I tell you that I'd prefer to pound my passion into the rich recesses of some great instrument, or to personify humanity's affect with the persistent stroking of a brush, but none of these means seem ever to satiate, and so I pick up this pen again, attempting to propel my passions into a channel of understanding. My day's activities flush through the filter of arranged words and cataloged memoirs, wherein the calendar's page turns on the collage of arranged memory, and either the completion or failure of consummated expression. Words seem to never give the voice to which I intend them, and their tenor oxidizes when exposed to the air of other's eyes. It seems those who create have to share, for some curious compulsion urges them straight past their fears and out onto the canvas of another's mind. It seems at times that my veins course with a molten vigor that propels me to the strangest spurts of joyful expression, and I know not how to contain or reign in this divine bliss. Of course, joy's counterpart -- despair is a close friend as well, and with these two faithful companions I seem to gracefully crash in their bounds, seemingly incapable of living in the mellow and contained ways I see my fellow men conducting. It is as if I am determined to detail every cranny in this crooked existence, and to personify the hue of every thread that binds and supports the golden band of God's faithfulness in our broken lives.

The tape rolls on, and the backdrop is 1 John 1:1-4. I am captivated by the means employed to reveal deity, and the sensory description actuated to propound our faith. It is given us that He is the Word of Life, and in studying this, it seems that this word is to be the vital word, or the intellectual word which depicts and embodies life. This Word of Life whispers purpose into every created thing, and was revealed with the hung skin of a mortal, and the life breath of a man. Not only was this word manifested to the world, but they beheld Him, and His glory among them. Their senses were engaged in every situation as the unfolding of eternity past broke through and unrolled in their present. Eternity spoken in the Law suddenly interposed itself in human form, and thus the eternal dialogue breached the bounds of religion and catapulted straight into the souls of man. The incarnate Word became as flesh and bore the branding of sinful man, wherein His redemptive plan was actuated by His condescension to us, and by His procuring of eternal life for us.

This vault of heavenly joy is permanently unlocked to us through the manifested word of God, and remains an inexhaustible fountain of refreshment for our weary and parched souls. I am attempting to realign my thinking of earth's joy's, for their presence is not sure as the hope been secured. My delight must be in the Giver, for the gift can surely change, and earth's joys pale and sting with the decline of created glory. Our longings speak to our eternal casing, and our hearts muse of the the world to come. New life walks beside death, and deeper sorrows introduce purer joy, while all along our hearts yearn, groan, and labor within to be released from their longing and satisfied eternally. Our pilgrimage ought strengthen our resolve, that with Creation we might finally be freed into the unbroken praise of our Maker, and the land of "no more." This Life--the very Word which is the Light of men, has been manifested, and seeks to lead us this day to the hope that will never disappoint.