For weeks, my thoughts have been lacking cohesion, and have hurled themselves around like the slush spatterings that line our roads. I am now in that span of time when the snow is carved as the desert, and the drifts are great shaves and swirls of powdered diamonds; His word is restoring my soul. It all began with Psalm 19. I was staying with a friend, and in very early morning I was awakened and restless. Depth of breath, and wholeness of mind were entirely lacking, and as I lay silently, my vain repetitions only furthered my faltering. I took to my bedside and groaned there, hoping that all embodied in this vessel might be rinsed and washed entirely away. As I looked on at my need, I wished for some other way, for real prayer is painful, and to enter that inner sanctum takes time. One enters with all his fears and failings, heart puffs and longings, and is soon deflated by the great folly found in his every breath. Oh, it is a despairing place, and I find such vacillations there; parallyzed in my need, and humiliated by everything that is in the general vicinity of anything I've touched--

and then humbled, tended, and embraced by a love I simply cannot understand, nor contain, less often show to others. From there, gradually the soul takes flight and cannot help but be lifted, and gently sent soaring from all that is, and was in its existence; is washed, renewed, strengthened and restored by a Spirit that one cannot see... Beyond the slightest shadow, faith reveals this Spirit as being far superior to anything seen, for the longer the soul gazes upon Him, and imbibes His word, the less the man resembles himself, and the more he takes on His Maker. I am afraid that my resemblance is not what it ought be, and I live dreadfully unaware of my heavenly posterity, but as the word steeps in my heart, it again restores my soul.