Pass Through the Midst of It

We ran down that dry creek all together,
Never slowing, never looking back,
The lawman on our heels.
The woods were still at war –
Blood spilt everywhere
And wildfire rising on both our sides.
When my sister screamed from terror,
I sang a psalm of David.
The Red Sea he divided;
The children of Israel made
To pass through the midst of it.
His kindness endures forever.

_______________________________
Psalm 136

I've Been Hurting

When I was younger

I turned my face away

From God’s sweet children

When they called my name

And I, yes, it was I

That left them crying

In a world that made them so afraid.

Oh, who could live with such shame?

But the Lord is mercy

And He showed me grace.

I am not perfect, I am not the One,

And I've got no excuse, not a single one

Yes, it’s true. I was hiding, lost; on the run. 

Yes, it’s true. I've been hurting; now I’m done.

I knew a young girl

That learned my face well;

From her sweet memory

She sketched my laugh lines.

But I, yes, it was I

That just left her falling

On a worried dead-end lifeline.

Oh, who could live with such shame?

But the Lord is mercy

And He showed me grace.

No, I ain’t perfect, I am not the One,

And I’ve got no excuse, not a single one.

Yes, it’s true. I was hiding, lost; on the run.

Yes, it’s true. I’ve been hurting; now I’m done.

I've earned the fate

That’s meant for hard ones -

Album without a photo,

A book without my name.

For I, yes, it was I

That left His love standing

Alone in the darkness, cold and rain.

Oh, how can I live with this shame?

But the Lord is mercy

And He showed me grace.

I am not perfect, I am not the One.

Yes, it’s true. I was hiding, lost; on the run

Yes, it’s true. I've been hurting; now I’m done.

No, I ain't perfect, I am not the One.

Yes, it’s true. I've been hurting, but now I am done.

________________________________________

November 8, 2014

Not Getting Any Younger

I’m going to take the pickup;
Go for a drive by your old place.
I been sitting here waiting up,
And it’s starting to look like a waste of time.
I can’t wait forever - don’t expect me to-
You know I ain’t getting any younger.

When are you coming home?
I been watching out the window
For your lights to shine down the road
But it sure is dark right now.
Now there has been some hope, it’s true.
A neighbor here and there drove by
And your mailbox shined.
But I can tell so early –
when they’ve barely made the turn-
That it ain’t you.
And I give up again.
I give up again.

When are you coming home?
I can’t wait forever - don’t expect me to-
You know I ain’t getting any younger.

I’m not getting any younger.
Not getting younger-
Getting older every day.
And I’m tired of waiting by the window
For you to show up.

I’m going to get in the old pickup
And go for a drive.

_________________________________________

How long, O LORD? Will you hide yourself forever? How long will your wrath burn like fire? Remember how short my time is! For what vanity you have created all the children of man! What man can live and never see death? Who can deliver his soul from the power of Sheol? Selah Lord, where is your steadfast love of old, which by your faithfulness you swore to David? (Psalm 89:46-49 ESV)

Bless You

May the Spirit lift your soul;
 Turn your face to the heavens.
May the Lord tilt his head,
 Turn his face to yours,
And smile.

Bless you.
Oh, bless you.
God bless you.

May the Christ raise himself
 And call you to your cross.
May the Lord tilt his head,
 Turn his face to you,
And smile.

Bless you.
Oh, bless you.
God bless you.

Bless you.
Bless you.
Bless you.

_________________________________________
Numbers 6:24-26, Psalm 86; Romans,

Quiet Earth

I slept late. I flip the tent fly back and look out.  The sun is cresting the lower hills and the meadow below us is already glistening with a light frost.  The stream and the sky are blue and clear. I see the water flowing shallow at the crossing.

The earth is quiet now and the heavens are hushed.  The world is waiting its turn.

They are too far away for my poor hearing. I can see that the kids are laughing and talking as they lower the bear bag. Our food is hung on the outstretched limb of a tall gray-black tree that stands on a little rise overlooking the creek bank. That big dead tree is a widow-maker. It’s the best we could do before the darkness overtook us.

In the distance, the mountain’s shadow is carefully working its way back down to the trailhead. A light wind starts at the lake and heads back the other direction. It’s fluttering through the upper valley, gently brushing the tall grasses here and there on its way to the ridge that marks the divide above. A breeze touches the canopy directly over my head. There is barely a whisper from the forest.  Leaves are starting to fall around the edges of our campsite.

The mountain is breathing soft and slow.  The high country is waiting its turn.

The young folks return to camp by different paths. That’s how they were taught.  In just a little while, the morning dew will burn away and the grass will lift its head again. Then there will be no trace that the children ever waded knee-deep through these pastures.

Now I can hear their voices. Each is distinct.  The oldest is telling a story. The one carrying the food is singing.  And they are being so loud!  Praise God.

_____________________________________________

As he was drawing near—already on the way down the Mount of Olives—the whole multitude of his disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen, saying, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!” And some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.” (Luke 19:37-40 ESV)

Broken Pieces

I remember when you sat with us. We laughed some at your stories. I know we will need them on our way, those little stories. God bless these little stories.

God bless these little stories.

Bless them, Lord, every one.

God bless these little stories.

Lord, bless them, the simplest ones.

Thank you for the bread you shared with us. We left some broken pieces. I hope they can feed some other folks, these broken pieces.  God bless these broken pieces.

God bless these broken pieces.

Bless them, Lord, every one.

God bless these broken pieces.

Lord, bless them, the smallest ones.

*******************

And when David had finished offering the burnt offerings and the peace offerings, he blessed the people in the name of the LORD of hosts and distributed among all the people, the whole multitude of Israel, both men and women, a cake of bread, a portion of meat, and a cake of raisins to each one. Then all the people departed, each to his house. (2 Samuel 6:18-19 ESV)

And taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven and said a blessing over them. Then he broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples to set before the crowd. And they all ate and were satisfied. And what was left over was picked up, twelve baskets of broken pieces. (Luke 9:16-17 ESV)

Vinyl Interlude

The moonlight, it carries me

Along a walk, once beside a stranded sea
To a lovers’ park and a lonely oak and wrought iron bench
That waits so patiently
Beneath love’s sheltering tree
For this very evening – these trembling two -
To freely share a single moment of their life
And so briefly join the passing silhouette
Of a summer evening

I am listening, tonight, all alone,
To a song written so long ago
A song of moonlight and timid stars that hide;
A song of passersby that laugh aloud and dance
And lark about - all to mislead trailing love,
And cheat romance of their broken hearts;
A song of tiny tears of joy that find their way
Beneath dry masks
And fall softly in the stillness

I am listening, for a pause-
A vinyl interlude, a kind, subtle kiss that I know
Will not empty, for even now it is being filled with meaning;
Like the rustling of fresh sheets, the shuffling of a few notes,
This sound is just a whisper, a simple temporal susurration
That will not be missed in a world where the needle
Is forbid to touch
Time’s dusty record in that tiny interval, so very brief,
That separates the words of love spoken
In the moonlight

                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

Inspired by the poetry of Paul Verlaine and the music of Claude Debussy 

and a special evening with the beauty who is now my wife

I recommend you listen to this while reading:
Clair de Lune

At the End

At the end of a long, moldy stinking night in Wichita Falls, a double-pane distorted clerk said, “You’re free to go. Your dad is paying your bail.”  Acting like a man, I said, “I’ll pay it myself.”  

Coming from behind me, from beyond my field of vision, Dad took a step toward the counter. Without raising my head or turning around I could feel a dangerous posture - his back was straight and his arms were crossed.  His voice turning beet red, he said, “I've already paid it.”  I shut my mouth.

The Comb

Wisdom, the first-daughter of God whom some call Reason, works obediently alongside the Father to tend Creation. She protects and instructs his children and her joyful service-song gives them courage for the day. One of the Wanderers, slowly ascending the switch-backs that climb to the Pass, pauses on his trek – compelled to listen. Meanwhile a wild-child runs circles around her kind handmaid, throwing dust into the sky and breaking down the furrows. But when the time comes, calm Reason gently captures the little one, draws polished-ivory Order from her apron, and patiently combs the tangled locks of Chaos. She must prepare the girl for her new-name Christening for it is Cosmos that will be invited to the wedding. 

______________________

Proverbs 8:22-31

Cigarettes, Candy, Jam and Peanuts

Dear Brother,

I am glad you received my letter. It was certainly good to hear from you as well. Mother has kept all your letters. She is doing fine now, but she was sure worried about you for a time. She was so happy you went to church for Easter. She knew you would like it. When she read your last letter, she said, “Well…I always knew Son was a good boy.” She sent you a package with the things you requested – cigarettes, candy, jam and peanuts.  Perhaps it will catch up with you soon.

Cousin Bess told Mother that you wrote that you were in the big invasion. Were you at Omaha? What was it like to see combat? France sounds very nice – a beautiful country with pretty girls. I’d like to see it. Dad is doing fine now too. He wanted me to ask you - did you get to see St. Lo?  I read that St. Lo was named after a fellow who healed the blind and that pilgrims still visit a healing spring in the town where he was born.  Perhaps someday, when I am a little older, I will come join you there.  I will bring you more cigarettes, candy, jam and peanuts and we will go visit that healing spring together.

We are very proud of you, Brother.

Lots of love,

James

__________________________________

Written - June 6, 2014

I wrote this "letter" on behalf of my Dad in remembrance of his brother, Marshall Wade DeLong, and in honor of the 70th anniversary of D-Day. This letter was inspired by reading Dad’s collection of letters and V-MAIL postcards (Victory Mail) between Marshall Wade and the extended family.

Pardon this Meagre Heart

The Friar speaks:

 “Love moderately. Long love doth so.

Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.”

…And receiving such gift late, wilt thou, friend 

Endure the Wait and pardon this meagre heart?

For love in me held back - eternity, contained!-

Has life’s red reserve brought full to spill its art;

A wasteland fed and lonely days unstained.

Per Vicki’s request – for Dakota McCarty

Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 6 [Friar Laurence’s cell]

Restore

The river starts in the winter when the hills trap snow in holes, pits and shallow shadowy prisons. When the nights are still long - as long as they can possibly be - a voice cries “Restore!” and the mountain responds. 

The icy caverns are opened and the hidden water-blessings interned there climb quickly parapets of polished stone to fall white and true into the freedom of new days.  Always falling, flowing down, the stream is refreshed by simple sunshine and fresh forest breezes and is filtered sweet by the humble highland grasses that grow in the grey-white gravel that edges the creek banks.  

And, gathering in rocky pools where the trout can swim and the sparrows drink, the waters pause just a little while to enjoy the life within them and the lives they enrich. For when the spring rains come, the river basin fills and the waters run full and wild down the valley and out into the world – the way they are meant to go.  

And when the days get long – as long as they can possibly be - the river relaxes; its headwaters curl up in the alpine wetlands and the stream peeks out over the granite ledges to gaze at the wildflowers that decorate the high meadows. 

This river rests but is never still.  It is always bringing water to the thirsty.

_________________

Isaiah 41 and 42.

May 7, 2014

Just Caught the End of It

April 15, 2014

There was an eclipse tonight-

The earth covered the moon

A friend took a picture.

I went outside in the cold.

The neighbors turned on the porch light

And then came out too.

The light went out, thank God.

We watched the earth cross over together,

We neighbors – just across the fence strangers –

Just caught the end of it.

The moon was full tonight-

She was sure optimistic.

But the earth covered her

On the inside of her soul.

She labored to carry on the parsed light

Around the edge to me.

The light went out, thank God!

We watched the earth cross over together,

We brothers; just across our town sisters –

Just caught the end of it.

_____________________________

Happy Birthday, Mom.

April 19, 1932

I Forgot That Love Existed - Lost Verses

"I Forgot That Love Existed" – Van Morrison

I forgot that love existed troubled in my mind.

Heartache after heartache, worried all the time.

I forgot that love existed

Then I saw the light

Everyone around me make everything alright.

Oh, oh Socrates and Plato they

Praised it to the skies.

Anyone who's ever loved

Everyone who's ever tried.

If my heart could do my thinking

And my head begin to feel

I would look upon the world anew

And know what's truly real.

************

"Lost Verses"

How could I forget? My memory is so bad…so bad.

Memory after memory, memories should be mine

I forgot that love existed

Then I knew the light

Everywhere reminds me that everything’s alright.

Go, so all these awaiting may

Raise it to their eyes.

Anyone who’s ever lost it

Everyone who’s ever cried.

If my heart could do my thinking

And my head begin to feel

I would look upon these passions new

And remember they’re real.

__________________________________________________

Lost Verses written April 3-6, 2014

When I heard and read the original lyrics to Van Morrison's beautiful song, the phrase "How could I forget?" came to my mind and I realized that that I had a few verses in me.  It's beyond arrogant to add to or revise a real work of art. Perhaps this is my "Ecce Homo" moment. My apologies to Mr. Morrison. 

On the Shoulder

I awoke on the shoulder, shaking- another tragedy narrowly avoided; another untimely ending over; another eternal beginning unconsummated.

I arose from the recliner and went in to the kitchen to make coffee.

_____________________

March 15, 2019

Turn Around

The sun is setting, another long day

And I’m still sitting in the same place

Waiting for the closing bell to ring,

But I can’t help feeling

I’m never going to hear a thing

As long as I keep facing this way.

I’m facing the wrong way

Looking out the back door

When you’re walking out the front-

Walking out the front door

Before I can do a thing.

But I can turn around, Baby.

Baby, I can turn around.

I can turn it around.

And the shutters block the western heat

But the shadows burn the floor.

We can’t see the other’s eyes

So we talk like nothing’s wrong-

We live like we’re alone.

I was thinking it had been a long time

Since we lived like we meant it, we've been

Thinking it’s always the wrong time,

But I can’t help feeling

We’re never going to mean anything

As long as we keep thinking this way.

We’re thinking the wrong way

Hanging on the dark words

When we could be talking in the light-

Talking in the light, now-

Baby, we can’t do this thing.

But we can turn around, Baby.

Baby, we can turn around.

We can turn it around.

Baby, we can do this thing.

___________________________________

March 5, 2014

Open Up the Doors for Makenna

Here’s the church, here’s the steeple

Open up the doors and see all the people

                                          

She was little when she heard the story

She was bitty, head high to Bodi dog,

When her father put her hands together

And her mother sang the song.

Here’s the church, here’s the steeple

Open up the doors and see all the people

Here's the parson going upstairs,

And here he is saying his prayers.

She was ready, once she heard His story,

For His pity, His dying for the dogs,

So she gathered all her friends together,

And the Spirit sang the songs.

Here’s the church, here’s the steeple

Open up the doors and see all the people

Close the doors and let them pray

Open the doors and they have all gone away

She made the people around her happy

She, not so much, just praying for a day

When her faith would pull her life together

And her troubles - drive away.

But sometimes life just doesn’t work that way,

There’s more to it than that - and sometimes less;

Good friends will spend their best days together

Even when their best nights are an awful mess.

She did.

Here’s the church, here’s the steeple

Open up the doors and see all the people

Then one day she saw herself so plainly,

A child of God, undisguised, bare and bald;

She was seeing in the mirror dimly

Before she even turned twenty years old

In dark glass she saw the Artist’s delight,

Not in the smiling face the world expects,

But in the scars that held her life together -

Endless love hanging ‘round her neck.

Here’s the church, here’s the steeple

Open up the doors and see all the people

Close the doors and let them pray

Open the doors and they have all gone away

She went to the church and she looked inside

She saw pianos, organs, and a choir

She heard the angels all sing together

And she knew that He was there.

She never looked back, she just ran ahead

Into her life like a kid at the fair;

The saints were there, they all sang together;

She saw His heaven there.

She did.

Here’s the church, here’s the steeple

Open up the doors and see all the people

________________________________________________

Based on Testimony by Makenna Loerwald

(http://butwehadheart.wordpress.com/my-story/testimony/)

James A. DeLong

February 19, 2014

What Can Flesh Do to Me (Psalm 56)

March 2, 2014 - This is a song based on Psalm 56 (ESV); really just a personalized version of the Psalm.

Be kind to me, O God, Be kind to me

For a Man is stepping hard down on me.

All day long there’s a bad man pressing me,

Pressing me, all day long

He’s oppressing me, pushing down on me.

He’s a proud One, this one stepping on me;

He’s not alone – no, more than one is after me.

O Lord, O Lord, they want me dead.

But

When I am afraid,

I put my trust in you.

In God, in God, whose word I praise,

In God I trust; I won’t be afraid.

What can flesh do to me?

What can flesh do to me?

All day long they torture me – all day long

They think of naught but how to do me wrong-

Nothing’s in their minds but doing wrong –

Doing wrong in their minds,

They stir up trouble, hanging around my town,

Watching where I’m going, waiting ‘til I’m gone,

They’re out to get me and I know it can’t be long

O Lord, O Lord, they want my life.

Are you going to let them do this?

Let them take me and go?

I know you love justice, so

You will stop them, I know –

I know.

But

When I am afraid,

I put my trust in you.

In God, in God, whose word I praise,

In God I trust; I won’t be afraid.

What can flesh do to me?

What can flesh do to me?

Oh Lord, you have kept count of my tossings;

You kept track of my wanderings, all my crossings;

You put my tears in your bottle when I wept;

When I wept in the desert

You dropped my tears into the jar that you kept

Inside my heart – you count them in your book.

Please now check the record, just check your book

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, please find my name.

Yes, Lord! Find my name in your book!

And when you do,

Please open me up, pour them all out –

These tears you held so close;

Recount them all, cry Misery aloud,

And my fears - just let them go,

For my enemies will turn back

In the day when I call you,

You will surely stop this sore attack!

But

This I know,

That God is for me.

In God, whose word I praise,

In the Lord, whose word I praise,

In God I trust; I won’t be afraid.

What can man do to me?

What can man do to me?

So dear God, I will keep my vows to you;

Oh Lord, I give you all my thanks, for you

Have delivered my soul from death – yes you,

Yes you alone

Kept my feet from falling that I might too

Walk with God in the light of life, and soon

I will have no reason to worry. It’s true!

Oh Lord, you won’t let me die.

And

When I am afraid,

I put my trust in you.

In God, in God, whose word I praise,

In God I trust; I won’t be afraid.

What can flesh do to me?

What can flesh do to me?

Cheezy Stick Ponytails

Charlie can’t sit real still

She can’t handle the comb

Pulling out her little hair

But I can’t either, still.

Why do folks even care?

Little girl don’t like the time

It takes to get things straight.

Pulling out her shiny hair is

Just not her favorite pastime.

No need to feel embarrassed

About that.

Yes, she don’t like that big old chair

Can’t stand the old hard back-

Breaking little bones, little shoulders-

And pulling out her dark black hair.

Can someone please just hold her?

Please, sometimes?

Little girl is crying there

She just can’t much understand-

Just can’t stand that mean old brush

Pulling out her pretty, pretty hair.

Why do mornings hurt so much?

Every one.

But Mommy’s found a trick

To settle her little baby down-

Just a little patience, a little smile,

A little girl with a cheese stick,

And before you know it,

Little Charlie’s got her own

 Pretty little ponytails.

For Charlotte and some other little girls I know

Be Everywhere

I can’t be everywhere; there’s just too many places

Too many things to do, too many waiting faces

And still I’d love to be there with you right now,

Holding your hand;

Touching your face,

But there are just too many things left to do now–

It’s just so much.

And I can’t be everywhere

They tell me, I know it’s true

But I wish I could just be there

Now, with you.

I can’t be everywhere; I know you never asked me

But any time I’m away – that’s all the time it seems-

I feel like there’s got to be a way to you somehow-

To touch your hand;

To kiss your face,

But there are just so many miles between us now–

It’s just so far.

And I can’t be everywhere

They tell me, I know it’s true

But I just wish I could be there

Now, with you.

I can’t be everywhere; I know I’m not meant to

You don’t even need me to do anything for you

But still, I’d like to be there with you – right now

Kissing your hands;

Holding your face;

But there are just so many hours in the day now-

They’re just so long.

And I can’t be everywhere,

You tell me, I know it’s true

But I just wish I could be there-

Yes, I wish I could be there

Now, with you.

Someday I’ll be there

With you-

I promise, someday

I’ll be there

With you-

Yes,

With you.

Just you.

Dumpty is Sitting

I’ve been asking for some help, for a hand up,

But as I sit here in the pit, waiting on someone to show up

I start thinking, “What point is this, this silly futility?

Is there any blessed utility in me being up there, on top?”

Because if I’m all alone up there, it’s just a higher place –

A much, much higher place - from which I can fall.

           

So, look down here, Love, at the base of the wall,

Dumpty is sitting, so afraid of it all, crying

 “Love, pick me up, fix me up, wrap me up too,

But please, you got to, if I get out, you got to-

Please, don’t forget to-

Bring me...send me…deliver me, Love, to you.”

I’ve been looking for some hope, for a heads up,

But as I sit here in the dark, wanting for some things to look up

I start wondering, “What sense is this, it’s really insanity-

Is there any blessed sanity- in looking out there, to hope?”

Because if I’m on my on out there, hope is just a smiling face –

A sad, sad smiling face – that’s waiting to fall.

So, look down here, Love, at the end of his all,

Dumpty is trying- some Hope to recall, asking you

 “Love, lift me up, pick me up, wrap me up too,

But please, you got to, if I get up, you got to-

Please, don’t forget to-

Bring me...send me…deliver me, Love, to you.”

January 13, 2014

Turn, O Lord, deliver my life;
save me for the sake of your steadfast love. (Psalm 6:4, ESV)

Nisqually Morning

It had to be them. It looks like they got in my old cigar box while I was sleeping and found the unwrapped crayon pieces I kept in there. It’s getting harder and harder to hide things. I wonder if I should tell them I’ve been saving those colors since I was their age. And -- from Lord knows where, maybe folded in the top of the busted out checker box – they managed to scrounge a big sheet of wrinkled but barely used blue-sky. Then they set to work. To their credit, they didn’t try to do anything fancy – a good eye, a chunk of Granny Smith Apple and a light touch was all they needed to draw an olive-violet mottled morning memory over the Sound.  I’ve never seen anything like it, but it sure looks familiar. My granddaughters colored the sky above Nisqually Reach this morning

January 26, 2014

Great Drops of Blood

Asleep for sorrow,

Under the struggling olive

I dream a death tomorrow;

A searing, thirsty end of life

And in the mist of dark-night terrors,

I see from heaven falling,

Great drops of blood.

Great drops of blood,

Great drops of blood are falling,

And the ground is turning red, red

Around my feet, so I wonder

 If I am finally over, if I am really done,

 Bleeding out, alone, in a garden,

Beside a dying tree.

Beside a dying tree,

No, not alone, someone else is here,

Another with me- silent but not hiding-

 He’s working in the garden, kneeling,

Weeding, kneading the earth in his hands,

But he must be worried about what he is seeing;

 For he is praying, “Lord help me,

 This soil doesn’t have what it needs.”

Yes, there’s a brother here with me, working

 Hard in the garden, sowing, sweating

Great drops of blood

Great drops of blood,

Great drops of blood are falling,

Now even my sleep is turning red, full red

For my garden-dream is filling

 With water turned like wine

 With water pure as wine

And the yellow grasses in this dusty spot,

These drying flowers in this worn out plot,

Bath in living water flowing free

From a dying tree.

Water from a dying tree,

Yes, it’s flowing free, it’s flowing free

Holy water is running, it’s flowing past

Me standing still here; covering my filthy past

Running over my feet; washing them clean,

And this dying world is changing now

Sure a glorious sight, but growing kind somehow,

 Like burning bushes turning green.

 Like burning bushes turning green-

Yes, this truly is the strangest dream-

 But it’s the truest world I’ve ever seen

A Grace that’s running down the river

And it feels like it could rain forever;

Pouring, giving all the world a drink.

Forgiving all, who would but drink.

Forgiving all who would, but drink!

And I can feel my body shaking;

You know, when on the ragged edge of waking

As the flood pulls back and my mind grows clear

I hear my master’s voice growing in my ear

He is calling, telling me to wake up,

Kneeling in the darkness, he is telling me to rise up.

Yes, he is waiting, calling me to the fields

To watch for storms that yet may yield

Great drops of blood.

Asleep for sorrow,

Under a spreading olive,

I dreamt of Death’s tomorrow

And the perfect rain of holy life.

Now in the midst of passion’s flowers

I see from heaven falling,

Great drops of blood,

Great drops of blood.

 Luke 22:39-46

What is Happening

Friends are disappearing

Marriages ending,

Hearts are longing,

In these Days never ending

Things just aren’t turning

Out the way they should.

Oh Lord, what’s happening?

This world is spinning

Cars exploding,

Hearts ever racing

In these wars - never ending.

Things just aren’t turning

Out the way they could.

Oh Lord!

Children are starving

Mothers are crying

Hearts are breaking

Famines never ending

Things just aren’t turning

Out the way they should

Dear Lord,

What’s happening?

What is happening?

Oh Lord,

What’s happening?

He said,

“Folks are now gathering

Families are sharing

Hearts are laughing

Children are still singing

Amens never ceasing

Friends really loving

I AM never ending.

Things are just turning

Out the way they should.

This is…

 What is happening.”

Rest in peace Ed Nolan, a man of faith who truly believed, "Faith is not about everything turning out okay; faith is about being okay no matter how things turn out."

House of Mourning

Watch!

The Family has entered into the house of mourning.

The house that was once was the house of feasting.

A special meal is prepared for the children there.

Listen!

What songs do you hear?  Are these the songs of fools?

No! Listen.

Listen, friend.

The Gatherer sings, “There is evening and morning, an Eternal Day.” 

For his Bride has entered into the outer chamber.

Look!

The sun stands still.

The world stops at Salvation’s command,

“Sun, stand still!”

And his Testimony,

“See! This, I have done!”

For this Purpose,

“That you may see Justice done!”

He is faithful to his Promise,

“I am, I redeem. I will be!”

So friend, be afraid!

Yes, be afraid, dear friend,

For the Lord is near and the Day of Devotion is long.

Yes, the Day he has set aside, that day…

That day is long

For us.

But now, behold!

The inner chamber is lit.

The dark drape draws back and the sky grows thin.

Now, friend, behold!

Now, Bride, behold!

Behold… the Glory of God

Approaches.

Written July 12, 2013- Re: Bryan Collins FB post for July 11, 2013 regarding an Eternal Day, Ecclesiastes 7, Joshua 10 (The Sun Stands Still)