Nov 2018
One day as I was meditating 'neath the sunshine bright and fair; I beheld an expansive highway, whose passage led to I knew not where.
A great number of souls; each with a different destination. I watched them from a distance, with eyes of trepidation.
Nothing could stop them from venturing down the thoroughfare: Of perplexity and enigma; I could only sit and stare.
The signs and markings tried to show and tell where each one was bound; not knowing the minds of those arbitral travelers - worthy advice could not be found.
Only a roadmap would help to guide them, if they knew not where they were.
A guide that only claimed to know would surely confuse and obscure.
I wondered which collection, or source of information, the people would cite. How would they know just which road was right? And could they truly trust their own headlamps in the darkness of night?
Further observation revealed just what I suspected: The mob was on a fixed and stipulated course; they would scarcely turn around, and would not care to be corrected.
What might cause a multitude to behave in such a way? What caused this scene of deception that my senses did betray? The sight that lay before me was an undeniable fact: A highway of free will and choices, brought about by just one act.
Up ahead in the distance, there arose a statuesque hill. On it's mount were three wooden crosses, standing somberly and still. They seemed to dare those passing by to glance up and chance a look. The message that the crosses bore told more than could be written in any book.
What significance would this symbol have on those rushing by? Would the people see beyond its uncomeliness, would they even try? Or would they consciously or otherwise its meaning deny?
Though the emblem would be viewed and interpreted adversely, it would still provide living water to those that were thirsty. The middle cross would serve as a reminder and a promise to all; a door to someone's heart, where through God could call.
A great number of souls; each with a different destination. I watched them from a distance, with eyes of trepidation.
Nothing could stop them from venturing down the thoroughfare: Of perplexity and enigma; I could only sit and stare.
The signs and markings tried to show and tell where each one was bound; not knowing the minds of those arbitral travelers - worthy advice could not be found.
Only a roadmap would help to guide them, if they knew not where they were.
A guide that only claimed to know would surely confuse and obscure.
I wondered which collection, or source of information, the people would cite. How would they know just which road was right? And could they truly trust their own headlamps in the darkness of night?
Further observation revealed just what I suspected: The mob was on a fixed and stipulated course; they would scarcely turn around, and would not care to be corrected.
What might cause a multitude to behave in such a way? What caused this scene of deception that my senses did betray? The sight that lay before me was an undeniable fact: A highway of free will and choices, brought about by just one act.
Up ahead in the distance, there arose a statuesque hill. On it's mount were three wooden crosses, standing somberly and still. They seemed to dare those passing by to glance up and chance a look. The message that the crosses bore told more than could be written in any book.
What significance would this symbol have on those rushing by? Would the people see beyond its uncomeliness, would they even try? Or would they consciously or otherwise its meaning deny?
Though the emblem would be viewed and interpreted adversely, it would still provide living water to those that were thirsty. The middle cross would serve as a reminder and a promise to all; a door to someone's heart, where through God could call.
