The signs of the end of the age have been here for ever so long, And I have been foretelling what I have sensed in my spirit, I am awed that men are not out in the streets exclaiming at this transition time, And I wonder if the ancient people were aware when Yahshua died That in that moment the entire world changed, Those in Rome and Athens, those in what would be India and England, Even in Jerusalem there were some who did not know… And today as great men pass on to other places and times, There are just as many signs Heralding the end and the beginning, A whole new world, a New Covenant is coming, And though like the disciples we weep at what is ending, We also have sight to rejoice at the beginning, For we will not be like Mary Magdalene going to a tomb to anoint a dead body, And we will not be like Simon Peter returning to his boat to take up former trades, But we await with clear anticipation the surety of Resurrection And the beginning of an Age ...

It was said that all the world’s a stage, But what’s the purpose of the Play If not to show the Love of Christ, The reason that We are alive But what is my role in this expression And can I get a full perspective, Am I a character in the Play Or is there more in vision’s way? I am the person on the stage My life’s full view for some wise sage To take and know Love’s fully beauty As it is expressed in me And who is greater here to know Than the one who’s lived it so, My life shows me just who I AM And the Love with which I made this man Yet I am the author of the Play, I wrote my life to be this way Put every detail, every nuance All the Truth both past and future I am also the audience Observing my life from great distance So I can see the Tapestry, The fullness of the Life I lead As these perspectives come to One I learn the greatest depths of Love And ever-growing, all-increasing, I see the Play is never-ceasing ...

Grief is a delicate balance Between touching a wound just enough To allow Yahweh to heal it And going so far into it That you find yourself weeping in a ball on the floor for weeks on end, Between examining the hurt and the feelings of anger and betrayal And letting bitterness and distrust grow, It is a tightrope I walk daily, And the tiniest things open wounds I didn’t even know were there Until I feel the pus oozing out of this gaping hole in the pit of my heart, Sickened by the feeling of this poison running through my veins, But encouraged that the wound has been lanced And the infection can be cleaned out Progress is painful, And allowing Yahweh to open wounds is frightening, But today I am not on the floor, And maybe that’s enough of a win.

I Am a baby bird, And I feel the eggshell all around me, Cracked and broken in its various layers And there are some holes Through which I can see sunlight, But I cannot see enough of the world outside To know what it will look like, And the only thing that I am sure of Is that it will not look like the world I’ve known Here within this egg, I am half-hatched, Breathing the air of a new dawn, But still covered in some places By the egg’s protection, And I ache because I must be born, Long to be born, And yet to do so I must destroy What little protection I have left, What remnant of the world I’ve always known But I was made for greater things And it is no longer time for me To live within an eggshell, I must hatch and see the world around me, Eat and drink and emerge Blinking into the sunlight, And though I cannot fathom it yet, One day I shall fly , Soar far above the world I’ve always known, So far beyond egghood that I...