Category Archives: Poetic Prose

Lost Sheep

 

In the end, it was all about lost sheep.

It was about Ben, the Island-bred murderous liar, for whom manipulation was second nature and coercion simply a means to the end of the moment.

It was about Sawyer, the smooth-talking con-man, rough around every edge, singularly bent on murderous revenge.

It was about Kate, the attractive girl-next-door killer, on the run from the authorities and her broken past.

It was about the Kims, husband and wife in name only, owners of a broken marriage and slaves to a dictatorial father/boss.

It was about John, the bitterly angry paraplegic orphan with sever daddy issues.

It was about Jack, the work absorbed, brilliant surgeon, who could fix everything except his own broken, screwed-up life.

It was about Sayid, the torturer.

It was about Charlie, the druggie.

It was about Claire, the young-mother-turned-crazie.

It was about Hurley, the large, superstitious lottery-winning schizophrenic.

It was about Desmond, the yellow-bellied time-traveller.

It was about a diverse group of fallen, flawed and ultimately lonely people.

They tried to fix things, they tried to do things their own way.  Every step was a stumble, every stumble a full-on face plant.

 

In the end, it is all about a Lamb.

A Lamb who was born a miraculous birth.

A Lamb who lived a completely human life.

A Lamb who is without spot or blemish.

A Lamb who sympathizes as a Kind and Dread Sovereign.

A Lamb who bled, died and rose again.

 

This Lamb redeemed David, the cowardly murderous adulterer.

This Lamb redeemed Jacob, the spineless mommas-boy cheat.

This Lamb redeemed Moses, the timidly fearful seeker of man’s honor.

This Lamb redeemed Peter, the loud-mouthed, impetuous, impatient fisherman.

This Lamb redeemed Saul, the hate-filled, Pharisaical butcher.

This Lamb redeemed the dying, bloody, pathetic thief on the Cross.

This Lamb redeemed me.

 

The Stories of men are powerful.  They’re riveting.  They’re didactic.  They’re inspiring.

Yet, all such stories of hope and grace and redemption pale in comparison to the glorious Light, our Lion and Lamb, in whom is no darkness.

The Champion

I dart to the left and I dart to the right
I juke up and down as I enter the fight
My foe is a large and a villainous fiend
His army is great, yet they remain unseen
His evil is black and as dark as the night
He ripples with strength and a wickedly might
He takes greatest joy in the conq’ring of souls
To win o’er the Lord is his greatest of goals
He hates all the saints and he hates all their praise
He marshals his ghouls and sets them in array
In order to fight and he hopes yet to win
He’s in the foul business of having men sin

I dart to the left and I dart to the right
I juke up and down as I grit through the fight
I don the fair Helm of Salvation so sure
My frail waist I gird with God’s Truth very Pure
My chest is protected by Righteousness True
The Gospel of Peace I now wear as my shoes
The strong Shield of Faith keepeth me from his darts
So they might not enter and pierce through my heart
The Sword of the Spirit is my sure offense
The Word of the Lord is my surest defense
The Armor of God is my great gift to use
To fight the foul Devil and all his non-truths

I dart to the left and I dart to the right
The Grace of the Lord keepeth me in the fight
The Fiend uppercuts with his leathery hand
His claws are outstretched and my death is his plan
Both fists fall down hard on my weak Shield of Faith
The blow is so strong, it is Christ that he hates
I look in his eyes, and the glow is so bright
With hatred and foulness and all of sin’s blight
The eyes then grow big, and I know what’s to come
The arms go upraised, and I grow very numb
The arms start to fall with a terrible force
And suddenly stop, no more on their hard course

I look to my left, and I look to my right
It seems as another has entered the fight
A bright golden arm holds the sharp claws at bay
A strong voice speaks out, and I hear it then say:
“Begone foulest Devil, this one is not yours
He’s one of my Father’s, God’s Grace has been poured
Out on this dear one, this child of God’s
So go now you Devil and no more here trod”
Then with quickest rage and a menacing speed
The serpent strikes Christ, thus completing the Deed
The gold arm goes limp and it falls to the ground
My Hero is dead, and despair now surrounds

My Hero has left, and it does not seem right
I am all alone in this terrible fight
Why has my Christ died and left me all alone
Does my God and King not still Rule from His Throne?
Why does He allow the foul Devil to win?
Where now is my help, I’m afraid of my sin
I then come around and fierce laughter I hear
I am all alone and the Dragon I fear
The foul eyes then slit, and he lunges at me
I can’t now hold out, for soon dead will I be
“Give up now you wretch, your fair Hero is dead
Just curse God and die, I will now have your head”

A flash to the left and a bang to the right
My Hero and God has reentered the Fight
With terrible wrath and His Holiness Pure
A bright Sword swings out, with straight aim oh so sure
Black blood gushes out from a terrible gash
The Sword swings again with a terrible flash
My Christ is alive, to His Foe now defeat
My God’s slaughtered Death, the foul Devil is beat
With strength born of God, being armed with the Word
My Christ grabs the Dragon, and his wicked hoard
He then casts them into the fiery pit
Where sin rules, and wrath is, they would not submit

My Christ is Alive and has ended the Fight
He has beaten death and the rot of sin’s blight
He turns to me with loving eyes very dear
All that has thus happened’s becoming so clear
Who gave me the armor of my God to use,
To fight the foul Devil and all His non-truths?
Tis Christ my Commander, Redeemer, and Friend
My Lord and my Savior, my God to the end
Who comforts me when the hard fight gets too tough?
Who keeps me in safety when life gets too rough?
Tis Jesus my Comfort and Truth all too sure
My I AM, and Yahweh, my True Sheep so pure

Why have I been picked to be saved from the first
A rebel, deceiver, a man who was cursed?
Who’s long held me in His strong arms oh so tight
Though I was a worm and a miserable sight?
Who’s patient with me when I sin yet again?
Who holds all the seas in the span of His hand?
Who made all the world with a word plainly spoke?
Who fills up His Temple with fire and smoke?
Who’s holy and righteous, and merciful sure?
Who’s perfect and loving and awesomely pure?
Who saved us and keeps us in Him to the End?
Our Savior and Maker, our Greatest of Friends

All honor and glory and praise to His name!
Forever and always our God is the same!
Sing loudly you saints and sing loudly you sons
Our Savior and Warrior has our Vic’try won!
Come cling in His Truth, sink down into His Word
Come don your fair armor, come grasp now the Sword
Come don now your Belt and your Helm and your Shield
Your Sandles and Breastplate, you must not now yield!
Come enter the Battle you are called to fight
Trust now in our God and partake of His Might!
Sing glory and praises, our foe is now beat
Our hope is in Jesus, our One Mercy Seat!

The Masterpiece

There is a Hand that is Steady and Sure, and behind the Hand there is a Mind that has an idea for the Perfect Masterpiece

There are many brushes for the Mind to choose from, many exceedingly beautiful, with exquisitely chiseled handles, and perfectly aligned bristles, but oddly enough the Mind chooses the ugliest brush, with a handle of balsa wood, and a head of bristles that point in every which direction. The Hand then takes the ugly Brush and promptly, yet gently, dips it into the paint, and begins the Work.

The Brush at first strains against the Hand, its bristles attempting to run entirely contrary to the direction of the Strokes, but the Hand is Steady and Sure, and continues with the Strokes. The Brush wonders at this, for the Strokes are against its nature, but it will soon realize that its bristles are even then being reshaped by the Hand, to achieve the Mind’s Purpose.

It is with much patience that the Hand makes the Strokes. Often times the bristles do not conform easily, but the Mind is indeed patient, and pays especially minute attention to detail, using each and every bristle for every stroke. To the Brush, the strokes seem unordered, more chaotic than anything. Then water is spilled onto the Painting, blurring the previous work, and the brush moans that all is lost. Then the Piece gets scratched, disrupting the continuity of the Painting, and the Brush despairs at the time spent on that very continuity. But still the Hand keeps making Strokes with the Brush. And still the Brush is made more beautiful and straight, bristle by bristle, Stroke by Stroke. Every so often the Brush is lifted from one spot of the Painting to another, to be used as the Mind sees fit. And every so often the Brush is re-dipped into different colors of paint that the Mind uses for the different parts of His Masterpiece. At these times the Brush notices that the Strokes do seem to be coming together, yet still the Final Product is veiled.

So it continues: the Brush is swept back and forth, dipped and re-dipped in a variety of paints, all the while the bristles are coming in line with the Purpose of the Mind.

Finally, the strokes cease, the Brush stops, the Hand lifts the Brush into the air, and then the Brush sees the Masterpiece. And suddenly the Brush realizes why the Hand allowed, and orchestrated, the scratches, spills, and wild bristles. It was all a part of the Masterpiece, all coming together to show beautifully the Purpose of the Piece, and all coming together to wonderfully express the Mind behind the Purpose.

And the Brush is filled with gratitude because the Mind would choose the Brush, and the Hand would use it for such a glorious Purpose. Then the Hand places the Brush back into a case, but not into the old case, now it is in the Master’s Case, filled with beautiful, sculpted, perfect Brushes, all having been used by the Master, all made perfect by the Mind in their own corresponding Masterpiece. And suddenly, the Brush understands.

Who is a Man of the Book?

A man of the Book knows the Book. Being so, this man reads the Book. To Him the Book is a Food eternally more important than His morning meal. The Book refreshed His Soul and Sustains His Heart. This man cannot survive without the Book. He reads it and is intimately familiar with it.  He memorizes the Book.  He fills his head with as much of the Book as is possible.  He thinks about the Book and learns it front to back.   The man of the Book studies the Book. The man does not simply read the Book and forget its words. This man labors with the Book. Hard. He grapples with the meaning of the Book. He struggles with his own ignorance and goes to war against ideas he holds that run contrary to the Book. The man is sold out to the teachings of the Book and works with all his might to know and understand the Book. To this man, true teachings are not teachings of the Book unless they are lived according to the Book. Likewise, true living is not true living by the Book unless it is informed by the teachings of the Book. The man of the Book knows the Purpose of the Book and properly worships the Author and Object of the Book. The man of the Book knows Who ultimately wrote the Book. To this man, the words of the Book are breathed by Divinity and are worthy to be followed before Divinity. The man of the Book submits to this Divinely Authored Book and to the Book’s Teachings. He knows his need for the Message of the Book and is properly humbled and awed by it.

The man of the Book intimately knows and constantly lives the teachings of the Book. He strives to be more and more like the Object of the Book and ardently worships the Author of the Book. He understands the Gift of the Book and is eternally full of humility and thanksgiving to the Giver of the Book.

May God ever and always give us Grace to be men and women of the Book.

Baby Born to Die

Love, beautiful love, our Savior’s Love!

He had a messy human birth, perfectly
He lived a human life, perfectly
He died a terrible human death, perfectly

He brought God’s full wrath, our due wrath, onto Himself.

Oh, our Savior’s Love!

He was born into a humble life, born cold, wet, naked, and hungry; born in a cold, dirty, miserable stable.  He father was a poor carpenter, his mother very young.

Yet he came, and He lived

He grew up as any normal human
Our Savior who is Lord of all, had to learn to eat, learn to drink, learn to speak, learn to walk, learn His letters, his history, his math, and various other studies.
He had to deal with the plethora of difficulties of adolescence, and had to learn how to be an adult

Yet he lived, perfectly

Oh, our Savior’s Love!

He had to deal with unbelieving men, who saw Him only as a healer, a moral teacher, and a nation-ruler.  He had to deal with traitors, liars, thieves, prostitutes, the poor, the weak, the naked, and the hungry.

Yet He lived, and He loved.

When He humanly needed His friends the most, He was abandoned, and denied.  He stood alone before the Jewish Leaders and Pontius Pilate, with no one but Himself as a Defense.

Yet He lived, and was condemned.

Oh, our Savior’s Love!

He took the scourge of the cat’s whip, endured the sound of the cracking, as His skin was being ripped mercilessly off His back, He tasted the blood as it ran down his forehead and face as the soldiers jammed the painful crown of thorns upon His head.

Yet He lived, and He suffered.

He listened to the mocking of the crowd and the scorn of the Roman Soldiers.  He bore the beatings, the thrown projectiles, the long road up the Hill, the bitter taste of vinegar forced down his dry and thirsty mouth and throat.  He endured the nails as they were driven through his hands and feet, He felt the tendons snap, the sinews tear, and his flesh being ripped asunder.  He felt his life ebb away as the blood flowed and pooled on the dry, dusty ground below.  As He tried to breath, though the cruel Cross hindered Him, he breathed hot, dry dust; the stench of his own blood; and the terrible odor of a sweaty, and wholly angry crowd.

Yet He lived, and endured to the end.

Oh, our Savior’s love!!!

He could have let this terrible cup pass from Him, denying His God, and forsaking His Mission.  He could have with but a word slain the crowd, jumping off that Cross, destroying His enemies.  He could have made Himself King of Rome, the great Conqueror the Jews expected, Emperor of the World.  He could have foregone the pain, the suffering, and the humiliation.  He could have been spared.

Yet He lived, and staid the Course.

Having staid the Course, and endured the pain of the Cross, He then took up that Cup, that bitter, bitter Cup, and received the full, unmitigated wrath of Almighty God — Holy and Righteous — upon Himself, when He least of All deserved it.  He, for a moment, was Forsaken, utterly Separated from God the Father, alone in the fullest sense of the word.

Yet He lived, and was Forsaken.

Oh, our Savior’s Love!!!

He endured until each and every one of His Father’s people’s sins were atoned for, so that God’s Justice would be perfect.  Then, when all was accomplished, He proclaimed His work completed, and breathed His last.

So Christ died, perfectly

But our Savior was not finished.  As He had promised, in three days He arose from the grave, and thus defeated death, the last enemy.  By the power of Almighty God, breath entered His lifeless lungs, His heart beat again, His muscles flexed, and He arose and went forth.

So He lives, as the Risen Savior

Then after patiently teaching His disciples still more, He went up into Heaven, in full glory and majesty, to forever sit at the right hand of God Almighty, Ruling as King; Judging as Judge; Interceding as our High Priest; and Loving us as Savior, Brother and Friend.  He then, as He promised, sent the Helper, the Holy Spirit, to teach us, and grow us and prepare us to be eternally with Him and the Father, forever dwelling in perfect harmony and peace in Heaven where there is no pain, nor sadness, nor grief, nor sin.  Oh, the glory of eternal life!!!

And so Christ rules, and reigns, and cares for His People.

Love, oh beautiful, perfect Love, our Savior’s Love!

The Warrior

It was dark.  So dark.  The blackness seemed to swirl around my feet with a sick thickness and foulness.  I had no sensations, I had no feelings.  I could think, yes, I could think.  But I had nothing to think about.  All would have been cold, if I could feel.

The darkness pressed heavily upon my mind.  I knew nothing else.  I had an inkling of something besides The Blackness but I could never fully realize what it might be.  It was like I dwelled in some huge, infinite cave.  Light never occurred to me.  I felt entirely oppressed by the intense darkness, and I could not move.  I only was.  Then again, my being was useless.  I saw nothing, I knew nothing, I did nothing.  How I hated the intensity of the darkness!

For what seemed like infinite ages I existed in the Darkness.  I was not.  At least, I could not comprehend Being, the darkness was too oppressive for that.  I had no comprehension of the senses.  It was so dark.

But then, I heard, or rather felt, something.  At least that is what I remember.  It was very small.  In many ways it was fainter that the softest breeze on a cool spring evening.  So faint was the sound.  So faint.  Yet it grew.  Slowly but surely the sound grew.  The whisper became a low buzzing, the buzzing a rushing, the rushing a howling, the howling a roaring and the roaring a complete cacophony of utter noise.  My ears had no experience with this thing called sound.  It was so intense!  In an instant I had forgotten the foul Darkness, and my mind was transfixed on this War of Noise.  I strained to discern what the noises were, to split the sound into discernable pieces, but it was very difficult.  I strained and I strained, hoping against all hope to hear.  Hope.  A concept so foreign to me then.  Funny that I did not notice it.  Regardless, my hope was answered.  For the voices became as one voice: One Loud, Awesome, and Terrifying Voice.   “Alleluia!” they shouted, “Salvation and glory and honor and power belong to the Lord our God!   For true and righteous are His judgments, because He has judged the great harlot who corrupted the earth with her fornication; and He has avenged on her the blood of His servants shed by her.”  Again, they shouted with a Voice both Terrible and Awesome to hear. “Alleluia! For the Lord God Omnipotent reigns! Let us be glad and rejoice and give Him glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and His wife has made herself ready.”  I put my hands over my ears, in a vain attempt to shut it out.  It hurt so badly!  I seem to remember turning and trying to run, but no matter where I ran the  voices were there.  All around me it was dark, so so dark.  I could not see where I was going, nor did I have an idea.  I was just trying to get away from that awful noise!  Yet it surrounded me on all sides, I could not escape it.  I tried to scream, to perhaps drown it out, but still it got louder and louder.  I cursed the sound, I cursed the voices, I cursed God….  That thought gave me pause.

God?  Was He responsible for these terrible voices?  They praised God, they praised this one called the Lamb.  God?  I hated Him, and I hated His Voices.  I cursed Him again, and I cursed Him louder and with a greater vehemence.  I realized that I loved my darkness!  Why could the voices not leave me alone???  I railed against God and His Voices, with a hatred born of Darkness.  God?   Who was He?  I had lived quite well enough in my Darkness without Him.  At least then there were no voices.  Ah, how loud they were!  How I hated them, and I hated Him!  So Loud, so Terrible, so Awesome!

Then, silence.  My Darkness was mine again.  No noise, no voices.  How I loved my darkness!  But what was this?  A small thing in front of me.  It was not Darkness, this little thing.  And then, with amazement, I saw the little thing in front of me grow and grow.  The shock of the small thing quickly melted away as I realized that my Darkness was being invaded again!  God!  It was His fault!  How I hated Him!  “Curse you God!” I shouted, “leave me be!”  With much satisfaction I noted how the little thing had left me.  But then, a blaze of light blew up in front of my eyes, as if the Heavens themselves were being ripped asunder!  I was bathed in light, my Darkness was again being invaded!  How I hated the light!  How DARE God put this Light in front of me.  I shut my eyes, I did not wish to see the Light, for I hated it.  I cursed God, and cursed Him again.  I cursed Him with every word I knew, with every sound my frail lungs could utter.  How I hated Him!  My Will was strong, I would not look at the light, I would NOT!  But my will was not the strongest, for Another made my open my eyes.  As much as I resisted, the stronger Will made me see.  And oh what a sight!

I looked, and behold, I saw a large white horse, and on this horse there rode a Rider.  With dread I cowered.  I wanted to run, but I was transfixed.  Then, He started to ride a bit closer, and I got a better look at him.  I did not wish to look, but for some reason I could not turn away.   With a Dread Awe I beheld this Rider and I knew Him to be Faithful and True.  With a sickening fear I realized that This Rider Judges and makes War with Righteousness.  Righteousness?  Where was I getting these foreign ideas?  I shook my head, to try to be rid of them. I closed my eyes to shut myself away from this Awesome Rider, but again, I could not but raise my head and continue gazing upon Him.  He had written on Him a name that He alone knew.  Upon His head were many crowns, glistening and shinning in the intense rays of light.  And His robe….His robe was not white like the horse.  No, it was red: an intense, vibrant red. With a shudder I realized that it was wet blood.  How I feared Him!  Everything inside of me said to run, to flee from the presence of this Warrior, but I could not!  Still my eyes remained locked on him, my feet unable to move.  His name was The Word of God, and behind Him was marshaled an army innumerable, a Host of Men and Women on white horses, and wearing white linens.  How vast and how mighty was this Army!  A Sword came forth out of the Warriors mouth, and with it He rules the nations.  It is He who rules the nations with a rod of iron.  It is He Himself who treads the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God.   And He has on His robe and on His thigh a name written: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.   Oh God let me flee from the face of the Lamb!!!!

Then I heard a loud voice call out above me.  I looked, and behold, there was a fierce and mighty angelic being in the air, and he called out to all the birds that fly in the midst of heaven, “Come and gather together for the supper of the great God, that you may eat the flesh of kings, the flesh of captains, the flesh of mighty men, the flesh of horses and of those who sit on them, and the flesh of all people, free and slave, both small and great.”  At these words there was a terrible sound, as of a rushing wind, and I looked, and above the angel there appeared a vast and immeasurable host of birds, large and small: vultures, eagles, hawks, falcons, and more of their kind.  All were beating their wings excitedly; circling, waiting for the coming slaughter.  Steadily their excitement grew, and the sound of their flapping wings and foul screeches grew more and more intense, until I thought that there was no sound on heaven or earth that could be more terrible.  Then, I heard the drums.  Steadily they beat, with a sound conceived from nightmares and terrors.  With each beat the birds as one screeched with delight, but as I looked around left and right, up and down, before me and behind me, I could not discern where the noise came from.  And then I saw them.  As I looked, a terrible Beast appeared over the rise behind me and behind him rode his kings on evil black mounts.  Together they commanded a vast and terrible army for the Beast.  There were men and women of every tribe, tongue, and nation.  With hatred they spewed forth curses at the Warrior, with utter disgust they screamed for His blood and for the death of the Fair Forces of Heaven.  As the vast host cleared the ridge the drum beats grew louder and louder.  With each beat the birds were driven more and more into a mad frenzy, shrieking wildly, fully anticipating the vast carnage that would soon be their great feast.  The screams and shouts, the shrieks and beats of the drums grew louder and louder, until the whole earth shook as if it were in the throws of a terrible earthquake.  Finally, just when I thought it could get no louder, the drums stopped, and the birds grew eerily quiet.  The Beast and His servants had come to make war with the Army of the Lamb.  Both sides were separated by a mere field.  In the deep breath before the terrible storm, every man, woman, child, beast of the earth, and bird of the air grew quiet.  My ears rang with the sudden silence, and with horror I realized that I stood in the middle of this very field of battle, wearing the clothes of the Army of the Beast.  Frantically, I looked about all around me, straining to find a place of safety, but none could be found.  Suddenly, I could not see the field I stood in, nor could I discern the two Armies, and with a start I realized that the sun had gone black, and everything around me was now bathed in a most unnatural red glow, for the moon had been covered as with blood.  Her light was no longer the comfort it had always been, but rather she shone with the color of death.  Then, out of the red haze, a yell such as has never been heard on heaven or earth, nor will ever be heard again went up from the Hosts of the Lamb, and with one loud, awesome voice, they charged.  I tried to run from the coming carnage, but my eyes were fixed on the Warrior.  His eyes were terrible and blazed with fire.  His red robe billowed behind him as his white steed bore him ahead of the rest of His host as He joined the battle.  And oh what a terrible battle it was!  Through my tear-filled eyes and my ringing ears I heard and saw the carnage that the birds of the air had so eagerly anticipated.  No one could stand before the Warrior.  With the sword that came from His mouth He slew his enemies.  None escaped His wrath.  Heads rolled, eyes bulged, mouths screamed, and limbs were torn asunder.  The stench of death rose from the ground and overwhelmed me.  I dropped to the ground as one Dead.

Presently I awoke to a terrible pain and with horror I saw a large vulture tearing at the flesh of my legs.  I screamed from the pain and batted the foul creature away from me.  As I rose from the ground I looked around me and vomited.  It was death.  Utter death.  None escaped the wrath of the Lamb.  There were bones, so many bones.  Some had been picked clean by the carrion, but many still had half-eaten eyeballs in the sockets, tendons not yet torn away, and flesh still attached.   Some of the bodies were intact though unrecognizable, some were only bones, but many still were distinguishable.  There were men, there were women, and there were children.  As I watched, the birds continued to tear the flesh from the bones.  I vomited again.  Chocking back the tears and the screams that longed to escape from my parched lips I stood and saw HIM.  The Warrior on his now blood-stained steed stood before me.  My mouth grew even drier.  My legs started to shake, and my head felt as if it was caught in the fiercest of gales.  There is no other word to describe what I felt at that moment other than to say that it is worse than the imagination could EVER comprehend.  It was like being stuck alive in the Nightmare of Nightmares.  Then, the Warrior stepped towards me and I feared even more.  Cowering, I fell down as He approached.  Then, a strange thing happened:  I felt shame.  Shame of the hatred I had towards Him, shame of my love of the darkness, shame of my cowardice on this great battlefield, shame of the utter worthlessness that I felt.  As He stepped in front of me I bowed my head and fell to the ground, resigned to my coming death.

But, He did not strike me down, He did not slay me as I felt he should have.  No, at my moment of utter desperation and shame, he softly lifted up my head and I looked into His eyes and they were no longer the eyes of a fell Warrior in battle.  The fire had left them and I now looked into eyes softer than a mother’s hug, eyes more tender than a fresh blossom, eyes more loving than a bride’s for her husband.  They were deep and spoke of something more powerful than the Sword or the Shield.  They were the eyes of mercy and grace, and their beauty has never been matched.  As I looked on Him, He discarded His bloodstained robe and His Golden Crowns, and I saw a large gash in His side.  I saw large gaping holes in His hands and His feet.  I saw a blood-caked scar circling the top of His head.  With tears in my eyes, and with my voice caught in my throat, I whispered “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner”.

Then, with Pure Love in His Kingly eyes, He motioned to one of His servants, and they handed Him a pure robe, white as snow, and as bright as the sun.  With a touch of His hand, I felt the dirt and blood that covered my body wash away.  I felt my wounds be healed, and my life restored.  With newfound strength I stood and He placed the white robe about me and said “Come with Me, my Son, and join the feast!”

Then, He motioned with His hand, and as the light of the sun returned in all its glory I saw His vast army.  All were there, and none had been lost in the battle.  The look of victory was upon their faces, and all wore expressions of utter joy and love for their warrior.  Their robes were stained with the blood of their enemies, their skin marked with the flesh of their foes.  But as I looked upon them, the blood began to disappear from their legs, then from their arms, then from their torsos, then from their faces before finally there was an incredible explosion of light and I beheld that no longer were their robes stained red, but they all wore robes as pure as mine.  And I looked besides me, my Lord once again had donned a robe, but His was whiter than any, and purer then pure.  Then, He led me by the hand and the vast host parted before us as we walked up the hill.  At the top I looked and behold, there was laid out a feast so large that it was impossible for me to take it in.  There were tables stretching out as far as my eyes could see, there was food to feed billions, a bounty so large, so vast, it would take one an eternity to consume it.  But I forgot the feast when I beheld the dais set up in the middle of the tables.  For upon that dais there sat The Throne.  The Throne of God, the Throne of the Father.  And with my new eyes, I beheld His Glory.  No words can describe it.  The only way I know how to explain it is to encourage you to think of the one thing on earth that gives you what could be described as Ultimate Pleasure, then multiply it by infinity, and maybe you’ll be able to understand a little of what it is like to behold the Glory of God.  Then, the Warrior led me to my seat and sat me down, and the whole host joined me in their seats.  As I sat, Christ walked up to the dais and sat down at the Right Hand of the Father.  Then, though I do not know who started it (I think we all did simultaneously), we broke into the highest expression of worship that we could express, and we the Bride feast with Christ our Bridegroom.

I who once hated Christ and all He stood for, now love Him.  I who hated the light and loved my darkness now dwell in the most awesome light imaginable, where there is no darkness, where sorrow and shame are gone, and where sickness and death are remembered no more.  I dwell in the Land of Jesus, at the Feast of Heaven, in the Presence of Yahweh, and with the Multitudes of the Saints; and I worship Christ, the Lamb who was Slain and Rose Again, my Savior, Commander, Redeemer, and Friend.  He is the Mighty Warrior, and He has Won my Victory.