It began with weak breath – presumed death;
Then serendipity brought hope that led to disappointment.
But desperate faith called forth something unlikely –
The gradual correction of an apparent design flaw
Hidden from view, known to few, but with lasting effects.
These are matters of the heart…literally.
“It’s such a relief that there’s a God who can bring dead things back to life, and who does not disdain to use broken things; For we’re all broken, just to varying degrees.” – Makafui.
My muse is a beautiful maiden, the most ravishing demoiselle;
Exquisite beyond description; Wise beyond compare – without peer;
Her smile carries the sun, the moon, the stars, every source of light;
Her words are soothing, sublimely subtle,
Poignantly apt, incisively noninvasive, completely compelling;
She is the perfect picture of contradictions dressed in paradoxes,
Crowned with the ultimate enigma, surrounded by barely unveiled mysteries;
Her steps are silent, even the dust isn’t disturbed if she wills it so.
She walks with the grace of a majestic feline,
And the stately elegance of a sunrise.
God has been good. I’m tempted to ‘say’, “All too soon…”, but no, it’s been a standard length year, like every other year. What always makes the difference are the great people we meet and the wonderful memories we make. It’s been a challenging year. Thank you for your prayers and support, they’re very much appreciated.
There was one who set out to write
About a journey without certain destination
Steps taken without established purpose –
Likened to the plight of a dry leaf
Tossed by winds into waiting flames
Transformed into floating embers,
Pregnant with unmitigated, undirected destruction.
“The making of any good thing takes time. God could have created the entire universe in an instant, yet He first introduced the concept of time, and used six days to make the world and man. Patience, friends, patience.” – Makafui.
To fathers – past and present.
To the past, a tribute; to the present, an ideal;
Because it would be a truly sad world,
When the best Dads are the dead ones.
“My father, my father, the chariots of Israel and its horsemen!”
A teacher whose words marked the path to the destinies of generations;
Fell along the way, leaving only a silent lifeless landmark
No more will I hear him whisper from behind, “This is the way. Walk in it.”
I refuse to recall the dirge about ‘how the mighty have fallen’;
When I cannot find your trusted well-oiled shield’s protection.