Living with loose ends that seem perpetual is one of the difficult facts of life, especially if those ends were not expected to be loose and most of all if those loose ends had at first appeared to have the promise of completion upon which we set our hopes.
As we press on toward the mark we gradually begin to learn that those things we counted important, achievable and our destiny were really only elements of a process. With the process complete in any of its stages, we discover firstly a change in ourselves and then the elements we once considered so important are cancelled with our ready consent.
The destination is not without but within. When once the work is done within, those outward things we sought fade away, no longer perceived as desirable or important.
How many times have I thought I arrived only to discover I was just beginning! That which was is no longer relevant, as a fading flower that falls to the ground.
One must come to the sobering truth that all we do is vanity. The greatest works of men upon earth are entirely vain.
What’s more, as much can be accomplished and\or learned in the most mundane and simple things and activities of our existence as in what we perceive to be higher and more noble works.
Who has the measure? The issue is not one of what we do or how well we do it but one of motive and attitude. There is the key of deliverance from Periphery.
Your victims going round,
Never but never embracing.
Back and forth
This time, no, next time,
Next time THE time;
Carrots dangling in circumference,
The center obscured without end,
Faithful sentinels posted,
Drawn swords uplifted,
Guarding the Gate of Total Freedom,
The entry of which brings peace
And joy and satisfaction.
To be the destination.
Moon River Estates, Ab., April,
The Lord is about reconciling, and not utterly destroying the first Adam in us
English - Spanish If youth were so important, would we not have been given the wherewith to embrace and enjoy it? But trials and tribulations come as a flood to deliver us, to teach us, to age us. Aged wine, how good! Green fruit, how unsatisfactory! Yet this green fruit doesn't know. It covets its youth, its strength, its firmness, its expectation of longevity and does not care to be consumed. Yes, it much prefers rather to do the consuming. Youth must be told it is there to be consumed and not to consume, that it must wait for that which to it would seem so repulsive as if waiting for something so desirable. Resisting reality, the young one is consumed and loses himself. Embracing reality, time unveils the beauty of maturity and the once young finds new youth imperishable. Immaturity says: My will, not Thine, be done. I want it, I want it my way, I want it all, I want it now. Immaturity says: I'm old enough, I can do it, I deserve it, It's coming to me. Immaturity is indignant at correction, at instruction and discipline. Immaturity harbors resentment, seeks revenge, a settling of scores much in its favor. It takes only the good, despising the bad, not discerning the difference between the two. Immaturity presumes to know, to know better, to know all, despising knowledge and the paths thereto leading. Wisdom is an alien despised, abhorred; folly is embraced as one's dear life. Yet immaturity ends, whether by maturity or destruct...
Often and for long periods of time does God hide Himself from His called one, even as He did with all the saints and prophets of old and to the present. We desire so much to walk by sight, as in this world, but must learn to walk by faith, by the little given knowledge of the unknown, the Unknown, that we may know Him. And though He hides Himself to try us, He is always there...there is nowhere one can go from His presence. Yet one can choose to do so, and the one choosing so is not called. Emptiness is not a bad sign in itself as one might suppose. I am ill with sorrow and grief, Vexation and loneliness; My soul is filled with groanings and longings; I look in all directions; I reach out; My hand returns empty; Tears fill my soul; I cry and cry and cry; There is no one to comfort, to console, to ease my pain. Day after day, year after year, Decade after decade, I wait, I long, I cry, I heave and sigh. There is none to understand. I wait for morning; I wait for evening; I am desolate. I eat, I sleep, I cry... Is it sin I say I don't have That causes me to be this way - Desperate, sad, lonely, unfulfilled, Useless, despised, unwanted? This is not the abundant life; Though I have my carnal needs met And freedom to come and go, Yet I have nowhere to come and nowhere to go. All is quiet, uneventful, drab and grey. Do I complain Or do I merely state the way things are For those appointed to such by Divine order, Not for sin But for...