It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter.

Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace-- but there is no peace.

The war is actually begun!

The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethern are already in the field!

Why stand we here idle?

The war is already begun. And I am here. Feeling as though I'm standing idle.

This week there has been unrest in my city. Not in my home, but in the place on the other side of the world that captured my heart and my imagination.

And I am here.

What is that gentlemen wish? What would they have?

What am I waiting for? What is it that keeps me from seeking God's heart, furiously demanding in humble reverence that He reveals what He has for me? I am mendicant, yes. Having taken begging orders, I am dependent on the Providence of the Most High. If nothing else, these past few months have been a front row seat to the learning how to correctly answer, "who provides for your needs?"
And yet, I am also royalty. And therefore entitled to ask My Father how best to carry His Name. I am promised the resources of Heaven to aid me as I walk His path.
And yet, I wait, too afraid...

Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?

Are these fleeting distractions, the momentary pleasures of entertainment and self-satisfaction worth this misery? Worth this feeling left behind?

Mendicant royalty though I am, I don't know how to devote myself.

So, therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, throw off
-- whether by your own decision or the discipline of the Almighty-- anything that can jam you up and keep you from the race before you.
Everyone trains. The question is what you are training for, and how well you are using your time.
You are in a legitimately difficult situation, although you aren't as bad off as you think or have the perspective to see.
So take heart! The fact that you are suffering is only a reflection of who you are being claimed as.
You matter.
And for this reason you are having a difficult time. You see, noncombatants don't get a second glance in the thick of the battle.
Dig in deep, game on.
Put on the whole armor. Do whatever it takes to tie the truth around you so tightly that there's nothing to get tangled up in. Stand firm where you've been planted, but be ready to move, and move quickly.
Get wisdom, despite how much it may cost you in the middle of your trials. Fix your eyes on what, and Who you know to be true.
Consider him faithful who made the promise. Make choices where you put your feet and your heart.
You are in the middle of a story. All the saints and prophets, broken people and sinful patriarchs of old point the way, crying out for a better city.
A place to belong and be wanted, claimed.
So, weak though you are, work on.
It's in following your commandments, your instructions that you are made strong. Your brokeness is healed. Your wounds are bound up. And your scars have meaning.
Take heart! For I have overcome the world.

Even from here I could hear the timbers burning, collapsing into each other and falling.

It took a moment, heartbeats framed in a lifetime, to realize how long it had been burning.
The precise moment it changed from a feeble flicker into a raging blaze slipped past unnoticed. I knew the flames had been there, had sensed them all along, but this...

This was a destruction.

My better nature fought against a sense of self preservation.

The latter wanting to run and save would, could be collected, putting out the flames with skin and tears if necessary.
The former sighing that flames serve as a catalyst, making way for the Phoenix.

I watched as the markers of a history and identity added to the flood that marred the sky.

It's 1815. I've got to leave for work in the next few minutes.

I'm not so sure about this, about this life I've found myself living. I don't know what I expected, or if I even had a clear idea of what I thought this would look like. I do know that I don't know how to navigate the situations in which I find myself.

I am unsure.

I've done a lot of thinking lately about what I have left. It feels and seems as though everything has been taken away from me, either by circumstance or by lack of opportunity. I'm starting, blasted timing, to see what it is I want. And am nearly powerless to do anything about it.

Where do the roots of confidence and endurance lie? Maybe, is it that confidence stems from the parent root of endurance?

It's late, or rather early. I'm sitting here wondering what I've gotten myself into, whether it'll prove to be as good of an idea as it seems like right now.
Don't know if I've got the commitment necessary for a blog.
Or the desire to write anything of any honesty.
But, we'll give it a go.