the Anvil, the Cross, his Crown
Posted by ROGER on 11/23/2016

Hmm, thought a flame, a trigger an inspiration that causes me to stop and linger. A desire to drink, to investigate and find out if this has a well-spring, a fountain that can further water these seeds inside of me. Brilliance, brilliant, Beggars begging, in poverty or brightness beckoning me to the fire-light of change. Where brokenness cannot remain the option is poised to fight to strain or refrain and remain the same. Begging beggars offering reminisce but never to the anvil to take this pain and hammer out glory. so laziness offers a good night of sleep but anxiety without end as poverty keeps breaking in. but desire offers zeal, the flame of sleepless nights the treasures of madness taking flight. Seeking a country built by God. Being the humble,  being the odd. Those that’d rather guard gates, be a keeper of doors, servant to many. Embracing poverty of spirit,  so that people can find treasure and learn how to spend it. Spending my life to speak to the maker of stars, who makes much of our scars.  I've traveled so far, & so far I've learned that enemies’ boots are meant to be burned that poverty is meant to be turned. That in this whole of life I’m meant to learn. So afresh i confront that all that I want is to believe, that God is able to make much of me!! Matter of fact this is his Glory. I can hear the sound of his blow and his pound it's in death that life is found. The cross is the path to victor's crown. I want to love to hear the sound of my pain on anvil be found, may blow after blow come down. Make a crown and for Glory may I lay it down. let it be  like David my father said, no sleep to my eyes no climbing in bed but a place in me your rest, my stead. God give my generation this great Home-Stead. Find in us your home. Harvest a generation's pain and in us and near us remain

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