Thursday night past, I feel sick...

We read, we prayed.
This is what we read, this is what we prayed:

Psalm 107

1 Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good! His faithful love endures forever. 2 Has the Lord redeemed you? Then speak out! Tell others he has redeemed you from your enemies. 3 For he has gathered the exiles from many lands, from east and west, from north and south.
4 Some wandered in the wilderness, lost and homeless. 5 Hungry and thirsty, they nearly died. 6 “Lord, help!” they cried in their trouble, and he rescued them from their distress. 7 He led them straight to safety, to a city where they could live. 8 Let them praise the Lord for his great love and for the wonderful things he has done for them. 9 For he satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things.
10 Some sat in darkness and deepest gloom, imprisoned in iron chains of misery. 11 They rebelled against the words of God, scorning the counsel of the Most High. 12 That is why he broke them with hard labor; they fell, and no one was there to help them. 13 “Lord, help!” they cried in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. 14 He led them from the darkness and deepest gloom; he snapped their chains. 15 Let them praise the Lord for his great love and for the wonderful things he has done for them. 16 For he broke down their prison gates of bronze; he cut apart their bars of iron.
17 Some were fools; they rebelled and suffered for their sins. 18 They couldn’t stand the thought of food, and they were knocking on death’s door. 19 “Lord, help!” they cried in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. 20 He sent out his word and healed them, snatching them from the door of death. 21 Let them praise the Lord for his great love and for the wonderful things he has done for them. 22 Let them offer sacrifices of thanksgiving and sing joyfully about his glorious acts.
23 Some went off to sea in ships, plying the trade routes of the world. 24 They, too, observed the Lord’s power in action, his impressive works on the deepest seas. 25 He spoke, and the winds rose, stirring up the waves. 26 Their ships were tossed to the heavens and plunged again to the depths; the sailors cringed in terror. 27 They reeled and staggered like drunkards and were at their wits’ end. 28 “Lord, help!” they cried in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. 29 He calmed the storm to a whisper and stilled the waves. 30 What a blessing was that stillness as he brought them safely into harbor! 31 Let them praise the Lord for his great love and for the wonderful things he has done for them. 32 Let them exalt him publicly before the congregation and before the leaders of the nation.
33 He changes rivers into deserts, and springs of water into dry, thirsty land. 34 He turns the fruitful land into salty wastelands, because of the wickedness of those who live there. 35 But he also turns deserts into pools of water, the dry land into springs of water. 36 He brings the hungry to settle there and to build their cities. 37 They sow their fields, plant their vineyards, and harvest their bumper crops. 38 How he blesses them! They raise large families there, and their herds of livestock increase.
39 When they decrease in number and become impoverished through oppression, trouble, and sorrow, 40 the Lord pours contempt on their princes, causing them to wander in trackless wastelands. 41 But he rescues the poor from trouble and increases their families like flocks of sheep. 42 The godly will see these things and be glad, while the wicked are struck silent. 43 Those who are wise will take all this to heart; they will see in our history the faithful love of the Lord.

As we left our place of kneeling, we began walking into the lives of our Gomars.
Here is the end to a story that took exactly two years to tell.

Actually, I might let Gomar tell you this story.

My name is Gomar.

Two years ago my baby was stolen.
A thief in the night.

I lost my little girl, she was three months old.
She belonged to me.
I was hers.

The thief...prostitution.

She was suffocating, I was prostituting myself.
As she was wrestling for air, I was wrestling money.
She was meant to be dreaming, she was meant to be safe.

It was me, I left her.

I don't even remember the stenge of death as I walked through my door that night, I was too drunk to care. It wasn't until the next morning I realised she was dead. I had left her dreaming, how did I ever wake up in hell?

It was me, I left her.

I buried my baby that week, I don't really remember that either.
I remained so drunk I couldn't feel.
I didn't want to remember, I didn't want to feel.

Death, quilt, death, quilt. Silence.

Shame. Murder. Theft.
Questionned, accused.

She was gone, my life in backward motion.

Her body, given over to the earth all those months ago, was reclaimed earlier this year. I stood accused, they needed evidence. Her body was reclaimed to fingerprint my neglect on her skin.

I am to blame.
Questionned, accused.

Today is her second birthday, her body dug up from the grave is finally returned.

Rest. Silence.

I have been questionned, accused. I am quilty.

I am numb, still to drunk to feel.


Happy birthday little one, you were two years old on friday. I thank God you are home.

Reborn.



My head is lost in a swirling sea of vomit.

Yet all I see are her tears as she washes His feet.
From glass alabaster she pours out the depths of her soul.

O foot of Christ would You wait if her harlotry's known?

And all I hear are His words:
"Let he without sin cast the first stone if you will".

Gomar you allowed death to steal your baby, please do not allow death to steal your soul.
Forgiveness, not something to be attained.

Forgiveness is to be received.

Peace and distant Light

He can take ten thousand tears collected over 26 years.

He can take a million lonely days run together in a drunken haze.

He can take half a dozen heartaches .

He knows how to take it, replace it, with One love.

He can take seven hundred sleepless nights,
twice as many useless fights.

He can take dirty disappointment over dreams that died.

He can find the fragile light behind you fear,
hidden words that no one else could hear.

You have half a heart in a bag of bones.

You have hopes cut off and turned to stone.

Dried up tears soaked in your skin.

Do you really believe you will never love again?

Your 'pieces', they are just floating around,
Let Him take them, let Him make you whole...somehow.

Hebrews 5 v 7
During the days of Jesus' life on earth, He offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears to the One who could save Him from death, and He was heard because of His reverent submission...

If only you could see yourself like we see you...

Gomar

When i look in your eyes
I don't want you to grow old
And I begin to despise
All of my silver and gold

When I look in your heart
I see blood and oil
Water and wine
Like seeds in soil

Oh if you could only see yourself
like we see you

(Thanks for breaking the shadows with light Foy Vance...last night breathtaking)

Redemption Singing

When sins and fears prevailing rise
And fainting hope almost expires
Jesus to Thee I lift my eyes
To Thee I breathe my soul’s desires
Are You not mine, my living Lord
And can my hope, my comfort die
Fixed on the everlasting word
That word which built the earth and sky
Jesus, I lift my eyes
To Thee I breathe my soul’s desires
Jesus, I lift my eyes
To Thee I lift my eyes
Here let my faith unshaken dwell
Immovable the promise stands
Not all the powers of earth or hell
Can e’er dissolve the sacred bands
Jesus to Thee I lift my eyes
Jesus, I lift my eyes
To Thee I breathe my soul’s desires
Jesus, I lift my eyes
To Thee I lift my eyes
Here oh my soul
Thy trust repose
If Jesus is forever mine
Not death itself that last of foes
Can break a union so divine
Jesus, I lift my eyes
To Thee I breathe my soul’s desires
Jesus, I lift my eyes
To Thee I breathe my soul’s desires

Backwards...is it the only direction we know?

Gomar, You can't go backwards, you must go forward.
You have not been what you could be.
When you are the only one that enslaves you, then you're the only one that can set you free.
Your one mistake is to think you've made one.

Don't run away.
Don't run away, question the answers.
You can't do over what you've done already, expecting something new to see.

I will not be bought, I will not be caged.
You will not be bought, you will not be caged.

I'm tired of trying to compensate for you...

So they called you a prostitute.
I want you to hear something different.

I don't care what anybody thinks.
I will stare when everybody blinks.

I don't mind the difference that they see,
Becasue He loves every little thing about you.
Becasue I love every little thing about you.

I believe that everybody bleeds.
Sticks and stones aren't what has cut so deep, I know.
I refuse to buy the hate they sell for free,
Gomar, don't carry the weight of this world.

But I love
Every little thing
Every little thing
Every little thing
About you.

My vision gathered the community as it has never been and never will be gathered in this world of time

“History overflows time. Love overflows the allowance of the world. All the vessels overflow, and no end or limit stays put. Every shakable thing has got to be shaken. In a sense, nothing is ever lost, and we compacted together forever, even by our failures, our regrets, and our longings.My vision of the gathered church that had come to me after I became the janitor had been replaced by a vision of the gathered community. What I saw now was the community imperfect and irresolute but held together by the frayed and always fraying, incomplete and yet-ever-holding bonds of the various sorts of affection. There had maybe never been anybody who had not been loved by somebody, who had been loved by somebody else, and so on and on. If you could go back to the story of Uncle Ive and Verna Shoals, you would find, certainly before and maybe after, somebody who loved them both. It was a community always disappointed in itself, disappointing its members, always trying to contain its divisions and gentle its meanness, always failing and yet always preserving a sort of will toward goodwill. I knew that, in the midst of ignorance and error, this was a membership; it was membership of Port William and of no other place on earth. My vision gathered the community as it has never been and never will be gathered in this world of time, for the community must always be marred by members who are indifferent or against it, who are nonetheless its members and maybe nonetheless essential to it. And yet I saw them all as somehow perfected, beyond time, by one another’s love, compassion, and forgiveness, as it is said we may be perfected by grace. And so there we all were on a little wave of time lifting up to eternity, and none of us ever in time would know what to make of it. How could we? It is a mystery, for we are eternal beings living in time. Did I ever think that anybody would understand it? Yes. Once. I thought that I would finally understand it.”
Wendell Berry. Jayber Crow. New York: Counterpoint, 2000. 204-5.

Just go to bed now. Quickly. Quickly and slowly.

"Seymour once said that all we do our whole lives is go from one little piece of Holy Ground to the next. Is he never wrong?"

“Of course, that is not the whole story, but that is the way with stories; we make them what we will. It’s a way of explaining the universe while leaving the universe unexplained, it’s a way of keeping it all alive, not boxing it into time. Everyone tells a story differently, just to remind us that everybody sees it differently. Some people say there are true things to be found, some people say all kinds of things can be proved. I don’t believe them. The only thing for certain is how complicated it all is, like a string full of knots. It’s all there but hard to find the beginning and impossible to fathom the end. The best you can do is admire the cat’s cradle, and maybe knot it up a bit more. History should be a hammock for swinging and a game for playing, the way cats play. Claw it, chew it, rearrange it and at bedtime it’s still a ball of string full of knots. People like to separate storytelling which is not fact from history which is fact. They do this so that they know what to believe and what not to believe. This is very curious. How is it that no one will believe that the whale swallowed Jonah when every day Jonah is swallowing the whale? I can see them now, stuffing down the fishiest of fish tales, and why? Because it is history. Knowing what to believe had its advantages. It built an empire and kept people where they belonged, in the bright realm of the wallet…”
Jeanette Winterson, Oranges are not the only fruit. London: Vintage, 1996. 91-2.

Came to himself (thank you Dianne)

There is a line in the story of the prodigal son that is easy to miss. It comes as the transition in the story, but it also seems to mark the transition in the son. Not long after the younger son demands the right to live as he pleases, after he leaves with his father's money and gets as far away as possible, and after he loses everything and is forced to hire himself out in the fields, the story reads that the prodigal "came to himself" and, at this, he decides to turn back to the father. Today it is often translated that the son "came to his senses," as we might describe a man who, on the precipice of a bad decision or impulsive act, decides to turn around. But the phrase in the Greek literally describes the prodigal as "coming to himself," and seems to point at something more than good decision-making. In a sermon titled "Bread Enough and to Spare," popular English preacher Charles Spurgeon notes that this Greek expression can be applied to one who comes out of a deep swoon, someone who has lost consciousness and comes back to himself again. The expression can also be applied to one who is recovering from insanity, someone who has been lost somewhere within her own mind and body, only to come back to herself once again. With both of these metaphors, the prodigal son is one who wakes to health and life again, having been unconscious of his true condition. Standing in a foreign field hungry and alone, the prodigal comes to something more than a good decision. He is waking to an identity he knew in part but never fully realized. He is remembering life in his father's house again, though for the first time. Human identity seems a succession of inquiry and wakefulness. Who we are is discovered in layers of life and realization, questioning and consciousness. In this, essayist Annie Dillard articulates the progression of awareness and the rousing of self as something strangely recognizable--"like people brought back from cardiac arrest or drowning." There is a familiarity in the midst of our awakenings. We wake to mystery, but so somehow we wake to something known. Trapped in sin that controls the mind and keeps us in darkness, our condition is similar to the prodigal son in a foreign land. We are like those who have lost consciousness, caught in the madness of our own condition, until we are awakened to life with the Father. The apostle concurs: "As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient" (Ephesians 2:1-2). "Coming to ourselves" is, thus, about waking to our human condition, claiming in our very identities our need for resurrection, our need for home. Yet another use of the expression comes out of the old world fables of enchantment. With this metaphor, "coming to ourselves" is like coming out of a magician's spell and assuming once again our true forms. It is reminiscent of the scene in The Silver Chair where the children are trapped beneath Narnia in the land called Underworld and persuaded to believe there is no such thing as a Narnian. The Queen of Underworld, who is really a witch, has thrown a green powder into the fire that produces a sweet and drowsy smell. In this enchanting haze, their identity as Narnians becomes hazy, and the world they thought they knew begins to disappear. But it is at this moment of despair that Puddleglum makes a>brave move. With his bare foot he stomps on the fire, sobering the sweet and heavy air. "One word, Ma'am," he says coming back from the fire, limping, because of the pain. "Suppose we have only dreamed, or made-up, all those things... Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one... We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow...I'm on Aslan's side, even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as much like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland." Coming out of their enchantment, the prisoners of Underland remembered they were children of another kingdom. Coming to themselves, they began to realize who they were all along. What if waking to our identities as children of the Father is like uncovering the people God has created us to be from the start? What if coming to ourselves is like remembering we are citizens of another kingdom, a kingdom we vaguely recall and yet long to return? The prodigal's awakening from the enchantment of his own sin and a foreign world came as the startling recognition of two palpable facts: First, that there was plenty in his father's house, and second, that he himself was starving. Waking to these two vital spiritual truths today, we reclaim the very identities given to us in the beginning. And doing so, we come to ourselves because we are setting out for home again. We come to ourselves because we are going to the Father. (RZ)

But why is a man as wise as He
Weeping alone in Gethsemane
Could it be because
He's afraid we'd never see
The heaven in His eyes

But why is a girl as foolish as me
Weeping alone tonight
Could it be because
She's afraid you'll never see
The heaven in her eyes

What if you never see
The heaven in my eyes Gomar...

Jesus stooped down and wrote in the dust with His finger...

John 10

v1 Jesus returned to the Mount of Olives, 2 but early the next morning he was back again at the Temple. A crowd soon gathered, and he sat down and taught them. 3 As he was speaking, the teachers of religious law and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in the act of adultery. They put her in front of the crowd.
4 “Teacher,” they said to Jesus, “this woman was caught in the act of adultery. 5 The law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say?”
6 They were trying to trap him into saying something they could use against him, but Jesus stooped down and wrote in the dust with his finger. 7 They kept demanding an answer, so he stood up again and said, “All right, but let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone!”

8 Then he stooped down again and wrote in the dust.
9 When the accusers heard this, they slipped away one by one, beginning with the oldest, until only Jesus was left in the middle of the crowd with the woman. 10 Then Jesus stood up again and said to the woman, “Where are your accusers? Didn’t even one of them condemn you?”
11 “No, Lord,” she said.
And Jesus said, “Neither do I. Go and sin no more.”

I wonder was this woman caught in adultery, caught naked?

I wonder did the Pharisees drag her to Jesus as they found her?

Naked?

I wonder how this lady would have felt having crowds look at her?

Naked?

Shameful?

Condemned?

I wonder did Jesus stoop down and begin writing in the dust to free Himself from the tyrannical glare of the Pharisees?

To hide from a question He was hesitant to answer?

Admitting defeat to their tactical, scheming questionning?

Or, I wonder did Jesus stoop down and begin to write so as to take the attention away from this woman?

So as not to stare at her nakedness?

So that His eyes didn't penetrate shame deeper into her soul?

So that condemnation didn't gash open her heart?

I wonder why Jesus stooped down and began writing in the dust with His finger at that moment?

I wonder what He wrote?

Lady Gomar, Jesus is stooping down, writing in the dust with His finger. Go and sin no more...

Nothing could be further from the truth...

Did you believe it Gomar,
when they told you they discovered you?
And that everything is free,
as long as you do what they tell you to.
You think it's true Gomar?

But nothing could be further from the truth, my love.
Did you even listen,
When they told you to change your name?
And that nobody wants honesty when looking at a perfect frame play the game.
Nothing could be further from the truth, my love.
And nothing is more powerful that beauty in a wicked world.

Does it make you feel good,
When they tell you what you want to hear?
And after they suck all your soul,
Well that's when they'll disappear.

Disappear.

They disappear forever.
Like a prince in your little fairy tale.
And you will find,
One day you put you soul on sale.
Nothing could be further from the truth, my Gomar.
And nothing is more powerful than beauty in a wicked world.

Dreaming

My soul, is as open as the sky.
Often time, it is just as blue.
People tell me, I need to keep on dreaming.
That is just what I am going to do.

Now sometimes people treat me like a house fly.
Turn me around, and tell me to shoo.
But sometimes people tell me to keep on dreaming.
And that is just what I am going do.

I am going to keep on dreaming.
Because every moral has a story.
Every end needs a glow.
Sometimes it is full of glory.
Oh, but mostly, it is all about His love.

It is His love..Mmm..It is the love.
It is the love that pulls me through.

All I ever have is words for you Lady Gomar...just doesn't seem enough does it?
Stop listening to me Gomar, may your ears begin to listen to the very heartbeat of Jesus...

Don't let this end
before I see you again
What can I say to convince you to change your mind?
I'm going to love you more than anyone
I'm going to hold you closer than before
And when I kiss your soul,
your body will be free

Look in My eyes, what do you see?
Not just the colour
Look inside of Me

I'm going to love you more than anyone
I'm going to hold you closer than before
And when I kiss your soul, your body will be free

More than anyone Lady Gomar, more than anyone.

This art piece entitled "the journey of love", is stolen from a blog. I hope you can both excuse me and forgive me Ivonne!

Im hiding in its title, wrestling with the colour.

The hope of colour straining my eyes in the black, earth fog of Clarence Street.

Two years of silence now
feathers on the ground
the dusty ghost still stirring
and I wonder where You are...
and I wonder where You are...
and I wonder if I’m just an owl in the dark
searching in the stars...

Gomars, I feel like I am loosing you in a whirlwind.

You hold back like a tear.

But we aren't leaving and you don't have to fade away...

Im beginning to yearn for sleep, yet I know deep within I have one more word to silently utter tonight...

"namaste"

To you lady Gomars, I honor the Holy One who lives in you...

Was I ready to enter into this world?

Am I ready to live in it?

Who’s to say the answer, who is ever ready for these things.

No one could prepare Emma and I for the laughter.

No one could prepare us for the pain.


Let me tell you what you feel like Gomars...

You feel like burning embers

You feel like coming home

You feel like my forever

And that’s all I need to know

You’re close enough to see the cracks I hide

You have caused me tears of joy relentless

I cannot now imagine life without

I owe you more than humble words could confess

I love you more than I even know how

You feel like Christmas morning

You feel like summer rain

You feel like holy waters that wash away my stains

You feel like children singing

You feel like midnight calm

You feel like breathing deeply

Until the storm is gone.

You feel like my forever,

Maybe that is all I need to know.



I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act," says the Lord. Ezekiel 37:14

Around Belfast I am nowhere to be found

it has been a while since i have paused long enough to move beyond myself...

fresh revelations have been bouncing through this head all day...and as I put my wondering mind to rest for today, i draw peace from a last confession.

I need to acknowledge that I spend most of my life in distraction...money, work, family, friends, eating, noise, walking, hiding, waiting, wanting, wondering, wandering.

I'm sorry lady Gomar that so often these distractions keep me from love, keep me from sacrificing for you...keep me from looking into you with eyes that desire more for you...keep me from begging, wrestling, groaning, worshipping and pleading for you.

Can I make myself feel better compromising that life is just a series of distractions...or are the distractions keeping us from life?


Today has been labelled a Thursday...around Belfast I am nowhere to be found...this head full of distraction led me home...I will miss you tonight Gomars, will feel a little lost, a little distant...a little far from home.

"Cast them into morning for the night has been unkind, take them to that place so Holy, that they can wash the memory from their mind".

Father, as she begins to raise her voice, may You lower Yours and grant her one last choice.

The simple ministry of Presence

More and more, the desire grows in me simply to walk around, greet people, enter their homes, sit on their doorsteps, play ball, throw water, and be known as someone who wants to live with them. It is a privilege to have the time to practice this simple ministry of presence. Still, it is not as simple as it seems. My own desire to be useful, to do something significant, or to be part of some impressive project is so strong that soon my time is taken up by meetings, conferences, study groups, and workshops that prevent me from walking the streets. It is difficult not to have plans, not to organize people around an urgent cause, and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder more and more if the first things should be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them.
Henri Nouwen


Vanity asks the question, is it popular? Is it sexy?

But there comes a time when conscience will ask the question, is it TRUE?
I'm repulsed by my vanity, I am repulsed by my pride.
I'm repulsed by a sometimes consuming need for recognition, for a success story, for someone, anyone to take Emma and I seriously...forgive me brothers and sisters, forgive me Gomars...forgive me Jesus please...

Jesus I don't want recognition, I want to be of total insignificance...I want to walk as a "failure" if that guarantees I am walking true.

May Emma and I walk Your streets bankrupt within this fashioned economy of recognition so that our Gomars can know full and pure recognition when they finally stand at The Door and knock...

i must charge myself
unknown (a failure of sorts)
so that others may truly live...

Lord, teach me how to pray...

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 126:5,6

Laid bare...

Then the earth quaked and trembled. The foundations of the mountains shook; they quaked because of His anger. Smoke poured from His nostrils; fierce flames leaped from His mouth. Glowing coals blazed forth from Him. He opened the heavens and came down; dark storm clouds were beneath His feet. Mounted on a mighty angelic being, He flew, soaring on the wings of the wind. He shrouded himself in darkness, veiling His approach with dark rain clouds. Thick clouds shielded the brightness around Him and rained down hail and burning coals. The Lord thundered from heaven; the voice of the Most High resounded amid the hail and burning coals. He shot His arrows and scattered His enemies; His lightning flashed, and they were greatly confused. Then at Your command, O Lord, at the blast of Your breath, the bottom of the sea could be seen, and the foundations of the earth were laid bare.

Words are failing me this morning...so I echo utterings found in Psalm 17

O Lord, hear my plea for justice.
Listen to my cry for help.
Pay attention to my prayer,
for it comes from honest lips.

Declare these Gomars innocent...

You have tested my thoughts and examined my heart in the night.
You have scrutinized me...did you find somehting wrong?
I am determined not to sin in what I say.

May our Gomars know Your commands, may they follow hard after Your commands.
Keep them from following cruel and evil people.

My steps have stayed on Your path;
I have not wavered from following You...well I long not to waver...
I am praying to You because I am trusting You will answer, O God.
Bend down and listen as I pray.

Show Your Gomars Your unfailing love in wonderful ways.
By Your mighty power You rescue those who seek refuge from their enemies, rescue Your Gomars.


Guard them as You would guard Your own eyes.


Protect them from the wicked people who attack them,
from murderous enemies who surround them.
These enemies...they are without pity.
I feel sick, suffocated at the sound of their boasting!
They track these women down and surround them,
watching for the chance to throw them to the ground.
They are like hungry lions, eager to tear apart—
like young lions hiding in ambush.
Arise, O Lord!
Stand against them, and bring them to their knees!
Rescue Your Gomars from the wicked with Your sword!

By the power of Your hand, O Lord,
destroy those who look to this world for their reward.
(Destroy this in me)

Satisfy the hunger of Your treasured ones.
May their children have plenty, leaving an inheritance for they can see You.

When they awake from the night,
may they see You face to face and be satisfied.

He will not despise our prayer...

He will regard the prayer of the destitute, and will not despise their prayer.

Psalm 102:17

What revelation of an overwhelming grace that will burn into the atmoshpere of this world.