TITLE: The Wheel
By Pawel Spencer
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“Just over that hill… I can make it to that rise ahead… there will be rest up ahead.” Pavel leans into the Wheel and continues pushing but with his eyes he follows it’s surface toward the heavens.
He is gripped by the enormity of the Wheel as it slowly spins, ever revolving, ever grinding out its course through the ages. The Wheel, as it has been known for ages, is a behemoth of granite that turns the ages of time and establishes in its cycles a foundation for the Patriarch. With each revolution the men who are granted a place on its Path travel across ground that challenges not only their dedication but also their very existence. This Path has destroyed those who were too weak to stand as well as those who were thoroughly equipped but chosen for devastation so that others might be welcomed in. Pavel remembered when he was first invited into this land and was given a spot along the Wheel and a place in its revolution. He was young then, a babe, fresh out of the womb, reborn into this world and new to its ways. That was a time of excitement, everything was innocent and fresh, everything full of promise and hope. His zeal for the work was consuming and his passion for the Wheel intense.
“How long must I struggle Patriarch?” Pavel had prayed last night to the only One who provides him consolation. All the others had been frauds. Liars who sought only their own welfare and offered only promises of life but never the substance itself. Pavel had learned that the hard way. Thirty years of listening to his own voice and the voices of those he entertained. Thirty years of striving for purpose and security without knowing where it was to be found. All he had received for this labor was thirty years of pain, addiction, and misery, when the lies left him alone and unprotected. The Patriarch had found him in his cell on the mountainside one night and offered him what the others had only been able to promise. He had been offered life, hope, and purpose, as well as the means to achieve them. Pavel had followed the Patriarch down the mountain to a new cell alongside the great Wheel. The Patriarch had pointed the way and said, “Here is where you stand, keep your face to the Wheel.”
Now Pavel longs for rest. The Path has been exceedingly difficult. The way rises and falls unexpectedly. There are unexpected pitfalls and traps and mud that oozes up around his boots and grips them tightly, threatening to hold him fast. The wind pushes against him and tears at his face and hands as he struggles to hold onto the Wheel. The Path is infinite in its circuit. It has neither beginning nor end but continuously circles the Wheel as it grinds out time and history. With each revolution the Wheel builds a foundation upon which the Patriarch will rule forever. Man was created for its service; he was chosen to walk its Path and to drive its gears. But man spoiled the Path with his own designs, scheming to use the Wheel for his own purposes, thereby ruining its purity. The Wheel has not been wholly corrupted however, and the Patriarch has spoken of the time when it will be redeemed and when all of mankind will stand in awe at the culmination of His handiwork in the fires of His furnaces. But the wickedness of man has compromised the Path, and what might have been a joy to travel, through the beauty of Creation, became instead a journey filled with the nightmarish re-creations of man’s pride.
There are now sections of mud and bog where a walker is abused constantly by the echoes of the wickedness that have seeped into the ground and stained it forever. These sections of the Path attack a walker’s heart, grab at his soul, weaken his will and alter his perspective.
There is now a wood as well, where great trees grow, monoliths of imposing, but decadent beauty, stature, and might. To see these trees fills one with awe at the power and skill of their masters. For these trees are the icons of man, his greatest achievements. They are imposing and in appearance indestructible. In the wood a walker is easily led away from the Wheel by the sound of truth proclaimed from the mighty boughs, and once away the walker has great difficulty finding his way back again for there are no straight paths through which to see; around one tree one only finds another, and then another, and another. The wood deceives by its solidity and its permanence, but the wood has no path, and therefore leads only away from the Wheel and never to it.
But perhaps the most dangerous affront brought on by man’s rebellion are the many and various by-ways that spin off into seemingly restful areas that promise peace and tranquility. These spots of respite are inviting to a traveler who has been in the wood and the mud and the bog, but they serve only one purpose, to take the laborer away from the work of the Wheel. They invite one to stop pushing, to stop standing, to stop striving against all that combats him. They invite one to lay down, to rest, to relax tightened muscles and indulge in libation that weakens, rather than strengthens the traveler.
And throughout all these ‘pitfalls and traps’ move the great enemy of the Wheel’s servants, the Fallen Ones that proceed from out of time. Their history is theirs alone, as is their reckoning, but the Patriarch allows them the Path to use as they please for the time that remains them. They move freely and viciously, prowling and mauling those who lose their stance or turn their face.
As Pavel struggles to keep pace and hold his ground his eyes continue to travel across the surface of the granite. It is smooth to the touch, worn to a shine by countless generations of travelers along the path. As each has held his place their hands and shoulders have rubbed and pushed, clasped and slid along this surface, abrading it as finely as if it had been exposed to the elements themselves. But the elements do not touch this Wheel; they have no power to direct its course or interfere in its travel. The elements are of the world and subject to its laws; the Wheel is subject to none other than the One whose throne is in its center. Pavel’s eyes again resume their travel and he sees a line of demarcation just out of reach where the granite looks cracked but not broken. A scar runs its circumference and mars its otherwise uninterrupted surface. The scar is a reminder to those below that theirs is not a perfect work, yet. Theirs is one fraught with strife and difficulty. There are those opposed to the work of the Wheel, those who are not held back by the boundary of the Path, but who come from within the Wheel itself. There are those who push against the wheel, but seeking instead for it to stop turning; seeking its ruin. For reasons known only to the Patriarch these are allowed to defy His will for a season, for a time, for His mysterious purposes. These are those who have fallen from great heights. Those whose glory surpassed all else in creation but who despised their gift and became accursed. They know not the horror, which awaits them. So, like ignorant children they foolishly continue playing while death looms its awesome countenance behind them.
Pavel looks into the scar and sees a darkness that fills him with dread. “I have seen that darkness before. I have lived in that darkness before.”
Pavel remembers his solitary cell on the mountain and the voices that tormented him day and night. He remembers his loneliness and desperate cries for understanding. He remembers the hopelessness he found in those who professed to know the truth. Pavel shudders and turns away, but the voice of the Patriarch comes to him as the sound of a crystalline shower and brings him to remember his new country and his new birth; “The darkness cannot hold you now. Keep to the Wheel. Stand your ground.”
Pavel’s eyes continue their journey upward and he sees the very edge of the Wheel before it makes its return to the vast plain of its surface. This edge, the precipice, is where the names of those who have walked and labored on the path are written. Pavel cannot read the names for they are written in an ancient tongue. The script is majestic and inspiring in its flowing lines and swirling serifs, but at the same time awesome in its ineradicable and confident permanence. The tongue is the same that was used at the creation when the Patriarch spoke the Wheel and the path into being, declaring His name to countless generations, and His love to those who would serve Him. This same tongue now marks forever a place for those who are His own.
As if lifted up on the wings of eagles Pavel’s sight crests the precipice and he sees the vastness of the breadth of the Wheel. From the edge toward the center Pavel can see nothing but the whiteness of space. Purity does not describe this unmarred and level plane, its spotlessness is beyond compare; it has been untouched for eons and will remain untouched until the end has come. Pavel looks and sees a fire burning above the Wheel in what he can only imagine must be the center axis. Again, as if borne on the wings of eagles, Pavel’s sight is lifted up and he is cast into the fire where the Patriarch sits patiently watching and refining his master work. The Wheel turns and the fire is stoked. As the heat intensifies the Patriarch culls the slag away revealing more and more of his peculiar treasure. He is speaking to it but Pavel cannot make out what He is saying. He moves closer but the words escape him again.
“What is it Patriarch? What is it you say to your treasure?”
The Patriarch turns and Pavel is forced back by the power of His gaze. To look into the eyes of the Maker is to look into the sun itself. Pavel is blinded by the brightness of His eyes and reels back and stumbles out of the fire. He staggers to his feet and finds himself at the foot of a great mountain in the center of the Wheel. At the peak sits the throne of the Patriarch and Pavel now sees the King sitting on His throne surrounded by the glory of His angels and His Own. Pavel closes his eyes, turns away once more and finds himself back in his cell at the Wheel.
He bows in reverent prayer, “Thank you Patriarch for these gifts.”
He wonders at the visions, he wonders at his reception of them. “Thank you Father for allowing me to see, to understand, to grasp at your infinity and to cling to eternity itself.”
But just as night follows day, he knows he must return to the darkness of the struggle at hand, standing in the mud that pulls at him and threatens to undo him. The mud continues to hiss its ridicule and taunting jeers, directing them now at his prayer of gratitude. The words find their mark as they always do and Pavel feels once again the creeping feeling of despair beginning to wash over him.
“Why now? Why after such a gift?” he calls out in anguish.
He knows that there is a part of him that is still tied to the mountain he began climbing as a child. There is a part of him that stubbornly resists his rebirth and clings to its own blackened and moldering understanding. As he renews again the struggle to combat what he has begun to call the voice of his Elder Brother, his Elder Brother gains confidence in his accusation as he sees the resistance of the younger wavering. The Elder Brother conjures picture after picture of Pavel’s unworthiness and brings reminders to bear of past sin that he solidifies to enormous strength in the mind of his little brother. This barrage works to undermine the faith Pavel has in the good he has done and yet hopes to do on the Path and for the Wheel.
“You are blackened too little brother, you will never overcome your own darkness for what you call good. It will remain in you forever as a consequence of your weakness and perversion. You will never be able to erase what you have willingly become.”
The Elder Brother’s voice trails off as his words beat against the shell that Pavel hastily attempts to construct to protect himself. But the damage is done and his distraction causes him to lose focus on the Path and his footing, and he takes a hard fall into the mess that covers this section of the path. As he frantically works to free himself he calls out for help. And just before he descends into the depths his cries are met by two that have come down from over the rise.
“Pavel, you must be careful, you cannot take things so lightly, one little slip like that and you can lose too much ground, be careful!”
A powerful hand reaches down and grabs Pavel’s floundering ones and helps him to his feet while a thin man speaks out in amusement, “Don’t mind Michael, Pavel, He is always worrying for nothing. Remember the words of the Patriarch, ‘Be anxious for nothing.’ Surely He intended our little slips and falls into the mud when He said that, did He not?”
“Do not taint this one with your broad views and easy ways. The path is a hard one and meant for hard work and diligence. There is no room for slips and falls, only for one’s face to the wheel and strength to stand,” Michael countered. “We must be strong at all times, there are no unprotected moments.”
“Must this life be so stark? Is there not room for living? Do you really think that the Patriarch wants us to suffer as poor Pavel here?” asked the thin man.
“If it is suffering that the path deals to us as we walk then suffering is what the Patriarch expects us to overcome.” said Michael. “Pavel, you must stand straight, and put aside the thoughts you have been entertaining of despair. Your Elder Brother is a liar and a cheat. He is what you once were, that which you are not now. You were once chained to him but now you have been set free. Live as if you were free Pavel; avoid all that seeks to draw your hand away from the Wheel in order to lead you back to the pit. Remember the grace the Patriarch has shown you thus far and let Him lead you where He would have you go. As for this one, this thin one, let him and his kind pretend at walking the Path, they will be seen for what they are when their work is counted.”
As Michael spoke these last words the thin man slowly walked away, away from the direction of the rise, away from the direction of the Wheel, and they watched him stop to help another walker who had slipped and went down into the mud. As the thin man reached out his hand another hand came from a man from the east who also offered his assistance. As the two hands touched the fallen walker, Pavel thought he heard the clash of metal on metal.
Michael helped Pavel regain his footing and his place at the Wheel and stayed with him long enough to help him clean off some of the mud that so viciously clung to the edges of Pavel’s cloak.
Michael then stood and said, “To do the work of the Patriarch you must learn to do the work of a man. That work is not for the weak of heart. To push the Wheel a man must first learn to push himself.”
“Michael, how do I learn to do this work? I have none to teach me.”
“You have the only Teacher required. He has chosen you, Pavel, to occupy this precious place along His Wheel. He does not give that privilege lightly. Remember His words to you. Remember His gifts to you in the visions. Be content to know what you know at this point and be ready to learn when calls you.”
“Michael, why did he give me the visions?”
“The Patriarch is not without compassion. He does not withhold from those what He knows they need from Him. He gave you those visions that you would see and therefore believe in the work of the Wheel. To another He grants another gift that they too may be strengthened in their work at the Wheel. The Patriarch remains above, guiding all, teaching all, showing all, and orchestrating all toward His grand and glorious end.”
As Michael was speaking they had come to the rise that Pavel had so long awaited, and Michael stopped. “The key to the Wheel, Pavel, is to remember. There are those who seek to distract the walker. Do not listen to these voices, but remember The Voice, which came to you and who alone has restored you to life. Remember who you have been and who you are now. Remember.”
With these words the large man left Pavel and turned to continue his journey down through the mud to where he had first come upon Pavel. Pavel watched in wonder as he saw the man stop to help yet another fallen walker.
With new strength Pavel turned away from the mud and his despair, back to the solid ground of the rise. He walked the last few feet alone, each step bringing back the confidence and peace that he had begun to lose. As he crested the hill he felt the warmth of the sun on his face and a gentle breeze that soothed his aching body. There were birds playing in the air, soaring into the heavens on the current sweeping the mountainside and then falling into the valley below only to rise again and again. This valley was captivating to Pavel and he paused to consider whether this was indeed his long awaited rest. It has been a long journey since his last rest on the Path, but he remembers the wonderful feeling of accomplishment and achievement he enjoyed as if he were successfully completing something monumental for the Patriarch. He had felt on top of the world, in control of not only his very self but his own environment; he felt as if he were master of sorts over his own life. The Patriarch in His wisdom had foreseen the difficulties of the work His travelers would perform and had written into their history times of peace and hedges of protection. Pavel looked back down the Path he had finished climbing and could still see the green space of his last rest.
“That was a wonderful time, I was so confident and zealous in my work at the Wheel- it was so peaceful to rest in the knowledge that my work was fruitful and my labor not in vain.”
As he looked however, he noticed that it was also a time of increased labor, and he remembered no easing of the work at the Wheel, only firmer ground upon which to stand and clearer air with which to breathe. His rest was not a break from the Path but a break instead from the adversity of it. Turning back to the valley Pavel could see other travelers making their way down the mountainside and turning aside to the right and left into various settled areas with others like themselves. These areas were of all sorts and types, they were both new and old, various in race and creed, tradition and form. The travelers were laughing, talking loudly, and praising the Patriarch with fervor and zeal for His goodness in providing such blessing and respite. But in a moment of clarity Pavel noticed that these travelers never once looked back at the Wheel from whence they came, but only and always looked forward to their new place. The words of the Patriarch came back to Pavel, those stern sounding words of long ago, “Keep to the Wheel,” and as they did the valley no longer appeared as it had at first. The air began to close in around Pavel with a staleness that came from places and ideas that are shut off from the fresh air of labor. The song of the birds, beautiful in the first hearing, repeated itself over and over, monotonously clanging their notes ever and ever again. The light of the sun that warmed his face took on an unnatural hue as it reflected off the settlements created not by its life giving energies but by man’s own desire for rest.
As Pavel wavered between his need for rest and his duty to the Patriarch he felt once again that all too familiar feeling of despair rising and threatening to undo him. His despair questioned him mercilessly asking him why he could not take a break from the work, if only for a little while, in order to join those below. Even if their work was away from the Wheel it was still work, was it not? And it offered rest, something Pawel felt he needed desperately. As this struggle ensued, Pawel cried out in anguish, “Can I never break from this Wheel? I must work it forever?”
“You begin to see the difficulty then, do you?”
Pavel started at the voice that was suddenly at his side. He turned to the man who had appeared, a man dressed in the uniform of a soldier from ages past; breastplate, helmet with crest, sword and belt, sandals laced to his calves.
“You do see, do you not, that to do the work of the Wheel, the work for which your hand was designed, requires you to eternally be diligent to its service? There is no derivation, no turning aside, no ceasing of your part in its revolution.”
Looking down the mountainside the warrior pointed to the various settlements and the focal point of each- an object that Pavel had not been able to recognize on his own. As he did so, the warrior began to speak, “They have each taken the opportunity of rest and have turned it into an opportunity to desert the Path. They have chosen a new path, one that is not a path at all, one of their own making, one that suits their own designs, one that suits their own expectations. They have chosen and constructed wheels that do not resist their hand, wheels that can be manipulated through the difficulties of life, wheels that can be massaged to move in directions that they require them to move. But look, young friend, you can see the entire path they have built from beginning to end. You can see their entire work in one glance; it is but a shadow of the one Wheel, only a portion of His work in this world. Their work comes from their desire to control their own activity in life. They have failed to stand the test of the Patriarch in this, that those who walk must continue to walk. Those who stand must continue to stand. And those who face the Wheel must never turn back.”
There was silence on the rise between the warrior and the traveler as Pavel heard and understood, and yet struggled to hear these words. He heard the ever-present sound of the Wheel grinding out its course on its axis. He heard also the sound of man’s small wheels competing for attention.
“But what shall I do? This work is too much for me. With it I will surely perish, but without it, won’t I as well?”
“Your rest will come at the hand of the Patriarch at the time of His choosing and in the manner he has chosen. Your rest must come while on the Path, never from your own making.”
“What then of their praise, that means nothing?”
“Their praise is devoid of meaning. It comes from hearts filled with malice toward the Patriarch. How can they truly praise One they have deserted, and whose ways they have perverted? Yes, my friend, their praise indeed means nothing; it is the sacrifice of fools. Fools who have lost their way and who are in danger of never returning to their place along the Wheel again.”
“Are they lost forever then?” Pavel asked in a low voice.
“They are in a limbo of sorts. While they persist in going their own way they have broken contact with The Way. They no longer hear His voice and they no longer enjoy His benefits. Remember however, that the Patriarch is compassionate and loving above all. He desires that none shall perish. So do not be naďve in your pity for them. This danger they have brought on themselves; they can see the Wheel, they know it is here, they know how to return. The question is, will they?”
With that the warrior turned and mounted the steed that suddenly appeared at his side. “I leave you with a reminder Pavel. It is no small thing that you do, but it is a great thing. Your work here is not by choice it is by design. To stay at the Wheel is life. To do anything else would be death for you and for the generations that follow you. Do not focus on when you get to stop, instead focus on what you get to do. Life is for the King, for His glory, and for the honor of the Patriarch!” He was gone as the echo of his words reverberated off the shabbily constructed wheels of the settlements below.
“There is no rest for me down there,” muttered Pavel and he made his way back to his cell at the Wheel. It looked different to him now, it was somehow not as dreary as it had become, the walls seemed to open out to invite him in and the air was much fresher than by the side of the valley. As he settled back into his place Pavel noticed that the ground had stayed level and the mud had all but disappeared. There were fruit trees alongside the path and he could hear the voices of his fellow travelers in the air as they prayed excitedly to the Patriarch thanking Him for this time of peace in their travels.
“So there is a bit of rest for this traveler,” Pavel exclaimed to himself with a smile. It was at moments such as this, when he realizes how close he actually came to disaster, that the reality of the need for faith in the Patriarch hits home for him. He was once again guilty of desiring to fulfill his own needs with blessings of his own making. He was guilty of engineering his own solutions to the difficulties his work had brought to him. He knew how close he was on the rise to joining those at the settlements simply because he was tired. He would have given up the truth for a lie, simply to be at rest for a time.
“Thank you Father for loving me, for choosing me, for having patience with me. I am a weak one and I desperately need your guidance and strength. Please continue to watch over me, never leave me, or I will fall. Make me a strong one, like your warriors; show me your mind that I might live for you, in you and through you. Make me a warrior that I might live for your glory.”
Pavel picked some of the fruit of the tree that overshadowed his cell and rejoiced in his restoration. He thanked the Patriarch for His provision and His protection and he turned once more to the work at hand, rededicating his shoulder to the Wheel and his hands to the stone.
A rumbling came on the wind from the East and an acrid scent emanated from above. As the rumbling increased Pavel saw what appeared to be riders carried along by the powerful hand of the Almighty. Their speed was terrific as was the dust they trailed behind them that swirled into clouds of monstrous size and shape. These clouds took on lives of their own, swallowing in their midst whole towns and scores of settlements of the type Pavel had entertained. When these clouds had past there was little remaining that was recognizable. The horses and riders tore through the Wood as well. As they passed the great behemoths, the armor of the riders so scored and gashed the trunks of the trees that they began to twist around from their own weight and started to collapse, heaping trunk upon trunk until all was lost. The cloud in its part swept over this mass of tinder and choked out the remainder of what was left of their life. Pavel watched in simple awe as all that he had battled against and all that he had endeavored to understand was rapidly becoming lost to sight. As the riders made their circuit around the Path all work stopped and the Wheel, for the first time since its creation, ground itself to a standstill. As it reached its final resting place the horses and riders stopped their coursing and turned to face the Wheel and its servants. The ring of riders was immense, stretching up and down the Path as far as the eye could see, completely encircling what was once considered to be infinite in its circumference. While the horrific cloud retreated to the outer rim, and the riders settled into their places, there was silence of such a kind as was never heard before. It was as thick as the mountain and as vast as the heavens. It roared in the ears of those who had grown used to the sound of the Wheel as it ground out their very lives. It threatened to undo many of the travelers and indeed the sound of whimpering and crying was soon heard beneath this crushing silence. As one man the riders dismounted and stepped away from their steeds toward the Wheel. Their horses turned to flee but were pulled into the swirling cloud of dust that formed a hedge around rider and traveler; their cries were heard fleetingly and then were no more.
Pavel pulled himself away from the Wheel that now refused to move. He straightened his back and stepped out of his cell. To his right and to his left he could see his fellow laborers stepping out with expressions ranging from awe and wonder to fear and dread. What could this mean? We were once of that world that is no more and taken to this new country along the Path. For years we have labored to serve the King and to resist the pull from the mountain below, but now it is no more and our work here is finished. What is to become of us, where is our Patriarch?
Into the crushing silence of the Path and the weighty burden of these thoughts Lightning flashed and the world was illuminated, as it had never been illumined before. The Light was so intense that it burned away the swirling cloud and the detritus of its carnage. It seared the very ground around the Wheel to a deep and shiny black. It stopped short of destroying the riders and the travelers but they felt its intense pressure and its beckoning finger enticing them to step out and taste its power. A new rumbling grew from above and the very Wheel itself began to tremble. It quaked from base to precipice and as they turned to look, the crack, that had for so long been a reminder of the their travails, snapped shut with a horrifying certainty upon the muffled shrieks of myriads upon myriads whose time was finally come. It was then that they could see the origin of the Light. It emanated from the writing that had so long ago been inscribed along the rim. Each marking, and each letter was glowing with an intensity that even the hottest furnace could not have matched. The script was burning with the light of the fires of heaven.
As it burned brighter and brighter a voice came barreling over the precipice and rolled the length of the Path, “It is finished. It is finished. It is finished.”
With that last word, from out of the inscription, poured a violent flow of the Refiners peculiar treasure that had been culled for so many ages past. “The time has come! Let the old become new again and the last become first,” boomed the voice from above.
As Pavel looked, the molten treasure arced out over the heads of the travelers and riders and poured into the lands cleared by the wind and cloud. The metal streamed out from the Wheel and rushed to the ends of the earth where it covered all things, filling in the low places and leveling out the high places. As it streamed, Pavel could see the riders praying with out stretched hands and saw that they were asking protection for each traveler. As he looked at the rider in front of his own cell Pavel recognized the Warrior who had come to his aid not so long ago. Pavel ran out to greet him and was swept up in a hug that consoled him to his bones.
“Thank you my warrior friend for protecting me!” Pavel shouted from under the arc of brilliant metal that continued to stream from above.
“Praise be to the Patriarch,” returned the warrior. “How awesome is the great and terrible day of the Lord, little one!”
“What is this day, please tell me,” asked Pavel.
“This is the day the Lord has made, Pavel. This is the day that you have been preparing and waiting for. This is your Rest. Since the day of creation, our Father has been working for this day, the day when his Path is complete and the work finished. You had a part in this day with your hand at the Wheel. The Patriarch used you and countless others like you to finish what He started so long ago when this Path was new and the Wheel just beginning to turn. He has used you to turn the Wheel while He sat and refined His treasure. His treasure is complete and it has been set free to remake what was lost, to refashion what was marred, and to reclaim what was stolen. Watch and witness the awesome power of the Lord!”
As Pavel watched, the liquid streamed outward from the Wheel and poured out over the land in torrents. The deluge was such that he knew at its ceasing that the entire Earth would be covered in a lake of burning fire; glowing molten metal unlike any fashioned by man or dreamt by alchemist. As it cooled, its surface became as glass, faceted intricately with a pattern of such ingenuity that the Light from above danced in its veins and made spectrums shoot off upon the faces of those chosen of the Lord.
Once again the Voice echoed across the new plain. “I am the Lord, the Lord your God. There is no other.”
With that declaration the Wheel began to recede into the earth and the plain began to expand into the heavens. Pavel saw mountains rise up and valleys form. He saw the waters collect into pools, streams, oceans and seas. He saw the first tendrils of life break through the crust of crystal that had so fertilized the earth. He saw life take the form of the living in the wood, in the streams and in the air. And as he watched he began to hear a song rise from the faithful, a song of such beauty and clarity, simple in its verse, humble in its intent, powerful in its praise of the One who sits enthroned.
And so, my dear fellow traveler, it remains to you to persevere through the strains of the Path that the Almighty has set your feet upon. The burden is yours to carry as well as you might- but the journey is not without Hope, for we have One who has gone before us, who has laid down His life to pave our way and who also goes ahead to “prepare a place” for us and for His return.
While we wait we must endeavor to ‘face the Wheel’ for, “no one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service” in His kingdom. Therefore, honor God as you honor His work. Trust in His work as you struggle to stand. Take comfort in the great promise of Hope that He alone has offered, a promise to finish your trials by His glory and majesty, with a future of Light and new beginnings, and a fellowship with Him that never ends.
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