Part 1
Let’s be real for a second. I could use a beer. Well, no, actually that would be nice, but a tall glass of American made Whisky swirling around in a heavy glass with a few titanic sinking icebergs sounds more appealing. Maybe that too, after a beer and a long, uninterrupted gaze into the woods from a porch swing set amongst a stand of whispering Aspens, Blue Spruce spearing out above their greenish golden tops in the distance and a pipe smoldering in my hands. Solitude. Dear Lord in Heaven above, I need you. I need your embrace. I need your heart. Take mine away. Throw it into the vastness of the ocean deep and plant your new heart in the gaping hole of my chest. Give me life again God. Give me breath. Give me a drink of your well. I need it again today, as I needed it yesterday and will most assuredly need it again tomorrow. Father, please hear my tearless cry.
My wife is a f@#*ing mess. Well, her and me. Okay, yes, mostly me. She’s an angel, but so were demons once, you know. She’s there, in the middle, trying to make up her mind if she’s going to be the unwavering beacon of light and hope she usually is or if she’s going to fly away, far far away and watch the whole thing burn in a blaze of trauma induced rage. She’s genuinely the most loving human I’ve ever known, which is dangerous when you realize that it’s love, not hate that causes war and murder.
Love will make you kill faster than hate, I guess in some sense you could say that hate is simply the inverse of love, not the opposite, just the perfectly coordinated and personalized shadow of love. Is there really any value to love that is incapable of hating that which attacks its object? No, it seems we have the whole thing twisted up a bit. When God says to hate that which He hates, we get squirmy, but yea, he loves us and yea, he absolutely hates us too. He should, She should, Maybe I should, I don’t know, but I do.
What about when the thing that seeks to undermine the thing you love, is itself the thing. She is my love and she is her own worst enemy. She feels the same about me of course. They did not talk about this is church. Well, here it is. Take a seat, grab whatever you need to and let’s go. I need to figure this out, like now.
Our lives are no longer are own, you see. We’ve sold our souls. But no, not to the devil. There will be no gold record here. We sold em to the one whome the Devil fears. The Fire and Brimstone falling from the heavens, scorching the Earth and turning the Nile to Blood One. He is our King. He is jealous. He is good. He has given me Himself. He bore my sins. He paid my debt, which makes me a slave. I am a slave. I am a slave of righteousness, a slave of his Way, a slave to Grace and this is no easy road. The world is marching to a pit of fire and He’s asked me to help some, kinda like that starfish story on the beach. Throw one back into the truth, then another. Rescue the broken-hearted and care for the poor sounds heroic. He says Be the broken-hearted. Be the poor. Suffer well. So, Praise God, from whome all blessings flow. Praise Him here below. Praise Him you heavenly host. Praise Him, you miserable wretch.
ascent du jour 