A Bowl of Milk

I am in New Jersey. The godlessness here is astounding.

Yesterday I saw a truck hauling a gold casket. Rebellion against God to the very last. But righteousness will wake him up to present himself as he is sealed. A Sobering thought.

America is like a bowl. The eastern cities, full of the will of man. LA and Seattle, the other side of the rim. Chicago and Detroit, Dallas, Atlanta, Miami, and so on. But in between is what is called the Bible belt.

Yes. America is like a bowl of milk. Some of its contents has splashed along the rim. But the nutrition is mostly settled in the middle.


A waving stick man made with Pivot

A waving stick man made with Pivot (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I got used to it.  So did you.  A long time ago, perhaps before we were born, we got used to it.

There was plenty of things to keep me busy.  So it didn’t matter that I was being forced to move beyond my will.

Oh, there were times when I really, really, desired to remain in a certain place a while longer.  But the push came anyway.  I got used to even this annoying aspect of life.

Let a man push me like time does and I’ll grow angry at him.  But his push is momentary.  And time comes along to push me past that point also.  So I get used to it.


There’s a light approaching.  I’ve heard about this place.  “I don’t want to go”.  But the familiar push comes anyway.

Compelled, we are.  We will enter that contractual closure.  We were handed a certificate of life when sperm met egg.  That certificate expires on the separation of soul and body.

“I don’t want to go”.  But I’m so used to being pushed that I forget to even give consideration to that hand at my back.

My skin rips away.  Muscles leave me.  Bones no longer support.  Restraint is gone.  But another certificate of contract is applied to me now.

Something comes to mind.  Even in this place of pushing, something comes to mind.   What is the substance of that contract which will replace the one I am currently living under?

Will it be life?  Will it be death?  Now is the moment to choose.

Time is the invention of the One who pushed me toward that eternal contract.   He has allowed me to taste this temporal contract.  And has warned me sufficiently about the contract which lay on the horizon.

Here it comes.  HEY!!!!!!  YOU!!!!!   Stop fiddling around with that gadget and look up!  Listen to me!  But the man looks up with dazed eyes and groping hands.  He wants that gadget.  He’s got no interest in what I’m trying to tell him.

He too is being pushed.  His contract will terminate.  A new one will be applied.  What then?