Going off the daily readings routine after these past months. Into making more 'words' colour and light, sow these out: Into me, in re re-re reading them. Sowing all that counts.
And as for “you” – understand few if at all/ and why. But thank ye - oh one or two.
Still not hearing God much but probably . . .
The revelation from Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show his servants what must soon take place. He made it known by sending his angel to his servant John,who testifies to everything he saw– that is, the word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ. Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are . . .
Zipping and zapping, “plan to do this or that...” isn't so wise. Could be finding my way, or plain young, double-mindedness? All to a virtually absent readership. Yet, this is to God first, like some prayer and prophecy, with elements to other unseen beings/ones – and all that…
- Do them here seeds, quick as. 2. . . .
That'll teach me to write (as in yesterday) and about the first time, hesitate and not post. Today look. Assume failed to save. Spoke to me. On planting seeds no less. Ah well. Usual over-wordy banter. Perhaps, graph a verse and keep time-spent blabbing to an abs. min. This the lesson. Ten lines or so. Harder in many ways to say . . .
'The Ballyhooed “Battle for Mosul” Is Another Deception' and Jon Ronson, have me disturbed. No more time/s for me, to keep-on typing, for an imaginary audience. Written something this morn but questioning why? Reads all rightly-raging and honest. Turning upside-down, those who'd never read this. Brilliant not-connect eh? . . .
I am my readership and these words, actions of faith.
Fruit of failure. How everything God would've helped me toward, over decades, spurned, wasted – never even got close to rejecting, too busy messing up, barely perceiving the offers. Fooled by the things of this world again and again and…
“What a waste” – not . . .
Remember my first PAS post. Went on, something about; Best I can manage is grasping at a line like a mantra. There's no sense of nout. Blank, tired and empty. Yet...
This morn; He Who Dwells is the bumbling get-up repeater. Until I get-out of bed: “Why don't you…”/'Reasons to be cheerful, part 3'.
. . .