Encouragement

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Where has the time gone? What am I suppose to do now. I just go to church play guitar and feel like I am just out of reach of something. Is it an erosion of my patience, was I burned that badly. I want to fix the church, would it matter, where could I start. Myself I suppose. Less TV, less distractions, the addiction of not being quiet. All I can do to drown out what I fear He will call me to do next, nothing left to give. Now I just work, I’m tired yet still hungry to break through once again. A constant battle of the fire of God and the waters of the world rage within. A world war for my heart, every corner locked in battle, warring for the prize which is my, call, life and destiny. The weariness drags on but embers still crackle and burn. A hope that once was bellows from the deep, seeking to burn the dross that has buried it so long ago. My body tells me to abandon Him, but the whispers within still call His name. I hunger for hunger, yet sleep for sleep. Oh what manner is this to bury ones self in all other things fearing what is not to be feared. I have seen too much to leave, but have forgotten how to wake up. Motions and toils are no match for fire and glory until you close your eyes. And what a great struggle it is to open them once more. How easily it is to appear a way and play your part when fires burn for so much more, even while the clouds are black and pour out upon you.

There is life and there is living, one yet the same, two yet never alike. To follow Christ is a war, which many hid in hospitals and fewer fight. There is comfort in the bed, the bed for one. Wishing to fight may never entail the battle. Ringing the bell is not the victory merely the shadow. The shadow is safe, no one sees you there, no pain, no responsibility, no war. The light brings pain and war because it stands up to the darkness. It is easy to call yourself a warrior, you may have no sword, heart or shield and place a title on your own head. Oh to be one who never cowers, who stands up from the trenches once more, no fear, no regretted.

When one falls it is like a tidal wave carrying all those around. Thrashing them to and fro with no sense and no purpose. Until the waves crash their last and you are left to rebuild, often in strange lands. Broken yet not destroyed. The will to return is a process which can either be slow or dead. You become numb to once elevated. You forget how to speak, how to breathe. Yet the ember remains, that taunting ember ever calling back through the mist. No matter what obstacle is placed that addiction to fire remains ever calling, secretly sharpening you, molding you, guiding you to the door only you can open. It is not locked, its treasure is open to all, within is prepared for you, for me. How long could we camp outside, wondering, worrying, fearing the cost of these great treasures. And of the responsibilities to defend them, and the call to bring others to this door. Broken and battered veterans along with the innocent stand in this place and no one can open it for another, it has been unlocked all must pass through. There is no peace on either side, yet. I am not speaking of those without the hope but those who carry their cross.

Why should we fight when we only fight eachother. We are to love and build and not fight and sleep. There is a path that eludes, that twists and turns. It is one that cannot be seen, cannot be mapped. It is not easy and often we wonder if there is a destination. The path may be covered with the fallen , we may stare and question our strength to go on. There are traps and pits, thieves and killers along the path. How easy it is to relinquish the call and join the corpses, thieves and the forgotten. Yet the embers continue to sing, to sing of a purpose, of a call, a King unlike all others. If we could march the path and stand as warriors of fire perhaps the thieves and murderers would be no more. If we all truly followed the song of the King maybe the pits would be filled. If all would rise up and act on the words of I AM the shadows would expel our brothers and sisters. If we all put away our words and boldly lifted his sword then the beds would be emptied. And what if not even all at once? For even the greatest storm begins with one drop of rain, with one gust of wind, with one crash of thunder. But perhaps one, what would happen if one rose up. It is a hard thing being the one, yet like Elijah we are never one. We could pray and cry and read and go to church yet remain asleep. Perhaps it is time for one to wake up.


Written by Cameron Conway
http://revolutionarysrant.blogspot.com
http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Revolutionarys-Rant/155457674486542?ref=mf

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