Work out—
Let your body speak:
Flesh stretching,
Fibers straining,
Blood pounding,
Mind alert.

There’s a list—
Push-ups, planks, presses—
Each one chasing the same prize:
Strength.
Discipline.
Endurance.

But one remains unsung,
Unseen in gym mirrors,
Unlisted in fitness charts,
Unshared across the globe.

It is the exercise of the unseen—
A sacred training:
Prayer.

Not whispered ritual,
But a fire-breathed posture—
Spirit clenched,
Soul bending,
Body bowed low.

This workout unbinds:
Spirit ignited,
Soul awakened,
Mind renewed—
A trembling reach
That brushes the robe of God.
Spirit meeting Spirit,
Deep calling unto deep.

They call it prayer.
But I—
I know it as sweat of the soul.

For while the body gains little,
The one who presses through to touch the Divine
Is changed.
Expanded.
Exalted.
Magnified.

Diseased
Sores bloomed on my soul—
a garden of pain,
thorned with worry,
tended by doubt.

Anxieties gnawed the edges of my mind,
each thought a wave
crashing against fragile faith.

Diseased.
I exhaled despair
onto the ulcers
that blistered my skin—
a silent cry only heaven heard.

Then,
His Spirit gathered me
like a wind gathers ashes.
In the hush of His Presence,
I was not condemned—
I was cleansed.

My spirit, once bound,
now shouted:
Victory.
Freedom.
Peace.

The sores on my soul
simmered into silence,
their fire quenched
by mercy.
I emerged—
clean,
pure,
whole.

My mind, once a battlefield,
now rested in light.
My soul, once silenced,
began to hum its healing.
My spirit realigned,
cradled in the rhythm of grace.

La, la, la—
my spirit danced.

Li, li, li—
my soul replied.

And my body—
once weary—
now moved
to the tempo of testimony:
Hallelujah.

Thus says the Spirit:

Intentionality.
Effort.
Diligence unceasing.
By My Spirit —
You shall strike the mark.

Work out your salvation.
Be ye separated.
The voice of the Spirit thunders:
Purposed intentionality!

Behold —
I have set before you
Life and death.
Choose Life!
That you may live.

I have granted free will;
Yet My Spirit cries:
Turn!
Set your face!
Choose the Way of Life!

Acceptance is the beginning, not the end.
It is the gate, not the prize.
Walk ye through!
Move with purpose!
Run with resolve!
Set your face as flint
Toward the Kingdom!

Work out your salvation
With fear,
With trembling.

The sirens of Heaven sound.
The alarm is raised.
The Spirit warns:

Be diligent, O soul.
Be steadfast, O heart.
For the Day draws near —
Nearer than you know.

Thus says the Spirit.

A parched soil—
cracked, barren, yearning,
thirsty,
sinking into death.

My spirit, withering,
gnawed by hollow hunger,
enlisted in error
by a single act:

The act—
sealing shut
the Word of God,
the Living Water.

My soul,
a silent witness to this wrong,
sank
into depression,
into hopelessness,
into dust.

Yet opening His Word,
I drank from ancient wells—
joy spilling,
peace unfurling,
hope reborn.

For He
is His Word,
overflowing
in my hands.

Like a key and a padlock,
We unite in the Master's hand.

Like a pen and a paper,
We theorize in the Master's wisdom.

Like mud and water,
We form by the Master's will.

No us without His,
No me without you.

Complete in Him,
We edify one another as one.

Like a seed in the Master's vineyard,
We are fruitful,
Fulfilling our unity.

Scheduled
I sketched my life
with bold strokes of ambition—
my mind dancing,
my heart skipping like a tambourine.

I saw myself
advocating, defending—
a smile stitched on courtroom wins,
my name echoing through channels,
my praise in every mouth.
I daydreamed,
I built bliss in a vision
I thought was mine.

But my aim was narrow.
He, in wisdom, drew another path—
a path where mud clings,
where stains speak,
where pain walks beside me.

Like a painter
He brushed a new canvas
and smiled,
“Perfect for my daughter.”

Now, in the path He destined,
I care—
holding lives on fragile lines.
I teach,
I advocate for health.
I cry,
offering comfort,
living empathy.

Now, it’s no longer fantasy—
but His will done.
And in this,
I’ve found true bliss—
rising each day
to walk this chosen road.

In Him,
I see the masterpiece.
Perfect.