It's About Time

 

It’s About Time

     To Him who holds it within His hands.  As sand is let out one side.  Compression and release, Master titrates an amount seeing the eon reacts as a plane upon a surface bending then curving about itself.

     What we do not know might kill us if we profess to be experts in the way.  Seconds tick to minutes then hours and we parse up the days on platters of months and years.  We are the self-proclaimed proficient ones.  After all, Cesium-133 does its job down to the wire, right?

     Splitting hairs was not always the fascination with man.  Zoroastrian travelers from the east took their algebra seriously and looked for the stars to play out years.  As if a sexton could reveal their position, no GPS voice told them to “Head west, young men.”  No, silence in a black sky left them to wonder of their own thoughts.  “Could it be?”

     He steps in and out of creation.  Poking His finger into the bubble, He changes the inside as He pulls away and it envelops back upon itself unscathed.  Except upon His Son’s birth, He left a deposit, a proof of His existence.  The bubble did not burst, He simply overcame His usual way.  Requiring special attention brought a special plan.  Prophecies rose up like a tidal wave and thrust an understanding suitable for God’s chosen.

     “Play ball!”  What?  Was the ball hit over the fence?  From Jerusalem with all eyes upon their hands to see Rome’s demise.  Somewhere in Persia, Johnny went to the five and dime and bought himself a glove.  Again, God chose to glorify those wanting in purity.  We three kings did not come with swords armed.  They had nothing to gain by making the trek.  Simple homage to the King of the Jews.  Hadn’t they heard of Israel’s history?  Even Alexander the Great stopped by to take a sneak peek.  Getting a blessing was worth the travel.

     This Christmas, as guilt is ramped up according to what this season isn’t, a hollow fuzz ball leaves our mouths dry.  Where was the meat?  A good chew?  The savory with gravy our bones crave.  A reverential soaking where our souls once again ground themselves in knowing the Absolute.  Somewhere in the buzz, we cannot sit still.  Electrified arrangements of blinking lights distract.  Menacing mosquitoes we slap and endure another charge under the capitalistic curtain avoiding the radar as Santa and his men beg for coins at the door.

     Perhaps it comes down to what the wise men saw.  A little tyke.  Joseph opened the door to find the town a buzz.  Strangers in town brought with them a focused honor.  Speaking for all persons in the east, they bowed before the Child-king.  Speechless.  As if angelic visitations were not enough, God reminded again that this was His special little guy.

     It is about time.  What man cannot capture or hold in his hands, God dictates out of the percussions of His mouth.  Who can stop the voice of many waters?  It flows over rocks then violently falls to crash instilling fear in us little ones.  We gain to add to our stature, but our God knows how to knock off the blocks balanced on our head.

     Jesus, He drove down.  Puncturing the balloon of time.  This stake would not be the first He was accustomed with.  In fact, this first be shiny silvery, reminiscence of star light.  The next ones would drip with blood.

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