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Sore On My Palm

19 Jul

 

jesus hands hole with baby hand

But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.      Isaiah 53:5 (KJV)

To say that we have had windstorms this year is a gross understatement.  We are getting to know our neighbor’s eating habits from the trash we’ve had to pick up in our yard – the hazard of being the last house before the cyclone fence!

Our poor trees took a beating and their branches covered an acre of yard.  So few trees, so many branches; I suspect some are visitors from neighboring yards accompanying the trash.

I grabbed a big bucket and went about collecting branches.  The smaller ones fit nicely into the bucket, but the longer ones had to be broken.  Most snapped in half easily, but one branch hadn’t dried out completely and gave me quite a challenge.  When it finally gave it snapped in my hand and dug into my palm – yikes, that smarts!

I babied that hand for days, the loose skin fell away and it left behind a perfectly round purple mark in the center of my palm.  As I reviewed it one day it took my breath away.  For just a moment I was looking into the hand of my Savior, a hole clean through and bloodied.  A sacrifice, just for me.

I fussed at my simple gouge; the soldiers drove nails through His hands and feet.  I jump at the smallest bump, He was hung on a cross; his side pierced.  How dare me to feel sorry for myself over a scratch when He gave His life without complaint so that I could receive eternal life.

The mark stayed on my palm for weeks, a daily reminder of how much God loves me.  Scars are reminders of choices made, good or bad, and always come with lasting memories.  I wish the mark had not gone away.  Like the cross hanging around my neck, I desire the simple daily reminders of who I am in Christ; someone just like you, a child of Christ.

Thank you Lord for making me ever aware of what You have done for me.  I could never repay You.  Don’t allow me to get so caught up in everyday life to forget that everything I have, every breath I breathe, every step I take, is made possible by You.  I praise You.

 

Written by Linda J Humes

Written 6-8-2010

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The Phenomena of the American “Christian”

18 Jul

Church clip art

  For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.  For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.  John 3:16-17 

My husband and I made the decision to become foster parents.  After a year of classes and paperwork, we were blessed with two little boys, which we were allowed to adopt four years later.  To say we have been blessed by our decision is an understatement, although it has not always been easy.

When we brought these boys into our lives, we were extremely involved in church, choir, teaching, Bible study, helps and various other church activities.  The boys were thrust into a culture they never knew existed.  Being church “staff kids” meant they often spend 10 to 12 hours a day at the church in different aspects of school and ministry.  They received a “crash course” in Christianity and were excited to share this delight with the world.

It was not uncommon for them to stop perfect strangers and ask questions or give lectures of the values of “keeping the temple clean” (no smoking, drinking or drugs) (1 Corinthians 6:19-20).  Being lectured by a 3-year-old or a 5-year-old on what harm certain substances can do to your body can be amusing, irritating, condemning or all three.  Going to the grocery store or drug store was always an adventure.  Restaurants were unpredictable – they knew they had a captive audience; the waiter or waitress.

We never knew when or what they were going to say.  They held a boldness I never had when it came to their faith.  The amazing thing is, that with their wide-eyed innocence, people always answered.  That is what this is all about.  Not about the innocent questioning, it’s about the answers.

I had read that Americans consider themselves to be Christians, simply because they are Americans!  Several people responded in just that manner – “sure, I’m a Christian – I’m an American!”  but, when pinned down about which church they attended – they didn’t.  When they did, it was for Christmas, Easter and Weddings.

One young man said that he wasn’t a Christian, his mom was.  He said he was a Christian once, but he quit going to church.  He knew he needed to start going back, but he was busy.  Sunday was his sleep-in day.

One young man said he wasn’t a Christian, he was a Baptist!  And several LDS said they were Christians, even though they don’t believe Jesus is the son of God.

We met several people who were obviously into New Age, but believed they were Christians.  We even knew of people who claimed to be “white witches” who felt they were Christians.  People who attend church on Sunday and read horoscopes every day of the week.  People who pray at bedtime and call psychics during the day.  It’s the phenomena of the American “Christian.”

I, myself, spent several years in a denominational church and was never encouraged to read the Bible (2 Timothy 2:15), never told that horoscopes were forbidden (Isaiah 47:13-14), or that psychics were cursed (Leviticus 20:21).  I didn’t know “white” witchcraft was “witchcraft” trying to make itself look “good” instead of “evil” (Deuteronomy 18:10-12).  I have prayed many, many hours over this phenomena.  What is the answer?

The word of the Lord came to me “Then saith he unto his disciples, The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few; [38] Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he will send forth labourers into his harvest” (Matthew 9:37-38).  The mission field begins in our own home.  The mission field is at our front door.

Because America does not have to fight to have freedom of religion, the people don’t understand what true Christianity is.  In those countries where they lay down their lives for an hour a week to gather together in prayer and Bible study – you can believe they understand.  We dwell in a country where we know a little bit about everything – but very few know a lot about any one particular thing; especially, it seems, pure Christianity.

We, the Church, have allowed confusion, distraction, and laziness to enter into the message we were sent to share (Galatians 1:6-8).  It crept in, ever so quietly, and took its place among the once dedicated.  Now we are sent to search it out.

There in the curiosity of my two children dwelt an answer.  Where I had been content for someone to verify they were a Christian, now I knew the mission was to make sure that they knew what Christianity was and how to come to the saving grace of Christ.  It is each of our jobs to steer the confused from horoscopes to scriptures – from psychics to Jesus.

Jesus, let me always be mindful of the enemy we battle and the subtle ways he perverts the truth.  Let me not be pacified with quick answers that may leave a soul, believing they are walking righteously, in the hands of an evil curse.  Let me speak up, at my own discomfort, to bring that little lost sheep back home.

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Martyred

18 Jul

 Martyred Hand

Then he called the crowd to him along with his disciples and said: “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.  For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it.  What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?  Mark 8:34-36 (NIV)

Recently I’ve had a bout with sciatica.  I’d heard of it before, but never realized the pain that accompanied it.  It isn’t one of those “if I turn just right the pain will go away” kinds of pains, it’s one of those “no matter what I do I can barely breathe” kind of pains.

Day three was the most intense and I was collecting exercise and stretching advice from as many folks as I could.  All of the exercises helped the pain subside, some, but first thing each morning, crawling out of bed, the pain was always the worse.

Standing was the least painful, sitting was the worse, lying down took strategy . . . still haven’t quite mastered it.  I was trying to do my morning reading and devotionals and found myself walking in circles in the living room, trying to read my Bible as pain free as possible.  At one point I started yelling at Satan to let go of my body and take his pain away from me.  After a while I was praying for healing to my God.  I reminded Him of His scriptures and His stripes.  Then I heard His still small voice, “this pain is nothing compared to what many saints endure for My sake.”

Oh, my, the tortured and martyred Missionaries for Christ.  In a foreign land, tortured and kept in prisons with little food and water; often killed.  I have a home, a soft bed, a comfortable chair to sit in, food in the cupboard and clean water in the tap.  I have so much and I complain about pain.

It’s 1 am of day 5 and it’s hard to sleep.  Yes, the pain is uncomfortable, but with every pinch I think about one of those Saints.  Outside the wind is blowing, I’m safe inside, but I’m thinking about the conditions surrounding those Saints.  How could I have missed thinking about those Saints?

I don’t know, as in Job, whether God is using this affliction to test me.  I do know that it has made me aware of something that I had unintentionally closed my eyes to – the Missionaries that are tortured and martyred for Christ.  How did they endure the pain?  Was it like Stephen who felt nothing as he looked upward into the face of God as he was being stoned to death?  Or was it like Jesus who was beaten, tortured, and hung on the cross in excruciating pain, crying out to the Father, asking why He had been forsaken?

I do know this, with my awareness comes my prayers.  I may not know their individual names or locations, but my Father does.  God, I pray for your children, beaten and tortured for proclaiming You and teaching Your word.  I also pray for the souls of those that bring them harm for they know not what they do.

Jesus, let me NEVER forget.

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HOPE

18 Jul

Hopeless child

“Now hope is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1

I knew what I wanted to be from the age of 3.  Every year it changed, sometimes every month.  I had big elaborate dreams and overwhelming visions.  Some came to pass, some I let go with maturity – but I would never have been able to accomplish anything in life if I hadn’t had those dreams built on hope.

I worked in an inner-city school and had gathered a small group of children together for a state standards test.  These were the students that had been absent on the regular testing day and had to make-up the test.  One little boy, 3rd grade, 8-year-old, captured my heart.  This boy whizzed through the math, flew through the language, but when the time came for writing he sat, not moving, eyes firmly fixed on his paper.

The test allowed 45 minutes for this section.  After 30 minutes all of the other students were gone and he sat alone, staring.  When I reminded him of the time, tears began to well up in his eyes.  I asked if he had ideas of what he could write.  He shook his head “no.”  I suggested his favorite person, a hero – he didn’t have one.  What about what he wanted to be when he grew up – he didn’t know.

President?  “No.”

Astronaut?  “No.”

Movie Star?  “No.”

Sports Star?  “No.”

I suggested he write about fun times with his Mom – he did not have a memory of a fun time with his Mom. Special times spent with his Dad – he never had a special time with his Dad.  Fun or silly things he did with his pets – didn’t have a pet, never did.  A sports game he’d gone to – never been to one.  A vacation – never been on one.

With each suggestion his shoulders stooped a little farther until he almost lay on his paper.  A moment later he began to sob.  I tried to comfort him, letting him know that it was only a test and that there were no right or wrong essays, it was just his thoughts he needed to write down – it didn’t help.  I finally told him to just write who he was and that he couldn’t think of anything to write – and I silently prayed that his sentence would be long enough for them to grade.

He handed me his paper and pencil and slowly left to go back to his regular classroom, wiping his eyes and composing himself as he went.  I felt as broken as he.  I was angry with the culture.  I was angry with the school.  I was angry with the parents.  I was angry with the whole system, a system that allows 8-year-old boys to “survive” day to day in a difficult inner-city world with no hope for tomorrow.  With a culture where two parents with a limited education struggle to make a home and feed a family, but have no time to nurture the hopes and dreams inside the children.

What has happened to our culture when our children have no hope for tomorrow?  Where, Jesus, do we start?  How, Lord do we begin to show the children the very love of God that builds the hope and dreams they deserve – when God isn’t allowed in the schools?  How, Jesus, do we place into an 8-year-old child a dream to be the President, an astronaut, to be a parent and raise a family – a desire to LIVE for tomorrow?

Lord Jesus, forgive us our sins of not seeing those, most precious in your sight, laying waste in a life of “getting by.”

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Faces of Hopelessness

11 Jul

Inmates Praying

For we through the Spirit wait for the hope of righteousness by faith.  Galatians 5:5 (KJV)

At Christmas our ministry sends Christmas cards to the 100+ active inmates and the many released inmates and families.  Arizona Department of Corrections moves inmates frequently between yards and has recently made the decision not to forward mail to inmates that have been moved to different yards.  Thankfully, ADOC provides an inmate database for friends and families to monitor their loved ones.

When I receive the cards back I pull out my spreadsheet and mark moves and releases.  Making these changes started out to be fairly mechanical, but it didn’t finish that way.  Not at all.

Each time I pulled up an inmate’s page a photo displayed haunting photos.  Picture after picture displayed; angry and aggressive pictures, pictures of men with eyes swollen shut, stitches, lips split; and pictures of men who eyes said:

“How did I get here?”

“What do I do?”

“I’m scared.”

“Help me!”

They were the faces of hopelessness.  Faces wondering if anyone cared, if anyone saw, if anyone heard.

I have always prayed over every card and letter sent to these inmates, praying that Jesus would hold them, draw them close, give them peace.  Jesus, the only answer in a place of fear and hopelessness, the only peace when there is confusion and insanity all around.

Every inmate was sent a Bible, and if they wanted, several study books to learn more about Jesus.  Several of the inmates started “God Squads” in their pods to encourage, learn and find hope.  A little light in the darkness.  A little hope to displace the hopelessness.

Lord, let me always speak Your words when writing to your children, that they will always see and hear You in the worse of circumstances.  Amen.

By Linda J. Humes
Written 12/29/2009
**The Road To Emmaus”

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Daughter of Zion

11 Jul

 

woman-bowing-down-prayer

Micah 4:8-10  And thou, O tower of the flock, the strong hold of the daughter of Zion, unto thee shall it come, even the first dominion; the kingdom shall come to the daughter of Jerusalem. [9] Now why dost thou cry out aloud? is there no king in thee? is thy counsellor perished? for pangs have taken thee as a woman in travail. [10] Be in pain, and labour to bring forth, O daughter of Zion, like a woman in travail: for now shalt thou go forth out of the city, and thou shalt dwell in the field, and thou shalt go even to Babylon; there shalt thou be delivered; there the Lord shall redeem thee from the hand of thine enemies. . . . . [13]  Arise and thresh, O daughter of Zion: for I will make thine horn iron, and I will make thy hoofs brass: and thou shalt beat in pieces many people: and I will consecrate their gain unto the Lord, and their substance unto the Lord of the whole earth.

 

Why do you weep,

Daughter of Zion?

Have you forgotten who you are?

At the hem of your garment,

Cling the children of Israel,

Dare they see your tears?

 

Why do you cry out,

Daughter of Zion?

Your voice was created,

To put your enemy,

In his place,

Beneath your feet,

Far from the children,

You protect.

 

Let your tears be saved,

For intercession,

And your crying out,

To birth a new mission,

That your children,

Will take forth.

 

Forget not that you are birthed,

Of royalty.

A king and a priest.

Stand your station,

And raise your head high.

 

Forget not that you were birthed,

To counsel.

Prepared to call forth,

The promises and armies,

Of God.

 

Reclaim the territory,

Stolen by the enemy,

The cities and the lands,

That once were a testimony,

To the One true God.

 

Stand in faith,

And watch the evil,

Slither away,

As the hand of the Lord,

Forbids its sting.

 

Stand up,

Daughter of Zion,

With dignity

And righteous pride,

For what is yours.

 

Don’t let the momentary pain,

The enemy has wrought,

Overcome the truth,

Of who you are.

 

Stand up,

Daughter of Zion.

For into your hand,

Have I placed the hope,

Of the Nations.

 

Stand Up!

 

 

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FRESH BEGINNINGS

20 Mar

coffee cup and hands

A Song of degrees.  I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. [2] My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. Psalm 121:1-2

I love my morning cup of coffee.  Nothing fluffy or sweet or blended, just fresh ground, brewed coffee.  I claimed it as my last vice, until recently that is.

Having food allergies, all of my fun food was disappearing – one item at a time (bummer).  People were always curious at my unusual diet and would inquire at my ability to stick with it.  “It’s easy,” I’d reply, “I still have my morning coffee to look forward to.”

Well!  Pride goes before the fall and it wasn’t too long after that the doctor removed my coffee.  I pled, rationalized and begged – to no avail.  Coffee was out!

I went before the Lord and “Pitched a Fit.”  I’m so grateful that my Jesus is patient and understanding of me.  “What is it that you so enjoy about your cup of coffee,” He asked me.

“The aroma,” I said.  “The feel of the warm cup nestled between my hands.  The minutes I get to blow a cooling breath across the top while sipping the robust drink.  The moments I get alone, enjoying the morning and reflecting on the goodness of God.”

A smile touched my lips and my sorrow faded.  It wasn’t the cup of coffee I missed – it was the fellowship and tender times with God that I was afraid of losing.  The aroma of a fresh morning, the grass wet with dew.  The warmth inside that He spreads, from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet.  The cooling breath of God as a breeze caresses my cheek.  Sipping of His goodness – if only for a few minutes before my day begins.

Lord, let me never loose touch with what the true meaning is, of everything I do.  Let me release the ritual and enter directly into your presence – with praise and thanksgiving and joy.

 

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The Music of Life

7 Feb

 

music of nature

“For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.”      Isaiah 55:12 (KJV)

I recently watched a movie called August Rush.  It was a delightful story about a young boy, given up to an orphanage as a newborn, who grew up in the orphanage hoping and believing that one day he would find his parents.

The unique thing about this young boy was that he could hear the music of life.  Everywhere he was he heard music; the music of the tree leaves moving in the wind, the music of the grass in a breeze, the music of the water in a brook, the music of a fan turning, the sound of a bus starting and braking in traffic, the cars moving in rhythm to the traffic lights; music – everywhere.  I thought I was the only one!!

I have a difficult time keeping track of the time of day.  I surround myself with clocks to help me stay on task.  Each clock has its own unique tick and movement.  As I sit here writing, there is a beautiful clock above my monitor, pink roses surrounding the numbers, making a loud rhythmic sound.  I can hear music in my head that encompasses that beat and enhances that tick.  Not a song that I’ve heard before, or one that can be sung, but a tune to be hummed and explored.

Outside there is an explosion of music.  I live far out of town and the birds, each species, has their own distinct sound, pitch and rhythm when they call, fly or perch.  The insects have their own sound (especially the mosquitos).  Walking on the ground has its own sound.  The beat and tone of a gentle rain, and the loud and specific crash of heavy rain.  The sound and beat of the waves hitting the shore, some peaceful and gentle, while others loud and angry.  The crisp and shocking sound of thunder.  The light tapping of the hens pecking at their food and the smooth hum of a generator running in the distance.  It all has its own sound.  The wind, gentle or at gale force, has a specific and unique sound, rising and falling, rising and falling.  All of these sounds blend together into a wonderful symphony of musicians calling to God with their joy, exclaiming His glory!

God made everything to sing its own story to everyone and everything around.

Thou crownest the year with thy goodness; and thy paths drop fatness.  They drop upon the pastures of the wilderness: and the little hills rejoice on every side.  The pastures are clothed with flocks; the valleys also are covered over with corn; they shout for joy, they also sing.   Psalm 65:11-13

God used some of those songs to bring joy to us, His children.

The words of a man’s mouth are deep waters; the fountain of wisdom is a bubbling brook.   Proverbs 18:4

God also uses these sounds and songs to warn His people of danger or when to wait for His signal before going forward.

And let it be, when thou hearest the sound of a going in the tops of the mulberry trees, that then thou shalt bestir thyself: for then shall the LORD go out before thee, to smite the host of the Philistines.   2 Samuel 5:24

He made a complex and intricate rhythm to every aspect of earth and man, creating a beautiful and perfect harmon, if we would only spend time listening.  Listening, something we take so little time to do, especially if it doesn’t advance forward our day.  Listening, not just hearing, not just being present – Listening.

God gave us this amazing and miraculous life filled with music and beauty and wonderful other people.  He could force us to slow down and listen, but it would not hold the incredible enjoyment of experiencing it out of true worship.

Let the floods clap their hands: let the hills be joyful together.   Psalm 98:8

I challenge you to turn off the noise and listen for the music.  Walk outside in the early morning or late night and listen to the birds and insects singing.  The trees will rustle in the cool breeze.  There will be a rhythm of the vehicles traveling nearby.  Footsteps on a walk will have a beat all of their own; unique.  Your own heartbeat and breathing pattern sings in unison with each other.  Can you hear it?  Even when we don’t listen, they sing.  They offer up their worship to God when they are being completely ignored by everyone on earth.  They sing, in their own special sound, their own special beat, their own special pitch; they sing.  It is time to join them.  Sing!

Thank you God for allowing us to hear the perfect music created by and dedicated to You.  Help us to hear this, Your wonderful and excellent gift.

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The Effects of Our Consequences

30 Jan

Dominoes

“And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it; or one member be honoured, all the members rejoice with it.  Now ye are the body of Christ, and members in particular.” 1 Corinthians 12:26-27 (KJV)

Behavior – Consequence – Effect

We make choices every day; good choices, bad choices, inconsequential choices – just choices, or so we think.  “I’ll do what I want, it’s my life.”  I’ll do what I want, it’s my body.” It is your life, it is your body, but it is not a separate and disconnected entity.

Drugs, alcohol, sex, violence, thrill seeking, the momentary pleasures that grasp a life and start a domino chain of destruction that spider webs into the lives of countless people you never even consider.  Then there’s suicide, the final decision a person makes that they feel will end the pain in their life, and in that moment of final silence, it devastates tens, hundreds, maybe even thousands of people.

Choices.  Addictions.  What happens to the person caught in the addiction trap?  At first it may be fun, pleasurable, then consuming, overwhelming, controlling, and then . . . . . our choices lead to consequences.

People begin to avoid you, your work product begins to fail, if you ever get up and go into work.  Your family, as much as they love you, begins to avoid you.  Spouses leave, keeping you from being with your children.  Your friends, who have always been there for you, refuse to talk to you.  Those who completely trusted you are no longer there.  The respect you had earned disappeared.  Still you spiral down and down and it’s everyone else’s fault, so you say.

If you are fortunate enough to be stopped by law enforcement and given the chance to get clean of those addiction, given another chance at life, given another chance of proving you can be that original amazing person, it will take years.  Years incarcerated, years working twice as hard as others to earn back the trust, the respect, the joy of reuniting with friends and family.

As you fight to regain back what you once had, do you see the effects of your consequences on others?  Do you recognize the emotional battle your family and friends fought as they watched you fail, struggle, grow, fail, struggle, grow?  Do you see their tears and the guilt they feel, wondering if there was something that they could have done to have kept it all from happening?  Do you see the money and time and emotion spent every month to be sure that you have a way to stay in touch and have a few treats.  Do you recognize the nights they spend in prayer and tears, hoping and believing that when this part of your journey has completed that you will find your restoration and not be tempted to give up the struggle to fight back to wholeness and fall back into the temptation of an old lifestyle.

I suspect that you may recognize the consequences of your behaviors, but have you taken the time to understand the wide spread effects of your consequences on so very many others?  Family.  Friends. The kid next door.  Co-workers.  Police Officers.  EMTS.  Nurses.  Prison Guards.  The person who found you near death, or worse, dead.  The person you hurt in a violent rage.  The person you killed in a car accident you don’t even remember having.  The person you stole a precious family heirloom from, to sell for that next “fix.”  The person you pulled into you addiction whose life is following your same path now.

Please hear my heart, in love.  Lord please let my words change the path of someone, many someones, who do not recognize what the consequences of their actions could be, and what the effects of those circumstances will be.  Turn them back.

Behavior  –  Consequence  –  Effect

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In The Gap

13 Nov

 

Angel with Censer

“And he stood between the dead and the living;

and the plague was stayed.”     Numbers 16:48

—-

I stand in the summer of my life,

weighing and balancing

yesterday and tomorrow.

—-

I have made a choice,

I have taken my stand

  on the firm foundation of truth.

—-

Yesterday’s worldly decisions haunt and torment me,

calling out from behind the veil of blood,

that separates me from a deadly past.

—-

The Spirit of God allows me to remember,

Burdening my heart for the souls left behind.

My eyes don’t want to see them,

my ears don’t want to hear them,

for what they are,

I once was.

—-

But the Spirit calls me to them,

to pray.

—-

I fill my censer with sweet incense,

   lighting the fragrance from the fire

 of the altar of sacrifice.

—-

I step into the land of giants,

  the essence of God in my hand,

the words of God in my mouth.

—-

My soul trembles, my heart breaks,

as I look into the empty, hollow eyes

of the children.

—-

 Who will help them to choose?

—-

There to the right is the goodness of God.

There is mercy and grace,

peace and rest.

—-

  This is the life I have chosen to share.

There at the left are the quick and simple pleasures,

received at a price,

packaged so elegantly, temptingly, deceivingly.

—-

Snares so easily fallen into.

My prayers cry out,

praying the lost away from temptation.

—-

My testimony gives them hope,

  I am proof that there is a way out.

The fragrance of intercession

strengthens the fire in the censor.

The wings of angels gently move the aroma

through the crowd.

—-

For a moment they turn and look.

For a moment they taste the sweetness of the manna

that is laid before them.

For a moment the lure of sin is stopped.

For some it will only take that one moment

to recognize and follow the truth.

For some it may take two or three glimpses

to birth their testimony.

—-

Yet, for others, it may take moment after moment after moment

to break the generational curses

 that have trapped them on the path of destruction.

—-

There, in the fields of the land of the giants,

I lay down my life,

as a living sacrifice,

  daily standing in the gap,

  between the living and the dead.

—-

There will I stand again tomorrow,

my censer lit,

 my prayers rising up,

as a sweet sacrifice to heaven.

There, in intercession, will I stand,

turning as many eyes as the Spirit can touch,

to the right.

—-

         Believing that every seed planted will root and grow.

 Believing in the resurrecting power,

from death to life,

       that rests in the anointing.

Believing that the eternal plague can be stayed,

     by the strength of my faith.

—-

I can not stop my sacred vigil,

for the fear rests in my soul,

that in any moment of disconcert,

I might miss one child

that might have looked.

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