance marred more than any man and his form more than the sons of men,” “he will sprinkle many nations,” “he was despised and forsaken of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief,” “He was pierced through for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the chastening for our well-being fell upon Him, and by His scourging we are healed,” “He was oppressed and He was afflicted, yet He did not open His mouth; like a lamb that is led to slaughter, and like a sheep that is silent before its shearers, so He did not open His mouth,” “by His knowledge the Righteous One, my Servant, will justify the many, as He will bear their iniquities,” “He poured out Himself to death, and was numbered with the transgressors; yet He Himself bore the sin of many, and interceded for the transgressors.”  

I began to cry, with full understanding, that the man that had earlier in the morning “sprinkled” me with his blood, was the same man that caused my father to cry and contemplate so many years before the words that dripped with truth.  I could only muster a couple of words as I felt small, I felt ashamed, I felt guilty, I felt dirty, and more than unworthy in his presence.  I opened up my hand towards him, fingers reaching for him and said, “Lord, remember me when you come into thy kingdom.”

Jesus, lifting his head slowly and now looking back at me, with eyes not of this world, with outstretched arms fastened willingly, his fingers also reaching towards me said, “Verily, I say unto thee, today shalt thou be with me in paradise.”

Father, what more could be written, of old and in the present?  Men tried to stifle your words as they crucified you, thinking, incorrectly, that death would or could somehow silence you.  History, that too written by men, attempts to asphyxiate the words that you so eloquently spoke years ago and it too failed and fails. The desires of men, not kind to your love, have tried for years, and still today, to diminish the love that you possess for us with untruths, lies, misconceptions, and any vile means available to thwart, the truth.  We find ourselves contemplating, with greater depth, the wonder of the words of your Son today and His Passion; “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”  Oh Lord, how very precious can the simplest combination of words be in the lives of those that would seek your face and to a greater extent to those that do not know, in its entirety, the love which you embody specifically for them?  The thoughts of Isaiah, written thousands of years ago, begin to unveil the mystery which is that of your Son.  “For as the rain comes down, and the snow from heaven, and returns not thither, but waters the earth, and makes it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater: so shall my word be that goes forth out of my mouth: it shall not return to me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.”  Forgive us Father, we confess that we have not hidden your words in our heart, ever ready to be spoken to the “one” in need of refreshment.  Who might the “one” be Lord in a land filled with a mass of humanity yet so very near to us in our small circle of influence?  He or she is waiting, looking, longing for something not of this world, floundering in circumstance, dying a slow death filled with anger, with despair, with depression, and an utter lack of love.  Oh Lord, hear our prayers this day, give us opportunity to reach with outstretched arms, with nothing less than the love you embody, to the “one” chosen for an encounter today and let us, with humility and compassion, speak “your words” of truth and “your words” of love unconditional.  Why now, why the urgency?  Simply because just the “one” is of great value, he or she is worth the cost paid upon the cross by Him who willingly offered, willingly hung, willingly suffered, and ultimately overcame death by His limitless love.  I wonder what more you can do Father, to express to those of us here on earth, as each day passes, your love for us?  Your plan of redemption was and is beyond anything we could have ever considered in the limits of our flesh.  We find ourselves, hopelessly at your feet, desiring more of you Lord, more of what you desire for our lives, yet, and most humbly, not for self any longer; pour out through us and to the “ones” of your choosing today and every day that we have breath.  Let our last words mimic those of Christ as noted by John, the one and only disciple present at His crucifixion, be “I thirst.”  That thirst, surely, is not for that of fluid, but for just “one” more that might come to know thee even at the end of our lives!   

Daniel 

09/21/2017

at the well…

The heat had become thick, lingering all the more in my modest home, as early morning gave way to its later counterpart.  The sounds and activities, now much more evident, of the inhabitants outside my one room dwelling beckoned for my participation.  Yet, I lay, as with every morning, reliving my life; thoughts of failed relationships with multiple men and those too of my female acquaintances overwhelm me.  My family had all but disowned me, disappointed in who I had become, ashamed as to how I was perceived by our village and left me to a world of loneliness.

Soon the tears would come, slowly at first, until the deluge would issue forth without hinder; small whimpers soon gave way to deeper groans of hurt as depression consumed me once more; I wondered if unsuspecting passersby heard the moans of intense pain?  My night gown, sticking now closer to my flesh, becoming inundated with both tears and perspiration held me closer still to my bed of despair. 

The unsuspecting shriek and bark of a dog, in close proximity to my door, frightened me back to the reality of my painful existence.  Now sitting up, along the side of my bed, I tried to moisten my lips, thirst now overtaking me, but was unsuccessful.  I took my hands, swept them across my face, and carefully used the sweat to pull my tangled hair back and into a pony tail.  I tasted the excess still upon the palm of my hand and the saltiness stung my cracked lips and deterred any further indulgence.

I rose from my bed and walked slowly across the room, with little energy, to the small basin that would hold my drinking water; it was bone dry.  I feared, knowing that yesterday’s lingering within my home of isolation, the choosing to remain in the confines of my room, might be consequential.  Near to the basin was the larger water pot that I somehow hoped would still be holding a bit of refreshing water but it too was empty.  I would have no choice but to ready myself for a trip to the watering hole.

As I reached down to pick up the larger water pot, my dress, once beautiful and full of color, now woefully laying tattered and worn, slipped off my shoulder and ripped a bit more.  My emaciated body was simply incapable of filling the void becoming greater still as each day passed into the next; I had not eaten for a couple of days but food held little if any value for me.  I had all but given up.

Opening the door slowly, the hinges creaked, and to my demise announced my forthcoming presence to the masses.  The wall of heat, coupled with the inability to acclimate my eyes to the illumination of the sun, caused me to step back into my home briefly.  Remaining for a few moments, I felt what little energy I possessed, begin to diminish as I tried to balance the larger pot on my back.

I could not have walked more than 20 feet when I felt, their eyes, those lacking compassion, peering upon me with great judgement.  Soon to follow came the insults, spoken with anger and disdain, as they too lacked any sense of human compassion.  I wondered, the watering hole still in the distance, if I would even make the journey feeling overly weak.  Again, trying to moisten my lips, I felt the warmth of blood now oozing a bit from my parched lips and without thinking I wiped the crimson red upon my sleeve; looking at its concentrated color upon the dry dusted background of my garment stunned me with its intensity.

Nearing the watering hole, Jacob’s well, with no energy, the time was now nearing 12:00 noon.  I knew from previous experience that I would more than likely not encounter anyone at this time drawing water and I welcomed the loneliness that awaited me. 

To my surprise, as I traversed the last few steps towards the well, a lone Jewish man sat; he too looked tired, hungry, thirsty and disheveled from his journey, from where I did not know nor did I care.  Our eyes met and I quickly turned mine away, hoping somehow that I could draw the water I needed without any conversation and or further encounter and be on my way?  I approached the mouth of the well, still careful not to make eye contact, and lowered the smaller vessel towards the water.  I could feel, though I had refused eye contact, that his eyes fell heavily upon me; I had years of experiential knowledge developing this sense.

“Give me a drink.”

Not sure how to respond, I lifted my head and allowed our eyes to meet once again; it was if he was looking deep within my spirit, beyond just a normal glance, and a peace came upon me.  Dumbfounded by his words, replaying them over in my mind, still looking intensely back and into his eyes, I noted quietly, almost inaudible, that being a woman of Samaria, and he a Jew, that the request was not normal.

He then paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts carefully and said, “if you knew the gift of God, and who it is who says to you, ‘Give Me a drink,’ you would have asked Him, and He would have given you living water.”

I approached him, now unafraid, and sat down near to him and we began to converse, alone in a world where no others were.  He spoke giving greater details of living water, never thirsting again, and though I had difficulty understanding all that was being revealed, what followed shook me to my core.  He spoke, more gently, exposing intimate details of my life and I now cowered in the shame that had held me captive for so many years.  I immediately looked away and simply said, “sir I perceive that you a prophet.”  He spoke softer still, of the Father, true worshipers and of God as a spirit, but the sting of his earlier revelations of my life caused me to slowly retreat into my inner fortress of despair as I had done so often and away from our conversation; it was how I coped. 

I, with the bondage of my past, now holding me steadfast, gradually rose to my feet, longing to be alone in my home, did not know exactly how to end this chance meeting or what to say next?  I simply said, “I know that Messiah is coming, who is called Christ: when He comes, He will tell us all things.”

He reached out, now standing too, and cupped my chin, gently, lifting it upwards so that our eyes had no choice but to meet once again.  In a tone, one that I had never heard before, said, “I that speak unto thee am he.”  His eyes, looking so very deep now, were too much to bear, piercing my very soul, and tears began to flow unhindered; I found myself incapable of standing any longer dropping slowly to my knees.  Weeping at his feet, I felt his hand now on the top of my head, delicately stroking my hair.  All that held me captive, regret, shame, guilt, anger, loneliness and unforgiveness, lifted off of me, one by one and I felt a sense of clean; layers of immorality, filth, and sin melted away with each stroke of his tender hand. 

The faint sound of men speaking with one another startled me and with their volume gradually increasing it could only mean they were nearing the area of the well.  I rose quickly, though I did not want the encounter to end, not knowing exactly what to do next.  He must have sensed my dilemma and simply embraced me, wrapping His arms lightly around me.  I, on the other hand, could not hold him tight enough?!  The men were very near now and as I slipped away from our embrace, I looked into His eyes one last time; they were full of love.  I picked up my water pot, somehow now full, and ran towards my village with new found energy with water splashing everywhere.

As I neared the homes within the village something was different and I no longer wanted to avoid those, my fellow inhabitants, that I came upon.  I felt renewed and I felt a passion to speak of my time with Him at Jacob’s well.  I boldly began to recount, to an ever-increasing crowd, all that He had revealed to me with words that simply were not my own.  One by one they began to disperse anxious and excited to seek Him that I had spoken of. 

Back and in the confines of my home, alone once again but not feeling as such, I opened the windows that had been closed for so many years and the brilliance of the sun filled the room.  A small breeze cooled my body as I thoroughly washed my body with the water from the pot.  I felt new, I felt clean, and free from the shackles of life that held me bound an incapable of living.  I found myself singing, singing of His love, His compassion and praising Him, that found me at my darkest hour.

The small tap at the door startled me and I opened it with pleasure and without hesitation.  Weeping and falling to her knees, a woman begged for my forgiveness, for her lack of compassion and the pain she must have caused me by her actions.  I reached down, caressed her hair with the love of Him, lifted her up and simply embraced her.  She pulled away, wiped the tears from her eyes, and smiled deeply.  Reaching in to her small satchel she slowly revealed a beautiful new dress and proceeded to hand it to me.  The dress, now in my hands, vibrant with color and so soft to the touch overwhelmed my senses.  We hugged one last time and simply cried in each other’s arms.  After her departure, I held the dress up to my body, swirled it around the room and danced with Him that had given me new life.    

Father, I have tarried long contemplating the Samaritan woman at the well.  There is so much not written; forgive me if I have embellished the story not to your liking.  The journey that day must have made you beyond tired, I know that you hungered for a certainty, your homelessness adding to the “totality” of your wearied state, but that did not deter you.  Words almost fail me as I consider the lengths that you will go, out of your way, to meet those that are in need of intimate conversation, those that are in need of an intimate touch of your hand, a wonderful grand intimate encounter.  You knew she would be there, you knew that she would be a voice for the love she received, freely giving to those that more than likely were unworthy of her offering that day; similar to us Lord.  Yet, when we encounter You, at the well, in our deepest darkest hours, depressed, angered, frustrated, longing, thirsting, for something more than of this world, we are changed and we too should not be able to contain all that you have done in our lives.  It is said of Moses after coming down from mount Sinai and his time with God that “the skin of his face shone” and of Stephen and that those of the council “saw his face as it had been the face of an angel.”  Father, do our faces shine?  Is their light, a brilliant light, illuminating the darkness of the world we live in, emanating from us and to a world encompassed with hurt, loneliness, and hopelessness?  Do we go out of our way, freely giving of our time and our energies, looking for those you would allow to cross our paths, willingly and excitedly speaking of You?  Father forgive me for asking so many questions.  The contemplations continue, not sure really if we are able to fully comprehend the entirety of how very much You love us.

Father, there are those that read this message today, in the quiet of their surroundings, finding themselves in need of You, in need of that intimacy you so desire and in need of your presence in their lives.  Dare I ask in humility, crossing the miles of separation, time irrelevant, to meet them right now?  Would you flood the rooms where they sit, encompass them with love, unconditional, and full to its offering?  Wash over them I pray, wave after wave, and heal wounds left unattended and break the shackles of hindrance afresh from their lives.  The words of Your Son seem appropriate.  “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor, He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised.”  We love you Lord, and we “thank you” and close with this thought, uttered by King David, “What is man that you are mindful of him and the son of man that you visit him?  It is all too absolutely wonderful Father…Undone.

Daniel