He grunted when I handed him the package. Shuffling along with the weight of the box and his years of living, he stood a little taller today, with his uniform on. Whispers of honor held up his shoulders like that of the cop that stood guard over my daughters Kindergarten class on the night of her Christmas performance.
The man displayed his roots, and his recognition of that thing called war.
His statement stilled our mourning hearts for those little ones slain by monsters that we tell them are make-believe. But we hold on, because honor, strength and dignity have started to sprout underneath the layers of murk. This same muddy indulgence that has covered our country like the bitterest of frostings. Self Worship. Stuff. Money and status, suffocating us in pretty death.
The old man’s spirit is verdant, born of the same spirit that won our freedom. Freedom for a blessed land.
A land led by a Lion.
…And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge – that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Ephesians 3: 17-19
The Lion gathers his watchers.
He gathers His guardians, His saints and His prophets to break through the layers of complacency.
Our branches are alive in the ones who wear His light without fear.
They spring up from the homes that follow Him, and the children who are given the right to kneel before Him, whenever, wherever.
Monsters hide in the shadows because they are terrified of the light.
We grasp Him for more light to scare away those that lurk within those rotting layers.
The old man returned to his room, leaving a trail of remembrance and hope.
And together we can fall to our knees and crush the darkness.