Sunday, December 31, 2017

A New Prayer for a New Year

At the close of a year and the start of a new one, I've been given something fresh to pray.

People we know have experienced in 2017 some of the worst things in life.  There are some who've experienced new and exciting opportunities.  There are even more folks who fell right in between enduring struggles while encountering gifts of grace and mercy in spirit, soul and body.  2017 has been a mixed bag for most.

As 2016 was winding down, April received a scripture as a gift and a point of focus for faith.


Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope;
    today I declare that I will restore to you double. -- Zechariah 9: 12

We grew to realize 2017 was a year of hope for us.  We were not forgotten.  By the middle of the year, April had a new and better job, and, like Jackson Browne sang years ago, we moved into our own apartment in the shade of the freeway.  Hope has been a stronghold for us, and we saw things double to our benefit.  Alleluia.

We've sensed 2018 will be a year of unique and powerful things in our lives.  Some may say its inappropriate to affirm such an optimistic viewpoint while so many suffer.  We've come to agree this is a year of faith in which we'll witness miracles and divine manifestations we've never seen before.  There's no reason not to believe such miracles and outpourings of grace and mercy from a loving heavenly Father can come to those who endure difficulties as 2017 cones to a close.  I encourage those who so readily condemn our optimism to begin to believe God is working in the circumstances of those who need what only God can provide.

Our lives in the shade of the freeway grew to be redundant as autumn led into winter.  We struggled individually to find peace and satisfaction in our work while remaining hopeful that God's plans for us could still unfold.  

One of my joys in reading scripture lessons from the Daily Office in the Book of Common Prayer is to be moved by sparks of light that emerge from the lessons that prompt me to pray in faith.  A declarative statement of what God can do or what a faith community is believing has inspired me to pray and believe the same for a friend, family member, our nation or myself.  I've also found phrases or verses that spoke honest feelings that inspired me to be equally honest with my heavenly Father, as well.

As the mundane continued unabated, I settled into praying daily one of several phrases I constructed from my reading the Psalms this fall.  I prayed, Rouse yourself, rise up and make haste to help us for we have not forgotten you.  This was often prayed from varying points of emotional awareness.  I was sometimes hope-filled in prayer and sometimes insistent with a clenched fist and jaw.  

Much to my pleasant surprise, the Lord made it known to me it was time for me to pray something else.  

One early morning as I was returning to the receiving area in my store to retrieve another pallet of produce, I glanced at a video monitor used to broadcast commercials 24/7.  The image on the screen was of a product with the name, MaraNatha.  I don't even know what kind of product it was.  What struck me was the word.  Maranatha is an ancient Christian breath pray, Lord, come.  What happened next was what left my mouth agape.

As I digested Maranatha being used as a product's name, I heard in my spirit John Michael Talbot, a Christian recording artist and Franciscan monk, singing his composition, Send Us Out. The refrain brought tears to my eyes and assurance God was still with me.

Send us out to proclaim the reign of your Kingdom.
Send us out to proclaim and to heal.
Send us out with your power and your authority
To overcome and to heal the world.
The refrain continued to bring me peace and joy for rest of my shift. When I went home to tell April of this experience and play her the song which she was not intimately familiar, something dawned on me. This is what the Lord wants me to pray now instead of calling him to arise and help us. I believed in what the words said. Come, Lord. Send us out now with your power and authority to overcome and heal the world. Now is the time.
I dreamed about a month ago of baking cornbread. My father put a pan of batter in the oven and asked me to take it out in 20 minutes (I'm not a cook). My mother was there and took it out a few minutes late. He came back and asked me if I had. I said Mom did. He looked at the pan. The bread was black along the edges and dark brown elsewhere. He touched it. It was hard, and he cussed.
When I awoke, I knew the dream meant our moving on was overdue just like the cornbread was overdone.
I write this to give testimony of what the Lord spoke to me in a language of song and visual image that I can't miss and pray a new prayer for the new year.
I also write this to encourage you to seek or expect to find or to be gifted with a new prayer to pray for the new year. A new year is automatically a new season for all of us, and with that, a new focus of our hope and faith for self and or our world.
Ask the Lord what might be a new prayer to pray this year for you. I encourage you as you pray to believe you receive it, and you shall have it. The new year is a new opportunity to believe afresh in the God who makes all things possible for the one who believes.
Happy New Year!

Sunday, December 24, 2017

I Want to Do What I Want to Do on Christmas

"I want to do what I want to do on Christmas."

On a podcast I listen to frequently, there was a discussion led by the host who was upset a country club in Delaware to which he's a member will be closed on Christmas.  He's Jewish, but that wasn't the heart of his argument.  He had no problem the employees of the golf course being off.  His point was the private course could be left open and members were encouraged to leave the carts where they found them, pick up after themselves and leave everything the way they left it. I was bothered by that.

What made it worse was one of the guests repeatedly said, "I want to do what I want to do on Christmas!"  It greatly bothered him stores were closed and certain services were not available on this one day of the year.  I don't know why this shocked me so.

The host being Jewish and wanting to play golf on Christmas was fine with me.  It was a shame, I guess, he planned a holiday in Rehobeth, but he couldn't look forward to playing golf on that one day of the year.  Being familiar with the host's broadcast persona, which may not be who he truly is, I knew he wants things the way he wants them how he wants them (rather Scrooge-like).  It just bugged me he kept saying it was wrong for the golf course not to be open on Christmas.

It infuriated me the guest wanting things open on that one day so he could get and do what he wanted on that one day of the year.  He sounded sincere to me.  My disdain for such a attitude was on several levels.

First, SHUT UP!  Are you a child that you want things the way you want them? If you don't, you'll threaten a tantrum?  This particular guest was a broadcast journalist probably making a minimum of six figures easily.  Poor baby can't go shopping or go out to eat one day of the year so others could spend an entire day off from work.  This brings me to the second level.

Could you just try to think about somebody else beside yourself?  There's such a disconnect between the wealthy in this society and the rank-and-file worker in this service oriented/retail based economy.  Perhaps its always been this way, and I'm more sensitive to it now because I'm one of those workers.  I listened to this podcast on the way home from a hard day at work, and these "one percenters" complained about having to put up with things being closed on Christmas. As Bruce Cockburn sang years ago, "If I had a rocketlauncher . . . "

Its fine to be wealthy and have things in your life the way you want them without hurting or dehumanizing others.  No complaint here.  This discussion about one day of the year being a nuisance because your rights to play or buy are infringed illustrate the chasm between the have and the have-nots in this society.  The "haves" have the luxury to seek and find what they want when they want it most of the time.  The "have-nots" have to earn what they can how they can and look forward to the meager amounts of relief from the daily drudgery in the form of A DAY OFF.  Have you seen A Christmas Carol lately?

Keep in mind, I believe the media created War on Christmas is ridiculous.  Christ being taken out of the public square because he offends is absurd (The church offending others is another topic). The creche having to share space with a menorah may be a reality in some communities.  Got no problem with that.  My Christian responsibility is to love, not to be prejudicial toward anyone.  Christ died for all.  God is love.  You're right, I should love the "one percenters".

I close with these last thoughts . . .

The secularization of western society is a real thing, and its a challenge for the church.  Its been relatively easy for Christianity to thrive in most of our American communities.  Angry men stepping into sanctuaries and "opening up" their semi-antomatics on children and elderly is a topic for another post (Why are people so angry and/or mentally disturbed?)

Christianity is not meant to fortify our class or racial prejudices.  Its meant to declare the good news of our God loving us so God bore our sins on himself and died the death of a blasphemer and law-breaker. Upon resurrection, the Lord then recognizes us as righteous in his eyes of love forever.  This good news is to be advanced in deeds and words, if necessary, so the world might know.  Being Christian doesn't mean we're suppose to live a privileged life of being the dominant and blessed.

The podcast caught me.  I got angry at what I heard was a prejudicial, classist world view.  Forgive me.

Finally, I simply write, have a wonderful, restful Christmas with family and friends or alone, but remember and honor those who enjoy a day off or have to work on this Christian holiday.  They may simply have to.

Merry Christmas.


Saturday, December 23, 2017

An Incident of Joy


(Posted previously on the blog, Stronger Than Death)
As Scrooge said, Somehow or other, it came just the same.

Thursday in the Book of Common Prayer lectionary it was the Feast of St. Thomas the Apostle.  The Psalm for the day was Psalm 126.

May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy.  Those who go out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, carrying their sheaves.  -- Psalm 126: 5-7 

It was a work day for me.  We've received shipments in large volumes recently.  To such a degree, we don't have enough room to stockpile it all on shelves in our storage areas.  Its been a strain on me.

Surprisingly, I got down to the next to the last pallet and found myself reciting playfully the lyrics of Winter Wonderland.  It caught me by surprise.  This has not been the week marked by spontaneous outbursts of happiness, on the contrary.  I laughed out loud and kept up the recitation.

This was an incident of joy for me.  It came upon me, even overtook me.  I'd been overtaken by the duties of labor this week.  Such prolonged drudgery would often cause perfectionism to arise in me accompanied by anger.  It isn't that I approach perfection in my work. My brand of perfectionism points me to what is required by some parental imposed standard in my soul. Such mythical expectations could never be met.  This is where the anger lies in wait. This arises when the tasks are overwhelming, and I'm physically and emotionally tired.

Those who go out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy.

This is why the joy coming upon me was so surprising.  I'd been wrestling with the anger, frustration and weariness all morning.  One might say my knowledge of nearing the end was enough to spark joy in me.  I'm not convinced.

When I found myself uttering Winter Wonderland in a playful manner I was also aware a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and my mind.  My eyes were brighter.  My energy level grew.  I was happy, happy lifting cases, happy printing inventory labels without a curse word or dark thought approaching my consciousness.  I was captured.

In a funny cartoonish accent - Sleigh bells ring, are you listening? In the lane, snow is glistening. A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland.  Gone away, is the blue bird. Here to stay, is the new bird. He sings a love song, as we go along, walking in a winter wonderland.

It caught me.  It slayed me.  I was lifted and refreshed with hope.  I'd encountered grace from a heavenly Father who wanted me to know his promises to me were true.  Recently, a prophet had declared over me I'd be branded with joy.  Yesterday was a taste of what grace can do through joy.  It comes as a gift not warranted by good behavior or perfection accomplished.  In Daddy's eyes, I'm already perfect.  Joy blanketed me with love.  Its an incident only God can orchestrate.

Gracious joy does not make itself known by virtue of accomplishments or perfect thinking or believing.  Gracious joy comes to the world by virtue of a heavenly Father that loves the world so much.  The Lord wants to make himself known even surprisingly.

May joy come to you in surprises, in gifts, in weights lifted, grace experienced.  You are loved.

Merry Christmas.

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Unless the Lord Writes . . .


Unless the Lord builds the house,
    those who build it labor in vain.

Unless the Lord guards the city,

    the guard keeps watch in vain. - Psalm 127: 1


God seeks covenant partnership with us, partnering with his will and way.  Are we to partner with God in building the house?  That's the question. Then, we ask, "Who's house and why?"

For us, its learning what it is for the Lord to build the house, guard the city, and what it is to partner with the Lord. 

Is it predominantly hearing his voice?

I know what it is to take the lead, initiate the action, follow my heart first.  I know what it is to labor in vain.  I know what it is to be rescued by a merciful hand and what it is not to be.  

On my way home from work yesterday, I listened to a live album of Bob Dylan.  There came a rendition of Like a Rolling Stone.  Back in my youth, it was the first Dylan song that touched my soul. 


How does it feelHow does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?


I'm so familiar with it I'd compare it to an old pair of jeans.  Nothing could compare to the comfort of wearing them.

As I sang or spoke along with Bob, something was stirring up within me.  It was an artistic feeling, a creative arousal associated with writing.  I'm not a painter or sculpture or cinematographer, but I've felt the calling to document feelings, impressions, testimonies and encounters.  The artistic bent arose in me again yesterday as I listened to a favorite song.  Its hard to describe.  I venture to say what is growing in me artistically is a kinship to how I feel about Like a Rolling Stone.

As I slipped into the comfort of this pair of pants metaphorically, I sensed my personal history with this song, the joy of singing it, and a familial linkage between it and what will yet come forth in the future from my calling to write.  This may not make sense.  It may even sound boastful or arrogant, but the song has a sibling-like connection to me.  What has yet to emerge in my writing but is embryonic within me feels like family to Dylan's piece.

Putting Psalm 127 in the story, which was the evening psalm yesterday in The Daily Office, it dawned on me the significance last evening of that first verse and my emerging creative sense.

Unless the Lord builds the house, the labor is in vain.

The irony of this verse in light of my experience can only be attributed to the work of the Holy Spirit.

I've known for quite a while my writing will only be what its meant to be if it is surrendered to our God who inspires how I express myself on paper and computer.

Unless the Lord builds the house, the labor is in vain.

My ability in expression is limited.  My writing has not matched the work of those of far less life experience but much more skill.  Simply said, I can't compete.  My business isn't to compete but to follow the inspiration and the passion and labor accordingly.

Psalm 102: 18-22 is the keystone to it all, and anything I compose must first be measured in how close it comes to fulfilling the mission in those verses:  write what will inspire praise for God who will first and foremost set the captive free.

The Lord does not mystically guide my hand in writing like so many have imagined the authors of the biblical record composed scripture.  The Lord building this house has been done and will continue to do it through inspiration and passion evoked out of me.

What is to come, I believe, will be of God's building.  I'm a partner with the Father in what will yet be composed, built, created.

I thank you, great God, for your gifts of grace and mercy in these days.

Build what you want in and through me.

Guard what you build.  I trust you first,  Alleluia.

Amen.

Monday, October 9, 2017

I Know Your Heart (Send In the Clowns)

You speak to me in languages I understand.

When the Lord communicates to me in words, notes, impressions I value, I've come to trust it is God speaking.  The Lord loves me and speaks to me in media I get, frequencies I receive.  If its in forms I don't get, I'll have to pursue such.  I'm trying to keep my eyes and ears open so I can be healed.  Alleluia.

One night last week at the banana table in the grocery area in the store where I work, Ronnie, one of the vendors who I prayed for and declared words over a couple weeks ago, approached me.  He told me how much he appreciated my prayer and prophetic declaration I voiced over him another night at a Walmart in Anniston.  He'd been having a hard day.  The word was on the mark and helped him a lot find peace and hope.  I was thrilled he told me and experienced what he did.  I told him I was glad.

During my shift, bits and pieces of one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs floated around in my head.  I never bit the hook and recollected the whole song in my soul like I do so often when something triggers my mind to cite a piece I know.

The shift ended, I headed for the car, tapped my Spotify app and started the shuffle play function on my oldies play list.  The song that floated in my mind started to play through the car's speakers, Desolation Row.

I've known this song like an old friend since I first heard it in the '80s.  I sang along with Bob as I drove home, and it made me smile.  Amidst the music and lyrics filling the car, I came to a relevant discovery that evening.  I was loved by God.

Ronnie came to me out of the blue and thanked me, telling me how much my prayer meant to him on his long, tough day when I was simply moved by compassion when I saw him in Anniston.  I'd been bating around phrases and lyrics from a familiar song at work.  I then clicked the shuffle play button on a 55 song playlist and the same song in my soul played immediately.  I'm sorry, but I believed our God spoke to me in a language I value.  By so doing, I knew I was loved by Ronnie's testimony and a song from Bob.

As DR neared conclusion, I considered reaching for my phone to strike pause on Spotify.  I couldn't do any better than that, but curiosity convinced me to wait and see what song would crossfade into my hearing.

My mood was inspired.  Another song could ruin it.  Perhaps, God would not speak to me in the next cut.  That would be OK, but ya never know.

I let the song begin.  DR was a joy from my young adult years.  It was like a gift to hear it in random fashion.  My Father knew what would please me.  I'm loved.  The second song, a live performance, I found on a suggested album.  It's beautiful rendition and a classic and quite a surprise when it began.  Send In the Clowns performed by Judy Collins.  It came as a surprise like a gift.

I've considered the thought of admitting I was in a faith crisis these days without acknowledging it.  DR was an old friend coming to my door, coming in and giving me a hug.  Send In the Clowns is not a song I'm familiar with, though beautiful and melancholy.   Its more mature, more serious, and more to the point of how I've felt these recent weeks.  It was as if I opened the gift wrapping and found a panting of a still life scene that left me speechless as if God told me, "This is how you feel.  I know your heart."

"Where are the clowns?  Send in the clowns."

These lyrics depict a relationship of lovers going in different directions.  I've felt maybe I'm missing God; maybe he's somewhere I'm not.

Where are the clowns?  Send in the clowns.  I'm waiting and hopeful for the child-like frivolity and unbridled joy of days past as I trusted what God had promised us to return.  The clowns symbolize the carefree air of a relationship with God that was fun and silly and without restraint.  I long for it.  Where is it?  Daddy God, where have you gone? Where am I?

"And, where are the clowns?  There ought to be clowns.  Well (Jeff), maybe next year."

He caught me.  God set me up with a gift of simple love in knowledge of what I value followed by a word from one adult to another and conveying a knowledge of how I feel that words can't adequately express. 

Send In the Clowns conveys the feeling of separation I know these days from God, but my Lord still spoke to me.  That evening at work it was told to me through a testimony, an old song like an old friend and a surprising piece of music as a gift how close to me God really is.

My Lord knows me and heard me.  The Lord loves me and speaks to me in a language I understand. Despite my feelings, the Lord is not ashamed of me.  It was important for the Lord to say that to me.

Yes, my Lord can be trusted still.  Alleluia.


Thursday, July 27, 2017

Pens From Heaven

After several weeks of being quiet in the blogosphere and limiting my writing to journaling, I felt inspiration return to me this week after seeing an article in Charisma Magazine.  It was a blog post from Bill Yount, a prophetic word.  It brought great encouragement to me in light of what I was told years ago, and what I was told to do, as well.

I saw gold pens falling out of heaven onto the earth as though they were being thrown by the angels like javelins into the hands of unknown people. I saw these pens turning into spears and swords as they fell into these hands. As their fingers began to write, books, songs and poetry were becoming lethal weapons to war against the enemy!
Psalm 144:1 was being activated throughout the earth: "Blessed be the Lord my strength, who prepares my hands for war, and my fingers to fight."
In the Spirit, I saw huge warehouses in heaven that appeared to be full of books, songs and poetry. I noticed these books had no titles on their covers or any words written on their pages. These were wordless books, blank bundles of sheet music and empty pages of poetry stacked high to the ceiling. A sign was over the huge door that read, "Stationery to Be Released and Published in the Final Hour Upon the Earth."
I heard the Father give a command to the angels: "Empty those warehouses and deliver to the earth! There are books yet to be written, new songs yet to be sung, poetry yet to be recited that will woo hearts back to Me. Drop the pens down first and empty those warehouses!"
I heard the Father say, "I'm releasing a 'scribe anointing' upon the earth!"
When we still lived in Albertville and pastored a house church after leaving the United Methodist Church, I was reading Psalm 102 in The Message paraphrase and the word "Write" jumped out at me.  I was already journaling our experiences and encounters with God for years and Psalm 102 in The Message, verses 18-22, was already imprinted on my soul.  That morning, however, I was given a new addendum to my calling in this world.  I believed then I was responsible to write with divine purpose.  Something was reborn in me.  When I read Bill's description of pens coming to earth for the unknown recipients to become scribes with anointing from heaven, I thought, "Well, of course."

I then recalled a trip to Atlanta in 2014 with family to worship at Bethel Atlanta. We arrived and found out they offered prayer by those with prophetic gifting.  All of us received prayer and some words from sweet folks.  One of these folks saw several notebooks on a table, and I was due to receive four or five downloads from heaven of great ideas that would outlive me.  
After a self imposed sabbatical from formally writing for public consumption and consideration, I'm reminded of what I've been told and promised.

Last week, I read one of the psalm readings in The Daily Office, and it gave me fuel for prayer these days.  Psalm 119: 33-40 gave me petitions to bring before the Lord - teach me, give me understanding, lead me, turn my heart, turn my eyes, confirm your promise.  I believe, as I'm writing this, the Lord has confirmed a promise to me through Bill Yount a promise to me.  The downloads are due to come to me still, and they have to do with my writing.

I invite you to stick with me as I follow inspiration or struggle with putting pen to paper and fingers to keys to record what God could be saying or doing in and through us these days.  I believe I'm one of the ones with a pen from heaven.  Join with me as we find out together.  Also, let me know you're out there reading this blog and praying for us.

Grace and peace to you.

Saturday, May 13, 2017

Days of Elijah by Surprise

Our daughter, Anna, attended a church in Auburn, AL in February where she received what was believed to be a prophetic word from a guest preacher.  In his word to her, he said she and the family could expect this spring to be full of supernatural surprises.

Thursday was full of moments of discouragement.  There was also a moment in conversation with April when I told her I had to commit to believe the Lord's words and promises all over again that day.

There are days when I resign myself to the discouragement and just look for things to distract me from thinking about our circumstances.  Nowadays, perhaps in light of the fact God has not been silent since the first of the year, I've determined it is my responsibility to declare to myself, heaven and earth and my partner in life that God remains faithful and will do in us and through us what God's promised.  Alleluia.

Worked last evening, amidst the cucumbers and the cardboard and markdowns covered by fruit flies, I encountered the discouragement once again.  It was as if a personality all its own came beside me to tell me all was lost.  A flag began waving to worn me of the spiritual intruder confronting my spirit and all I believed to be true. 

I rose up within myself, spoke of what God has promised us, believing as if I picked up a weapon of my choosing, clothed myself with joy (its my strength) and took to the fight.  The melee was short and sweet.  I told myself I was choosing joy and belief.  God was our good Father who had not forgotten us.  We are anointed, commissioned, comforted and at peace.  Alleluia.  The attack was over.

When I got into my car and headed home, I simply turned on the radio looking for something to entertain or inform.  At the top of the hour on The Moody Radio Network, I found the opening sounds of a song I recognized with my heart.  It was a song from the CD, Revival In Belfast, by Robin Mark (1999). 


Back in the 90s, I took my first leave of absence from pastoral ministry.  I was fairly certain I wasn't returning to formal ministry.  After my mother passed away in '97, I knew I had to withdraw from the demands of ministry to mourn completely and to reassess my needs and values in life.  In this process, I joined a prayer group at the church where April was on staff.  We'd meet on Sunday evenings, listen to praise music and then pray together.  It was in this setting I first heard Revival In Belfast.  I've said in several settings to different people this CD had a role in saving my life in those days. 

As I listened afresh to Days of Elijah, I stopped singing along and just listened to the lyrics.  What dawned on me was so many of the images and scriptural references are either part of the original vision for us, allude to encounters we've had with God over the years or echo scriptures brought to us by Holy Spirit since January. 

These are the days of Elijah  . . .
(Right off the bat, these are the days unequalled.)


These are the days of great trials
Of famine and darkness and sword
Still we are the voice in the desert crying
Prepare ye the way of the Lord!

(I was moved weeks ago by Isaiah 40 and Luke 3 where this preparation is described.  God has not been silent.)

Behold He comes, riding on the clouds
Shining like the sun at the trumpet's call

(This sounds so much like imagery from Revelation which April has been studying for weeks.)

Lift your voice, year of Jubilee
Out of Zion's hill, salvation comes


And these are the days of Ezekiel
The dry bones becoming flesh

(Back in Albertville, God came to me in a dream about the book of Ezekiel. I think about this often.)

And these are the days of Your servant, David
Rebuilding a temple of praise

(This captures the vision of our farm - a thin place where heaven meets earth, and God encounters people in worship.)

And these are the days of the harvest
The fields are all white in Your world
And we are the laborers that are in Your vineyard
Declaring the Word of the Lord

(The days of harvest have come.  Its always been our passion to declare the word of the Lord.)

This song came to me as a pleasant surprise, a gift, actually.  Grace is even more accurate.  This and so much of this CD brought healing to me when I needed it. Some of the other songs, Garments of Praise, Shout to the North, Revival, Jesus, All for Jesus, greatly contributed.  It was foundational in raising my passion again for God and his kingdom.  I returned to pastoral ministry in 2001.  The next year or so I had an encounter with God awakening me to a prophetic gifting. 

Spring is suppose to be a time for supernatural surprises for this family.  This was a surprise, a subtle, simple surprise on a night I fought the simple fight of confronting an attack by the enemy and affirming the goodness of our Papa God still at work in our lives. 

These days are rich with potential.  Even now, we see the Lord working our way and our walk as we affirm his promises in us and for us. 

I've been inspired for years to give testimony of what God has said, has done and is doing.  This is a plain depiction of what our God gave to me as an unmistakable token of grace to his son.  These days are unique and not through yet.

Behold He comes, riding on the clouds
Shining like the sun at the trumpet's call
Lift your voice, year of Jubilee
Out of Zion's hill, salvation comes