Abba! This promise – I can secure it. With your infusing, enabling grace. I need your wind at the stern, your breath and very resusitation. You are the author of inspiration. In fact, you are my only inspirer – above poetry, beyond life, and even my dearest mortal love. Above the beauty of nature, the constancy of planetary motion, and more than time and hope itself. More than a promise of a bright future. “More to be desired are you than fine gold, and sweeter than honey from the honeycomb.”
Lead on! What powers can lift me and bear down on the barricades surrounding me, more than yours? God mine! I’m feeling faith materializing, forming, rising like dough in a warm oven. Prayer will impregnate, and faithfulness will incubate a nursery of fulfilled promises.
Give me a card to scan for entry into the restricted places – the halls of top secret clearance, where warring angels tread, where holy books are read and scoured and scrolls are etched with indelible spiritual ink – the liquid of purpose, the calligraphy of divine imagination, and where the wax seal of divine Holy Spirit confirmation is set with the thud of Paraclectic finality, the place where keys are forged in extreme fire, and fiery spirits hail to and fro opening long-locked doors, revealing treasures novel and never-before imagined. Priceless marvels springing up to mesmerize, bedazzle, and charm.
Oh! How I long for that fulfillment – just the taste of it probes my soul deeply.
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