Of Blessings, Of Returns

By Chance Lunceford

Give it all back to God.

Still waters become stagnant and fetid, a dam will burst if you let it fill without draining to the point where the tolerances are straining.

God is the source from which all flows.

You own very little but your infinite soul, all else is a gift as it comes and it goes, you’ve been granted a ticket, so enjoy the show.

God is the one to whom it returns.

The glory is his, that’s been known and proclaimed, so are the sorrows of the broken, the lame. The black and the white, the day and the night, return it to him who gave spark to your sight.

God will destroy to recycle and build.

The history lasts just as long as it needs to, yet the story is long – it’s an infinite read through – and chapters are lost and forgotten and see through; invisible paths from from past often lead you.

God will fashion a throne when you’re ready.

A good shepherd knows there’s a time for the shearing, a time for the leading, a time for the slaughter. The wisdom in life is the same for the weary, the same for the greeting, the same for breakwaters.

God understands and will gift you the same.

One cannot grow if one cannot eat, once cannot sow if one has no seeds, one cannot know if one cannot seek, one cannot show if one cannot teach. The timing is in the design of the system, the symmetry shows in the flows of the cistern, the harmony grows when aligned with the prism.

God is a name that needs a face.

Imagine a place of infinite glory, of infinite sorrow, unending tomorrows. Imagine a face of infinite grace, of infinite malice, unyielding embargo. Imagine a promise of infinite vision, of infinite blindness, unbending legato.

God will return all you give in excess.

The actions you take leave a wake of resistance, you cannot avoid making waves with your imprints, the instance of action or lack to enact them stacks facts onto facts to compress and impact them. The seas of your thoughts meet the walls of your prison, the architect lives, of all places, within you.

God cannot walk any path but perfection.

We are the vessels, the light is the lesson, the darkness will dampen, disguise and so lessen. Both are required to carve out a meaning from branches that fall from trees breathing and gleaming with bright shiny fruits of being and gleaning.

Give it all back to God.

All that is given to God is made right, all of the sadness, the fear and the might. All that is given to God is made whole, all of the hollows, the pits and the holes. All that is given to God is made clean, all of the ashes, the filth and latrines. All that is given to God is perfected, all of the doubts, the mistakes and rejected. All that is given to God is returned, the pattern is woven, the lesson is earned.

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