all day long the mumbled missives are sent:
postcard length portraits of this human experience.
our cherished hopes,
concerns for our loved ones,
whispered pleas for green lights,
passing thoughts for strangers,
prayers fill in our still moments, forming
the punctuation of our days.
the world as we wish it to be,
all placed carefully in the palm of our creator.
who do you love?
What is it you hope for?
Who are you
the contents of our prayers tell the true story, revealed only to
a God who sees us.
Oh my dear. The challenge I have set before you
is lofty indeed.
For the reward for your heroic feats of faith
is ill-defined at best.
There is no immediate applause, no kudos, no instant reward.
There is only a string of tomorrows, the same objective set before you again.
The reward for clinging to your faith,
for a job well done
is just that.
A job well done.
And if you should fall, or simply stop climbing, the only exterior result would be
To the world you live in, there is no complement to the faithful,
and no consequence for the unfaithful.
So the monumental battle of good and evil is
fought internally, each day.
With only you and I as witnesses.
We are all blessed with the same.
Each morning is a blank page, waiting to be filled with
How do you choose to fill your day?
With scheduled minutes,
or unplanned moments?
We have a choice. To rush and hurry
chasing the second hand in dizzying circles around the clock
Or to do the same things in a progression of moments.
Choosing to value the who over the what.
How will you choose to fill this day?