Home | Paul or Peter

Daddy can I have a bunny?

Tell me oh God, what a beautiful world you have made? Have you made it for me? It sure does seem like it, when You have given me so much.

I love walking to school even by myself. While I know I could ride with dad, or mom, and my little brother, I always preferred to walk. Walking, even alone, seem’s so fun. Is this normal?

My eye’s fly over the ground, and I imagine I am a bird, or maybe in a plane flying along. Small cracks in the ground look like canyon’s, small grasses look like tree’s, and the smallest water puddles look like lake’s or river’s, wandering softly past. Is this what angel’s get to see?

Every day it seem’s like I see something new. While I know I have been by this way before, my eye’s alway’s find something new. How beautiful are all the thing’s that You have made. Did You make all this God? I think so, because my mom and dad say so.

There are those old orange tree’s again standing along the road. I love grabbing a green orange off the bottom, the low hanging branches I can just reach. They make good softball’s. Sometimes they land just right in the middle of the street, and the car’s smashes them. That’s funny. My hand smell’s like oranges now.

It feel’s so peaceful to just walk. I really like seeing all the living thing’s along the way. Every dog barking along the fence, every ant hole with the ever busy ant’s moving about their task’s. They sure do go crazy if I walk to close to their hole. Do they even know I am here?

The neighbor’s cat lying on the wall sleeping in the sun, bird’s lined up along the telephone wires high up in the air. I know cat’s eat bird’s, but they don’t seem to be flying away. The cat look’s at them sometime’s, but then goes right back to sleep. Maybe this cat had enough milk for breakfast. The bird’s seem to look at me like they know me, do they really know who I am, walking there?

I often talk to myself, but funnier still, a voice talks back. Is it God? I don’t know, but one thing is for sure, I am always happy when the talking takes place. It feel’s good, and I have heard God is all good, so it must be God. Soft and sure the voice sound’s, saying thing’s that are alway’s good, oh how it is so peaceful to talk. It has to be God.

Sometime’s at school kid’s might ignore me, but never does the voice say no when I call. My Father say’s Jesus is alway’s with us, maybe it’s Jesus who talk’s to me? When I am lonely at home in my room, I call to Jesus, and His soft voice makes me feel good. He has the same voice as my Father.

This morning before I went to school, I reminded dad about the bunny I saw yesterday. Yesterday we went to the mall and stopped in the pet store. I got to hold a bunny, and when I asked; “Dad, can I have a bunny?”, he said no, but he seemed to like watching me hold it, smiling.

“We don’t have grass,” He said, “and bunnies like grass.” “So maybe if we ever get a lawn, I will think about it.”

I like the bunnies, they’re so soft. Their soft long ear’s tickle my finger’s as I pet them. They lay there in your arm’s so softly, quietly, how could someone not like bunnies? But I like dog’s too. God do You think dad will ever buy me a puppy? That would be so nice.

Funny how so many people have different yard’s. A lot of people have fences, but some don’t, and the grass just end’s at the sidewalk. Peoples houses look so funny, looking back at me walking by, the window’s look like eye’s watching me. Some have happy faces, but some are scary, I hurry past those.

People put all kind’s of thing’s in the yard. Fountain’s, statues, grass, bushes, sometimes even rock’s and stuff like that. The flower’s in the yard’s are pretty, the nice light paint make’s some houses look so happy. I like the green grass, it looks soft enough to lay in. The bird’s always drink out of the fountain.

One time a small sparrow was standing on a small fence as I walked up. It didn’t fly away even as I reach slowly toward him. It just stood the tilting it’s head back and forth looking at me. My fingers just touched the small bird before it flew away. I imagine that bird wanted to give me a kiss before it flew away.

Almost to school now, and one more house. The one at the corner just before I cross the street. Up run’s the little fluffy brown dog that alway’s come’s up to say hi. I stick my finger’s through the fence to pet her ears, my brother say’s it’s a yorkie-poo, but I call call her “Baby”, because she is so small.

What a nice dog, when I grow up I am going to get a dog just like Baby. She likes me, she lick’s my finger’s all the time, her tail wagging like crazy.

Wait for a moment, until the crosswalk lady say’s it ok, and then walk across.

Time for school. There’s my friend’s.

Dog’s Might Just Be Angel’s In Disguise

Dog’s love kids with a love that is so deep,

they never say no, or walk away,

when baby is awake or even in her sleep,

by her bed at night they softly lay.

As all around God the angels do fly,

ever if only making Him smile,

so does my puppy, playing happy alway’s try

barking and wagging her tail awhile.

Why were they made, I often have thought,

I would like to ask God if I might,

for simple pleasure their love has surely brought,

if just to soften my fear late at night.

Soft do I stroke puppies fur with my hand,

and so quiet does she lay by my side,

for against any foe, my dog will she stand,

forever faithful, at my feet she will abide.

For God has His servant’s and they love Him so well

bringing Him all that He need’s here and there,

but here on the earth the sweet dog must I tell

is God’s gift of a good servant, for us in our care.

Getting home after school this day didn’t seem any different then the last. But something was, because mom seemed to be looking at me differently. She was helping my brother with his school work, but seemed to look at me, and smile a lot.

A couple of times she asked me if I finished my homework, and I say more then once; “yes”. She finally ask’s me to put some of my things away to my room, and I gather them up. I sometimes don’t like having to do what I am told right away, but when I do it, I always feel so good after.

I probably leave things around more then I should, but mom just ask’s me to put them away, so I do. Shoes, and my backpack, some toy’s, and my favorite book, all have to go in my room. Not on the floor, but put them away. Dad say’s I need to take care of my thing’s. I am sure God want’s me to take care of the gift’s He give’s me.

Suddenly I hear the front door, and quickly mom’s voice calling me to come into that room. My brother’s voice sound’s excited, so I hurry down the hall. As I come around the corner, I see dad standing there with a little puppy. A small one just like “Baby” at school.

“Can we keep her?” I say almost as fast as I see her. Dad say’s; “We better because she is your’s”, he smiles as he hand’s the little dog to me.

I take the puppy in my arm’s, and she squirms up so happy to lick my face. Her puppy smell is so good. Little claws scratching my arm, but I don’t care, all I want to do is hug and kiss her.

Oh, she lick’s and kisses my face so much it makes me laugh. “I love her already.” “I’m going to call her Cindy, short for Cinderella, because she is a princess.”

“That’s a perfect name.” Dad says smiling at me.

“Thank you dad, thank you mom!” They both are smiling and laughing, as I laugh at the licking little dog.

I look at my Father and say; “How did you know?” “She is exactly the kind of dog I wanted.”

My Father looks at my in the most loving smile and says; “I watch you all the time, even when you don’t think I Am.” “I love you, and want to give you those things that you love.”

“Now you know you will have to take care of her.” Dad say’s in a voice that sound’s very much like the one I hear when I’m walking to school.

“You will have to feed her, you will have to clean up after her if she messes, but most of all, you will have to love her as much as she love’s you.”

“I will!” I say so happy.

Simple as it may be to say; dogs are good, it is true. They have a special job God has given them. Making them special for you or I. They give love.

In heaven God made angels for himself, to help and serve Him. Yes, He is God, and does He truly need the help? But He has them anyway.

Not everyone may have a dog, not everyone may even need one, but when God gives us one, it is clear that a special dog is given to a special person. There is a bond that forms between a dog owner and the dog. A love is created between them.

Anyone who has owned a dog, and loved them, would tell you the same; “my dog loves me!” It is almost as if the dog is assigned to them for a special task.

Now much has passed and I have grown quite a bit older.

I once was given a dog, and a beautiful dog she was, a beautiful gift she was. I called her Cindy, short for Cinderella, because she looked like a little princess. I knew among dog’s she was a princes. My Father gave to me, not because He had to, but because He wanted to.

What a beautiful family we had, and Cindy was our dog, but more she was my dog. Cindy always sat by me, and watched, even when I went through my normal stuff of the day, even when I didn’t pay attention to her.

When I wanted to play, she always played. When I was sad, she would lay her head by me and just look, sometimes she licked my leg when I was sad. She followed me all around, and mom said most of the time when I went to school she would wait by the door. Everybody knew she was my dog.

She would always lay in my room, and sometimes I would even sneak her in my bed, mom said she was supposed to stay on the floor, but didn’t seem to really mind. But early in the morning, there she would be right next to my bed sleeping.

She like’d almost everyone, almost. One day a man came over, and she growled at him. He was there to fix the phone, but Cindy got mad every time he even moved toward’s me. When the man left, mom said she didn’t like him either. Dad seemed to watch this man much more because of the way Cindy acted. I’m glad my Cindy was there that day.

Many year’s have come and went, and Cindy has grown old and grey.

Now the task fall’s on me to hold and protect her as the year’s fade away.

So fast to play and quick to run is she no longer in flight.

But never the love fading in the eye’s of dear Cindy, my heart’s delight.

For I am no longer a child or does this sweet dog need to care.

She just bring’s to me peace, as I sit and pet her gentle lock’s of hair.

Much is the gift a good God choses to command.

Bringing such a sweet angel into my life, His sweet flower into my hand.

Thank you my dear Daddy, for all You have given to me.

Never have I stopped hearing You, knowing You are watching even when I can’t see.

By Peter Colla

For Vileen Reed

“Thank You Lord Jesus for everything You give me. Thank You for watching me even when I don’t see it, thank You for knowing my want’s and need’s, and thank You for giving me all I need, even a few thing’s I don’t.”

Many a day have I pondered in my daily considerations of thankfulness, God His wondrous gift’s, He seem’s to deposit throughout various random interval’s, planted softly in fertile soil, flowers of many colored fragrance, all placed with a Father’s hand setting to canvas the perfect portrait of my life’s eye to conceive.

Running down that rugged path, straight as it may be, granted by the time’s we live in, make it anything but smooth, difficult it is to keep your eye on the goal, when there are so many obstacles, loose rocks, slippery spots, and uneven terrane to watch out for, less you may fall. Not so difficult as one might find, considering the majesty of light that plays out in symphonic rhythm’s before me.

No, any difficulty lies in the yet developing strength and skill my leg’s must muster in order to catch me from falling. And while everyone stumbles from time to time, it seem’s like the easier the running is, the faster a person might go. When confidence and rhythm sometimes seem to just set in, an unexpected tumble will most likely result in pain and injury. How surprisingly reassuring it is of late to feel the recently developed strength’s, the power that erupt’s from within my leg’s just as they reach and find firm ground, conditioning response, granting stand in solid firmness on the rock. The Rock of ages!

I have learned, maybe out of more then my share of falls, that keeping a watchful eye, at least partially on the path before me, is alway’s warranted. Peripheral vision has more then only one advantage other then keeping you from the habitual face plant, and that is allowing a person to spot a blessing along the way. Tossed out like the random sprinkling’s of wild flower’s, so does a perfect God entertain a serenely majestic gift of each day for His son. So was such a day.

Basking and meandering along a path converging along my own, is a wiser, more mature brother. First and foremost a servant of God, dedicated in Him with any and all task’s or hat’s, the Lord might have him wear. And while the Father has bestowed on him many great and kingdom-ly important task’s, never does the pride associated with carrying such an important office in His End Times Army boost the image this person may wish to express of themselves. Fortunately, with this man those giants have been slew long ago.

Strive often are the servant’s of God, seeking approval for the task’s God has given them, and even within the knowledge that any talent’s they have received from the Father, truly are from the Father and not granted them out of some kind of entitlement, often can be forgotten the simple fact; that any and all from God, even unto our very breath, remain but a gift. So easy is it, especially within the ministry, to substitute a sense of entitlement, translating from an expression of gift’s given by God into some kind of special lifting of themselves up. It is in this instance failure, the downhill progression of the habitual snowball, tumble’s initiated and fall is almost assured.

But not so is it with Peter from Pagosa, lesson learned years ago, the gentle nudging’s are areas of teaching for student’s, rookies, recruit’s, yet to come. Gift’s for the completion of task’s at hand, are all they will need to be, granting each only what we will use, not to waste in the kingdom any provision we may receive, tougher still is to present this to an underling for a possible teaching, Peter has mastered the skill!

How comfortable do I notice Peter jogging along his own path, that which has mercifully converged with my own, smooth as the most polished glass, golden in reflection an almost transparent road of gold, illuminated with a soft light that glow’s from within. How interesting to me the fact that he has such a smooth path with little, or none of the obstacle’s I have constantly in threat to stumble over?

Do I but glance again, just to notice him this time resting in the magnificent garden his life’s soil has so plentifully produced, he sit’s within the flowered field looking up with unveiled eye into the brightest radiance of the spring light. Peter’s pleasant addictive laugh, beckoning broad smile, and comfortable in gesture as he casually invites me to come sit for a moment. Unfortunately rest is not the purpose of this sit down, but to convey a message of grave importance.

“I had a vision, should I share it with you?” he casually ask’s me, more of a statement to invite, like a Father reaching out for a child to take his hand as they are about to cross a busy road, then an actual question expecting an answer.

“Yes please!” is about all I can muster for a response, as I take a comfortable seat in the garden.

“I saw an enormous mountain of garbage, dark, rotting, and all around were a great multitude of people’s from throughout the word, they were frantically seeking, searching with almost hungry lust, through the garbage for something, a need, a morsel” he said with a solum almost sad tone.

“But as they find something of interest, a filthy piece of garbage that interests them, they immediately devour it.”

“This horde was so frenzied they had the appearance of addict’s getting another fix.”

“Some falling into an almost sexual frenzy caused by what they eat, other’s descending into a lethargic melancholy clearly demonstrating sever depression at what they just experienced.”

“There is all kinds of fighting, people throwing spouses’s, children, their wealth, books, their cloth’s, into the heap for just another handful of dirty garbage.”

“So fanatic were they on their eating, they didn’t even stop biting after the filth was devoured, continuing to even eat their own flesh from the bone.”

Peter suddenly add’s without even the slightest reduction of smile or deviation from the heavenly direction of his gaze; “Then I heard the voice of God say to me; These are some of the people’s of the world, some of my children, and what they are feeding on is the mountain of garbage given them by the new’s media.”

As one of the seven mountain calling’s in people’s live’s the media, particular dealing with the new’s has an important role, being the eye’s and ear’s of the people that entrust access of their mind’s to.

There was a time not all to long ago, when people would only believe what seen with their own eyes, or maybe at least ears, but somewhere along the way these same people began to accept what was told to them as truth, for no other reason then because they have grown accustom to getting their information this second hand source .

What is the process in which a man suffer’s himself into slavery without even a fight?

Take any institution, and for sake of this particular mountain, “media” which works nicely, over the course of the last few thousand year’s, various introduction’s have been initiated, resulting in a standard in which reported statement’s are taken as fact. Where and when did this begin?

Two thousand years ago, as was seen in Rome, reportage of event’s found form in announcement’s placed in the forum of a city, used informatively to give particular fact’s to the resident’s, the most important of these even being nailed on the senate door. It became quickly apparent that a sort of manipulation of the mob’s thought’s was not all that difficult to facilitate.

The process is simple; first bring the people information that is important to them, such as to speak to their future or livelihood. Speak these fact’s in a truthful and unbiased presentation to initially gain the public’s trust, in the ability for said reporting entity to relay all the needed information.

Then procure all other forms of in-fluxed information, as to have all content, resulting in the citizen’s waiting for the statement of “what’s new”, or the “new’s”. Any or all new’s must come from then it’s source.

Once trust is established, and dependency, coercion can begin, starting gently like feeding a baby milk or soft food. But the influence is immediate! If a news media report’s fact’s tainted with slight exaggeration’s or seed’s of pressing to one position or another, the result; a lack of hearing or reading any other contra position, said reader will ultimately believe what is read as truth.

Of course there will alway’s be people who don’t just take statement’s as fact, and question what is actually said, but in subtle injection cases, they remain but the minority, the largest portion of the mob believing pretty much what they have been told or read.

War’s have been fought, president’s made and destroyed on the blank pages of parchment with nothing other then a pen in hand, wielded more destructively then any sword. Many a mind can be influenced with the media’s word’s.

Not all to long ago, it was public opinion and coercion that forced a governor of the most powerful empire in the word, to condemn to death an innocent Man, that only day’s before was being acknowledged as King, as the Son of the Living God.

But greedy are the demon’s that sit’s at the foot of one of the seven great mountain stronghold’s, for it is not satisfied with just introduction, or homage paid in the form of usage, for once fed that form of praise no longer does it satisfy it’s dark abyss of a heart. It has a hunger of it’s own and that is for human flesh, it will manifest this hunger by making it’s subject’s feed on flesh themselves.

Greed presses for dependency, a sort of bowing down, but soon this comfort in which people casually lie in, like the soft receptive grip of mud, envelopes them in a suction hold that pulls them into it’s drowning gully.

Dependency can find it’s foul breath stinking the nostrils of the Father in various forms; casual acceptance of certain ideas as truth without question or discussion, approaching the great alter of the new’s on a scheduled and dependency-listic regularity, sometimes starting to develop an actual physical sensation with or without a daily influx of information as presented, and finally it’s attempt to make us believe that the use of said earthly material is just normal, needed, and as regular as eating or drinking. All of these represent placing an idol before God.

Soon manipulation in the form of hype is added. A junkies high, a frenzy as a result of clever word, spiking interest with sweet subtle tones of manipulating prose tainted with existential emotional stimulation like the almost en-distinguishable sugar high or worse yet a drug induced high. It is usually at this point the addict will actually fight for their right to posses that which they are already addicted to, even to sacrifice his own destiny, his family.

Now we all know, the problem with any kind of drug that can lead to dependency, starts with the initial response, or feeling, and is always the greatest, the most satisfying when first used. Later, and further stimulus always seems to fall short, needing greater and greater shock to the system, higher doses, in order to substantiate the same high. Thus so does common and repetitive use lead a more constricted and restricted abuse.

Volume and venues in which to gobble up the information that are being fed us through this enema like infusion, become the shackles and chains that not only weigh us down to the earth, the very dirt we spring from, the flesh, but also bind us to the dark desire we happen to be indulging in.

So there you have it, the demon first wants to introduce it’s product, I would say it’s “good’s”, being that everything is made by God, thus being good, but the enemy only can steal those things created by God and turns them to it’s dark use.

The enemy uses priest’s and priestesses, all highly paid, highly attractive people to initiate a desire in children like ourselves to have what they have. As time progresses the dark creature no longer only wants membership, it strives then for common and regular usage, an almost blind acceptance of not only what he says is true, even to the point of an overall social acceptance of a particular irregularity being accepted as the norm.

It is at this point, especially in the case of the media, manipulation is injected, fear being it’s greatest tool. Fear sell’s, and while any scandal, sex, or sport’s splash the popularity frenzy into the faces of even the innocent bystander’s, the fringe benefit is it also sell many papers, nothing draw’s the peoples eye to new’s media like fear. It is fear that people will then cast aside even those things they love most, just to have another taste.

Recently the tsunami in Japan, horrific as it was, the shock adding to the exposure, did nothing until the injection of our own vulnerability was added to the mix, and then all you heard on every channel, every paper, was the doom for us in America to possibly have a similar event take place, radiation clouds, economical fallout! Once it was apparent that these were not going to happen, the new’s vultures went on to the next rode kill.

Fear build’s up desire, and places a trigger on the very emotion’s that reside within. It is at this point that true addict’s are made, the demon becomes so fat with follower’s he is no longer even satisfied with common use and acceptance, he now seek’s to enslave. It is a fantasy display of smoke and mirror’s with but an agenda to promote the enemies purpose. This is what is happening today.

The demon wishes to enslave as many of God’s children as he can, and that is what he has done.

But it need not be so!

As children of God we are never restricted to just stand by and let the enemy steal and control that which was created by God. Again everything is created by God, the enemy merely steal’s it and pervert’s it to his purpose, but it can be taken back.

The believer’s that have been called to the media as their mountain calling only have to recognize the importance in presenting God, the fact that in everything He show’s His face, which by the way is everything!, to be truly successful in conquering said mountain.

Standing between any of us, and our mountain calling is a giant of proportion’s that would make Goliath look like a toddler, but as explained in earlier writing’s, just taking a stand instead of running is the first step in victory, turning momentum and leading to a defeat that will not only insure a fulfillment of a calling for one of us, but will make an enormous effect in the entire kingdom.

One man or woman makes a decision to no longer report lies, but speak’s the truth! Especially when God’s hand or His face is clearly demonstrated, as is the case so much these day’s. The call to arm’s must be; “have no fear, tell it!”

The battle will be great, but so is the fall of the giant! The victory will resound throughout the land, causing greater and greater act’s of reporting that precipitate; courage, goodness, and truth. Enemy horde’s will be set back in a defensive posture, front line troops will disperse out of pure fear, and the overall battle will change momentum.

Other children will have manna to feast on instead of garbage, live’s will not only be free’d but saved! And you may be a key player in this event, what a jewel in your crown!

As a result of the enemy pulling back into defense mode, their effectiveness in attack diminishes greatly. The Children of The Most High God will be able turn their back’s on the the mountainous garbage heap that is stinking up the neighborhood and look for other sources that report truth, moral’s, and a commitment to God.

Let us break the chain’s, easy as recognizing the game plan of the enemy and asking Jesus for freedom!

When we call out to Jesus for answer’s He always respond’s!

So are the addiction’s broken, so is the demon defeated!

So are mountain’s conquered, so are king’s and queen’s given rein!

By Peter Colla

‘Dear Lord Jesus, give me the strength to take my mountain, grant me wisdom to see though the smoke and mirror’s of the enemy, turn it’s very plan and action’s to Your good. Thank You Lord for the very breath of this life, and the opportunity and privilege to fight in Your end time’s war.”

Sitting on the ground, my small perfect child, barely a year, plays with various shapes of toys gathered in random reach around her. As a Father, it is easy to just sit in quiet contemplation watching the gentle soft sounds or her tender consideration as she takes yet another toy in hand. Playing, learning, growing, a majestic rhythm, the crescendo fills the air with soft harmonic melodies of smiles, small plastic toys being held, placed in the mouth, then tossed with a joyful glee that erupts the greatest smile a Father could never contain.

Always close by is her small cloth doll, the same small cloth doll placed in her bed by the most loving of mothers upon the day of her glorious birth. Children hold close to them such precious things of comfort, gripped in perfect little fingers as they sleep, softly pulling it close to that place of tenderness lying between their face and heart. Her fingers play across the tag that rest’s softly on the doll, just up on it’s back, near the very place she hold’s so close to herself.

From her earliest spoken word, she has always called the small cloth doll “Bubba”, which strange as it may sound to us westerner’s, is not so surprising to me, for the small child’s mother is Dutch, and one of the most endearing words in her language for baby is “Bubba”. So as a mother call’s her small child an endearing name for the baby, so also does the very young female child, holding close to her, name her own small love “Bubba”.

What a gentle play on the creation as only God could orchestrate, and sitting quietly in the reverence of such a spectacle is the Loving Father breathing in every precious scent of this lovely picture. Father creates mother creates and maybe becomes a child, and child mimics mother in love.

What is this dance that finds itself playing between mind and heart as she hold’s this soft piece of comfort close? It play’s out like a concert pianist within the smallest of fingers touching and twirling the tag even as she sleeps. A Mozart can only shadow the beautiful melodies that her gentle pure movements create, as they seem to softly touch the Father’s heart while He sit’s to watch, basking in every sight, sound, touch, and taste.

As a truly loving Father, my every gift, My highest heart’s love, the ever watchful eye caresses across the breath of My beautiful child, even as she rest’s quietly to slumber in her crib, or just sit’s on the floor playing with any or all of the gifts I have given. How insignificantly small are these gifts in comparison to infinite many she gives back to Me.

I would have her know without a doubt that she is cared for, loved without doubt or limit, and secure in the fact that she is not now or ever alone. It is with any gift I give that My mind has but total purpose; to remind My child that she is cared for, loved, plus I am now and for always with her.

Any and all gratitude I would expect to hear is received in the praise her tender attention performs playing across the gifts I have placed into the hands of My perfect princess. So attentive is she always to her small doll, hardly a moment passes without her feeling for the doll, or at least realizing it is close. A daunting task for a good wife who wants’s to occasionally take the doll and put it through the washer.

No different is it with any of the toys presented. Today although may find a different picture evolve across the canvass, as a new player is added to the roster; a very small yorkshire puppy, only weeks old, and three inches long, consisting of more head then body. It’s dark soft ringlets, puppy blue eyes, and fresh excitement, if presented on yet unstable and tentative legs, coupled with sweet puppy smell, is only trumped by My own child’s expressions of joy.

Babies can be so enthusiastic, so I must present the small dog to her with caution and in modesty more for the sake of the puppies safety, then any worry for my child.

What is amazing is how much the puppy is drawn to My child, climbing immediately on her legs almost hungry for attention, seemingly unconcerned at the strength, and potential for hurt, as the child playfully examines ear’s, eye’s, and tail.

Sitting in My chair high above, looking down at My child’s play in her sweet joyful solitude, not as alone as a moment before, because I have sent her one that can only give love, a true servant of my hand, I watch with eager anticipation. The small dogs sits with her, plays with her, licks her toes with eruption’s of laughter from her sweet mouth, resulting in a sharp kick to the head, only for the little dog to come directly back for another try.

Amazingly, for the first time in her young life she has set “Bubba” aside and follows the small puppy, or the small puppy follows her as she crawls, maybe stands to walk along the living room coffee table a few step’s, to yet another more important position for some kind of toy that has met her eye.

Ever attentive, he follow’s tail wagging in eager participation to the next exciting find. Weak young legs wobble in almost mimic fashion to her steps as the young puppy follow’s, like a drunken sailor, very close to the feet of my daughter. When she finally settles with a plop of her bottom to the ground, a quiet contemplation of this rich new find of a toy begins again. He patiently lays his head softly against her leg and feet, sleeping if but a moment as she intently plays and studies yet another object.

Amazing to observe is the watchful eye of the young dog’s mother from another vantage point on the couch just beyond and also above, she was never exactly eager to let anyone touch her small puppy before, but for some unfathomable reason, an understanding that this child’s play is not only allowed, but required, is clearly seen in her eyes.

Another great Father, one of even greater love, Who created everything, including the entire company of angels, these being created and allowed to dwell even in His most inner chambers of His castle, how he loves to send His servant’s forth to comfort and supply any of the needs of His children. I can imagine in much of the same way, mine being but a shadow of what He does, this performance is much the same.

How appropriate for Him to create in this world as well similar spirit’s, good dog’s, that for no other reason then to just indulge us, His children, with their ever attentive love, a watchful eye, for never are our rantings to bothersome to be heard, always wanting and ready to play with the child in each of us, ever eager to receive a loving gesture, a lick to a playful hand or toe, if for no other reason then to let you know that you are loved. And as we look into their eye’s a return bath of love pouring out of the little spirit’s that dwell within His servant’s like a spring of unending pure water.

Soon after the day she received the puppy, a few tentative step’s started finding themselves realized in the wide joyfully expressive eyes of my young daughter. Walking between mother and father is such a moment of joy, the word’s of an event can no longer be contained within the limitation’s of the remaining space of this blog, so off to a future writing that topic meanders.

But not long after those first tentative steps were realized, one day our precious daughter stood before us, presented with two hands stretched out, “Bubba” she said! Holding the puppy out in front of her with two hands by the neck!

I am sure the small child may have startled but a bit, by the quick jump into action both her mother and I made, as we rushed to release her grip from the squirming little dog’s neck. But the puppy was not hurt in the least, just as quick as it was placed back on the floor, it crawled back up her now sitting lap, just to resume its participation in any activity she may wish to indulge upon him.

The puppy became “Bubba” in her mind and heart. And while in all the time to come, she would alway’s continue sleeping and holding the small cloth doll, never again did she bestow upon it the precious name of her baby.

So was the gift from this Father to the waiting hands of His most precious child. The Father gives only with joy to the child He so desperately loves, and the joy is experienced in many levels and moments. Gift’s are given, most of the time based merely on the want’s and desires of the child he so loves.

One would think that if at all joy is experienced, it is upon the moment of the gift being received? Well I know as a Father, and one who loves My child with an infinitely greater love then I hold for My own life, a life that I would eagerly give up for the safety and security of any of My children, that the moment of pleasure in the gift of “Bubba” was constant, initial to completion, even as the thought of gift materialized in but moment or word, and lasted until the final time her sweet hand she held him.

That tender feeling grew as the love of My child blended with the gift of My hand, her eyes pouring their fragrances like spring blossom’s in the clear fresh waters of my tears, as I basked in her perfect play. Her heart a symphony of majestic sounds that echo softly within the chambers of My own heart caressing, Me her Father, into a peace that she gives back to Me with her play.

So often children ask of a parent gift’s, but little do they know that the greatest portion of the gift, we receive ourself as a mother, as a Father, as we give the gift to our child.

Oh, how a Father loves giving gifts to His child!

From the very beginning of its conception to the end, alpha to omega.

By Peter Colla

“My Dear Lord, open my eyes your child as I receive all of the most precious gift’s you would give me, as a father, a mother, or a child.”

Bullies demonstrate themselves in many forms, not always limited to the pimple faced somewhat overweight boy, large in stature for no other reason then the fact that at least once being held back in the early stages of his education experience, gave him the illusion that he was actually bigger then others. Lacking as much in the cute existential comment department as they do in compassion, but always present the heart that drives them to particular behaviors of cruelty perpetrated against weaker defenseless opponents bullies resent often times for reasons known only to their own jealous desires.

Once said bully is spotted, or at least finds himself within striking range one of two responses for the would be victim must follow;

The first either, “Turn and Run”.

Turning represents a physical changing direction from the path in which one has been set. When a person turns their back on something, it becomes difficult, if not impossible, to see it, thus the person becomes blind to everything that lies down that particular path they were on only moments before.

Turning ones back on the attacker puts them in a particularly vulnerable position, by presenting one’s back, inviting attack without defense, blind to any blows, tail tucked in pathetic attempt to protect private parts in the backside of running retreat. Protecting private parts, now that’s a statement; trying in some desperate way to protect a person’s destiny, their not yet conceived future, even maybe their children, holding tightly to a hope that not only pain will be avoided, but maybe another daybreaks warmth still might be found shining on their face, if only through survival.

“Turning and Running” demonstrates and grants most assured defeat!

But let us make one thing clear, we are talking about a bully here, not standing and fighting battles we are not equipped, nor called to to fight against in our proper time, by Him who would command us. Running, and while in certain undeniable and overpowering attacks, survival can in it self finds certain qualities of victory, but for the sake of the bullying, we can assume that God will never place His children who seek Him in a place where defeat is possible.

For He has said in many places throughout the Bible; “I will give you all you need!”

“But my God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Jesus Christ.” Phil 4:19

“Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all things shall be given unto you.” Matthew 6:33

Notice He says “seek ye first”, so by assumption, if we are seeking first, doing what we are supposed to, in each and every one of our steps, then we can also assume, by His promise, that He will give us all we need to overcome any challenge, any attack that presents itself on this path.

But God also doesn’t honor the footsteps of fools. If we by our own selfish desires and sin find ourselves not only off the path, but knee deep in the camp of the enemy, then getting everything we need to overcome, may just reside in a pair of good legs and enough oxygen in the blood, to get us out of there with barely our skin.

Back to the bully; running is defeat, and results in two things that only a good God could even remotely turn to positive; it reduces the value, the stature, of our would be hero in the eyes of most watching, those eyes of himself being the greatest effected. Popular phrases that one will often hear include; “Once a coward always a coward”, “You chicken”, or “Scattering of the roaches” these just being a few terms, that have been associated with people who flee. Gods ability to even turn this into positive is without dispute, for no other reason then just because He said so, but we will have to reserve this topic for a future writing.

The second effect of running, is that it builds the confidence of said bully. Making it more likely he will just do his mouthing-off again, louder next time, more often, and cause even more damage in the direct vicinity. So confident is the bully of where he has been that he doesn’t even look back. And why should he, only the conquered reside behind him? But it is in his confidence that he exposes his weakness.

There is a second choice, “Stand and fight”.

“Standing and Fighting” grants and demonstrates certain victorious parts! Victory is victory!

By definition first a person must stand; get up, rise, now with this image carries a meaning of an immediate and direct increase in stature. When a person rises to the occasion, they grow larger, and in direct counter, their opponent will decrease, if by no other means then just simple vantage point. As a person being attacked gets higher, the object against which one stands appears smaller.

To stand also implies to find firm foundation, one can only successfully achieve firm foundation if they press against something also firm, rock being the strongest, but make no mistake even a deep foundation in sand, the key being deep, can be a significant pillar for resistance. God describes studying the Word as finding deep foundation or building on the rock, both apply.

As I have already stated the physical changes that one will benefit from in standing and fighting, those being first an increase of the defender, and a decrease of the attacker. These are immediate and Godly provisions given by the natural laws that nobody can deny. There is movement and that movement is backward into a realm the giant never looks, he has no experience there.

But let us examine further some supernatural effects, those under the skin.

What must have gone through Goliath’s mind, and maybe even that dark hole which represent’s his heart, when David walked out there unto the battle plane? And we might even possibly take a glance at what may have been going on supernaturally, in and around the environment.

First, In Goliath’s experience everyone who had ever faced him ran, only the poor unfortunate’s that he may have been chased down, fought back in some kind of pathetic defense as he dished out his cruel blows. For an oversized opponent, forward motion has it’s advantages. Forward momentum of any type is a force that must be resisted, held in check, overcome, and eventually overpowered in order to turn into a retreating posture. Very difficult situation when facing something that big, no maybe the largest warrior to ever step up.

So when Goliath saw someone step up and faced him, even just a boy moving towards him rather then away, most likely doubt from witnessing something new and yet unseen must have at least tickled the edges of his senses. It wasn’t tickling the hordes in the supernatural, for the wave of force that shot through their ranks most assuredly shook them to their black bones.

He was bigger then anyone, so fighting from a hight advantage in downward blows, allowed him to engage much stronger muscle groups then having to fight upward. Goliath was used to only forward motion, using his imposing size, weight, and great strength to do most of his work for him.

When David stood, the increased advantage, even if it had been but a slight decreasing effect on Goliath, was a decrease none the less! Anyone who participates in any kind of top sport activity will tell you momentum is a powerful thing, and when someone starts downward, or decreasing in trend, that it is usually coupled with some kind loss and or pain.

Next David not only took Goliath’s insults and threats, but laughed at them and responded with his own, backed by the power of the Creator of the Universe! Ooops! Suddenly Goliath’s words that usually made his opponents quiver made this person laugh, but notice Goliath wasn’t laughing, he was to busy shaking from the Lion’s roar he just heard! Something was seriously wrong here for Goliath and for the first time in his life he might have even felt that cold chill go up his spine, and if he wasn’t, he should have been!

Momentum shifting, from Goliath moving forward his whole life, to being suddenly held in check, someone stepping up, him shrinking in stature, and getting less then expected result from his threats, even resulting in further diminishing on the bullies part. Momentum had shifted!

Goliath threw out a desperate comment, trying to weaken David with statements of; “You come at me like a dog, with a stick.” His comment was not as much of an joke, but a feeble attack, for it was designed to make David believe he is ill equipped to the task.

But David’s faith and the trust he had everything he would need from God to defeat this man, threw the insult right back stating that Goliath’s weapons were nothing compared to that of the Living God. And if Goliath’s eyes weren’t wide with fear at the power of these words, they where the moment the giant took but a single step forward and David started running straight towards him!

At every turn victory was accomplished, and the actual deliverance had not even been dealt out yet. In everyones eyes, natural and in the supernatural, there was no doubt as to the sudden cease and immediate reversal of the momentum.

I can imagine on the barren plane of the supernatural where a horde of demonic legions stood moving comfortably forward against the children of God, riding on the backside of Goliath’s image, the attack’s and effect’s of the constant bombardment of fear, doubt, hopelessness, rejection, abandonment, and doom, must have been nearly overpowering to the soldiers of God’s army.

Many a troop probably were gripped in such paralyzing oppression, that they were to busy protecting their soft underbellies in some kind of fetal self comfort, to even pick up the sword and shield that lied only a hands reach from them. I can hardly imagine the refreshing warmth that must have flowed over them like anointing oil as the demon horde immediately stopped the attack, withdrawing into their own defensive positioning at the sign of the sudden and direct momentum shift exploding in front of them like a nuclear explosion of bright holy light!

Thousands of smaller demons squealed and ran almost immediately as the light went on! “A Scattering of the Roaches” does apply here very nicely! There must have also been an immediate withdrawing of the more herd animal type troops, first pulling back hard and then interlocking the shields in some kind of desperate counter defensive. This had no doubt, sent that physical twinge up the spine of not only Goliath, but all of the Philistine troops assembled, cold and lonely was it’s chill. A direct opposite the counter anointing, the refreshing warmth that thrusted power and confidence into the souls and bodies of the Israeli army.

But I also know when David charged, any demons of herd animal status, the entire front lines, dropped everything and ran, even trampling those who were not as fortunate to get out of the way. That’s what herd animals do when someone charges. Ripples of fear and fiery Godly retribution sent choking shivers through the remaining demonic soldiers, and this feeling was backed by the power and presence of the God who created the universe.

The Stone, the hurdling of the rock, the spoken manifestation, the small representation of the word of God, even in it’s simplest form, was all it took to open the floodgates of Gods deliverance. David could have thrown anything, the giant was already doomed, but throwing out a single small piece of the Word was all it took.

Once contact was made result was immediate and sealed. Down onto his face Goliath fell, back exposed, demons of all ranks were running for their live’s, very much emulated in the natural as the armies of the Philistine who also broke and ran.

At this point all that remained was the mopping up! David casually walks up and takes Goliath’s head, his victory prize to present to the king. The armies of the Living God pursue now in frenzied strength, I am sure empowered by the angelic horde that wraps themselves in and around all of the arms and souls of the Lord’s army until all of the opposing force has been hunted down and killed. The Bible speaks of bodies being scattered across the country side. It took a little time, and effort, but victory was granted before long before the army was destroyed.

A woman sits comfortably in her home, a child of the Living God, she closes her eyes in quiet contemplation of the path that God has placed her two beautiful feet on. As she strides up the path, eyes focused on the radiating light shining out from the destination her soul draws to, led in quiet solitude by the spirit that grows within in each and every step, she is only just beginning to feel the pestering pull of the voices on the few strings that remain within her house.

On a hill a horde is forming, gathered to distract even if only her eye from task. They are not trying to pull her from the path, that is not their job, but they do belong to the army of he who feels he can, given the right positioning, preparation, and infiltration. But for now the task at hand is distraction, keep the door open, keep that earthly ash blowing into her house if, for no other reasons then to dirty up the corners.

God gives her this day a vision, and in this vision she sees, no maybe just feels, the spirit that rests within cigarettes, it is a worm! It startles her, and she throws the cigarette down, almost an immediate reaction to discovering the creature. Worms, foul creatures that sneak in the most indiscriminate way, finding access inside the temple, then uses it’s own hunger and greed to burrow inside feeding on the blessings of God, unknown, hidden, until it has done so much damage that rot and sickness is assured.

But in the vision also she throws it down!!! Momentum!

“Wait!” she says, she pleads for council, help, she turns to God….She walks up to the battle field, she stands!

This time she stands. She has someone with her, another trying to help her, encourage her… endear her with courage!

One of the commanders among the demonic horde screams with the top of his dirty longs; “How dare anyone tell me I shouldn’t smoke!” “It’s my right!” The voice is a confident one, a giant, a veteran of many battles.

Anger presses from its words, if only by their forward momentum, insult follows, feelings of insufficiency, inadequacy, doubt drips like black blood off the spear tips of a “right to do what I want”. But the resistance this time is met with a different power, the power of love and light; she stands, firm in the word, deep in its foundation, and dead in their tracks the front lines of the demon horde stops almost causing the lines to crash into itself! They take up defensive position.

Their insult’s and attack’s do some hit home, doubt’s and fear’s find open window’s in the house, chink’s in the armor but the posture of the woman continues to stand further and further erect. The fear and chill ripples through the attacking group now frozen in fear, they even try to take cautious and unbelieved steps backward if just to find their own firm footing, but they have none but muck and mud.

Her words; “I want this to be gone from me”, “I don’t want this in my life any more”, “help me”, send out their own volleys of the word, the difference her’s is backed with the power of a living God, speaking of a child calling to a Father for help.

She is tired, she is a child, voicing if only calls of pain and weakness in standing alone; “I’ve tried and always failed in the past”, but these are also call’s to the Father for His help.

“Lord I believe, now help me with my unbelief”

And she actually starts running at them!! She moves towards them in a real and physical attack of her own, she go’s to get an unused cigarette to “throw it down”. For as she saw in the vision, she is about to duplicate in the real physical.

Words of encouragement ring in her ear;

“Pick up your matt and walk!” How must that have sounded to the man who was crippled his whole life. For just a moment, do you think something dark may have whispered into his ear; “What is he crazy, you can’t, you tried so many times”?Maybe he even reached up for help, but God gave him all he needed to overcome, and he stood?

How long after, maybe every time after he walked, and stepped just this way or that, did a feeling, a twinge in his newly healed legs, brought back a voice the enemy whispers; “It’s back, you see, temporary, you weren’t really healed,”

The continuing of believing, that is called work.

The Bible tells us in John 9: 13-34, of a blind man who was cured by Jesus, and when he presented himself to the priests they tried to discredit Jesus, thus discrediting the mans healing itself, but he refused to buckle. The man stood on faith, even unto pressure, fear, ridicule, for himself, and his parents who also had been held, he held to the healing in faith, and many times confessed with his mouth; “For before I was blind, and now I can see”, “if This Man where not of God, He could do nothing.”

On the barren plain, fear of the pure power of the Living God exploded through the demonic horde as fast as a blast of irradiated light of the greatest flash ever witnessed. The front line buckles and explodes in a moment. From a barrier and confidence that has been no doubt built over years, toppled in a moment. As the demonic troop scatters, a wall of dark black brick is clearly seen, most likely that of which these creatures have been leaning against, hiding, almost secretly building inside the courtyard of God’s beautiful child for years.

She takes a hand full of the arrows, yet unused, some that have yet to hit their intended mark, and she throws them down in a thunderous explosion. “From the ground you come and into the ground you shall go again!”

The ripple of the power sends a shock wave through the ground like a massive earthquake wave right into the enemies camp, and like a vast wave rolling through a calm still black lake, so confident they were in their hold and position there wasn’t even a ripple on their surface of their darks waters, until now.

As the wave explodes through the dark waters, it becomes clear and sure to see, not deep were their murky secrets, an illusion of lies and discrete. The wave gathers strength as it approaches the wall, it seems to be powered by her momentum, and that of the Word, exploding into the dark wall sending it toppling like a flimsy card house of black dominoes.

Face down in the muck lies the one that yelled; “How dare you tell me I can’t smoke, it’s my right!”

The worm faced giant lay face down in the muck, back exposed waiting only for deaths victory to be dealt out.

She stamps them mercilessly into the ground, for they showed her no mercy as they tried to steal her gifts.

Time to mop up! She stamps the cigarettes into the ground in defiance.

Yes there are groups of fleeing troops that have run to the trees, waiting for some reinforcements for small counter attacks. Waiting for orders, they still turn and fling arrows of doubt. Tossing accusations against those who helped her, doubt, challenges to her to turn and run, more doubt, calling to her “if you doubt any you must doubt all”, trying to shake even her faith that God could or would help her, more doubt, but her shield is up and deflection is becoming something she is beginning to master. One by one each of these little attacks fall, time, distance, and perseverance must follow to mop up the entire army.

Victory is undeniable! The stronghold has been toppled! Now the mess has to be cleaned up, many dirty bricks lay around, held together with the mortar of ash. The black ash water is just settling, the clear water pressing the ash into the soil soon to become the fertilizer of another beautiful patch of garden. Her house, her lands are called to be a garden, not a barren plain of ash.

Yes there will be skirmishes, troops will attack, some she may lose, but many she will win, and ever will their numbers slowly dissipate until the last of the retreating horde finds itself defeated or banished.

So is it.

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord please open my eyes, those of my friends, and my love ones, to the lies of the enemy, give us strength, wisdom, and discernment as to your path for our live’s, and the battles you would have us fight.”

“Amen”

I would like to invite any and all readers to further reading and writing in the battle against cigarette smoking;

http://cambridgedove.com/Pages/Page086.html

Surreal, is the only word that comes to mind as I stand and observe the storm churning just outside the edge of my vision. Its rolling black and grey clouds turning silently around the ominous dark black hole of an eye that peers out of the even darker recesses of the spirit that resided inside. It’s tumbles of dirty dishwater whites, shadow’s of Payne’s pigment, and accented with flat blacks, do little to reflect any light as to just exist within the edges outside, the glance of light’s piercing sight. With the continual flashes within in what appear to be lightning explosions, these dim projection’s grant only limited illumination of the whole as the short burst’s of only marginal effort, light’s erupt inside the clouds.

The swirling cyclonic looking thing that strangely appear’s like a smaller representation of a hurricane, in this some kind of areal distant view in my minds eye, gives it’s ominous representation within the remaining shadowed recesses of my soul. It grant’s a little remaining emotional tug to just turn and run, for not long ago was the time when such approaching dread was enough to send this child scurrying for any dark cave possible.

“Run and hide” was the sirens call, as I used to just flee to a not so safe place, burying my face between my knees, shivering in a pathetic prostate pose. Oh how we quivered in tear drenched face, waiting for the blows to be dispensed across naked body, or it’s filthy hands in his foul stench breath, sick in it’s clammy sweats grip, move across in selfish lust, only taking what she wants, then finally tiring of me, moving past, allowing me once more to relax in shame and disgust. It would leave only the salt sting burning of my swollen eyes, or the dried sweat and dirt that covers the pain it just inflicted.

But not this time! For as I stand and watch it approach, strange as it may seem, there is no thunder in those flashes. Has it always been so?

For this time I stand not alone, but with me is one who lends but a hand.

Two people stand in a parking lot talking, and she feels the pressing of yet again a horde of attackers mounting just to her right, distracting, engaging, beckoning her to run, listen, act, as their increasing calls play across the surface of her mind.

“You don’t understand” she says, as her body language take’s her own arms and wrap’s them around herself once again in a desperate attempt to protect. When everything is saying run, like she has done so many times before, something is grounding her feet against stone, familiar, if but alien in experience, what is good a small sense that rest deep within. She back’s up against the hard surface of the car behind her, feeling the security of the cold metal. If nothing else security of the firm metal.

For these two people the conversation turns not toward’s or away from God, because in and around God every breath’s word seems to flow, for they are both children that have dedicated their lives in every step to that in which the Father would direct, but merely words revealing vision’s into a corner of their live’s that have remained but a remnant of darks past, there ash sit’s giving the enemy but a crack in which to attack.

Just softly she says; “Why does God not give me deliverance, from these attacks?” “For they seem to come over and over, years, and there is nothing I can do.” Every and all possible explanations have been offered, deserving or not, she has tried it all, fighting over and over from the quiet corners of her bedroom as the heartless attackers press in from all sides.

For her companion, his recent victory has, if nothing else, granted him a relief from fear, and this seeming strength is all she needs this time to stand, if in but a mustard seeds size, but in it still hope. For the shadow is playing across her face, even as her legs plant firm, her feet settle in for the crash of wave that is sure to come.

A man of God, his mind desperate in it’s thoughts, trying to comprehend what is happening in the sweet face, and teary eyes of the woman standing before him, difficult from his prospective to understand, for little of no experience has he had draw upon dealing with dark sirens. There is a shadows recognition in his mind as her words pull back the veils of memories not all to long ago forgotten. A lifetime of torment, always from similar source, seemingly attacking when any and all words or thoughts go into any Godly realm, especially within that of his recently found calling.

For him the pull to flee is not one out of fear but frustration, but never the less, strong are the talon’s that claw mercilessly at his flesh, for here again stands woman before him, one his heart has only begun to open up to, and she slams the door in his face with comments of “You don’t understand!”, “You can’t understand!”, “You can’t help me!”.

Pride of a man is a difficult thing, so easy it to run when it’s ugly face stares back at you from the mirror, but this man has also recently learned; that running is never an option for territory The Lord has told you to take.

In his mind those words he has heard many times before, and maybe even yelling back at him from the mirror of his own thought’s; “You’re stupid!”, “I don’t need you!”, “I don’t want you!”. But compassion, a sense of hope, a soft voice in his ear, words of encouragement, peace, potential, ring gently across the surface of his heart, they in turn also prompt him to stand, fight, protect… and he enters into the prayer language with the words of the Holy Spirit.

A soft language, utterances not understood by him or even heard by human ear, yet their meaning in clear; “Lord, grant me strength, wisdom, and clarity of word. Let my words be your words, my thoughts yours, and if possible allow me to enter into battle for her, fully armored, clear in sight of the enemy that I may engage for her. An intercessory onto the battlefield to fight the enemy that oppresses her.”

On the dry battle field of a dark sinister plane, a man stands and looks across a field of ten’s and maybe even a hundred or more attackers, all under a single standard, the gonfalon of jezebel carrying her naked image proudly before them. He is the same man, but noticeable differences rest across his frame, shoulders broader then on earth, for burdens not his own, must be carried. He sets his jaw in prominent resolve, the look of contemplative battle etching strong crevasses that have developed from the veteran experience mark his gaze.

The lines of enemy approach confidently spitting and spouting out their insults, like rotten garbage flying out in indiscriminate bombardment, they bounce ineffectively against his shiny round shield. The enemy assembles in advancing line, they carry black large rectangular shaped shields covered in bloody animal skins of all description, and while they press forward, they hold back in cautious defense, for many of their ranks has she already decimated, and something different is in the air today.

Names, screeched from their black guzzles; nudity, lust, pornography, adultery, lesbianism, seduction, temptress, sex, sex, and more sex, flinging out as bloody spear tips, lunging out in merciless death. There is an almost casual confidence in their attack, for they seem to have been down this road many times before. Casual if it were not for the unknown advisory standing before them, but then again unknown is he not.

Without hesitation, the armor clad warrior of bright reflecting light, bright white and blue glasslike clarity, un-sheath’s sword in a defiant yet thunderous cry. A warriors call of unknown word, yet know down deep with him, and gathering from the look of fright in the faces of the front line, recognized by them as well.

With almost eye-blinking speed he charges a line that now is attempting to spastically interlock shields in fearful desperation. He crashes into the lines as spears snap and bounce off his armor like thin dry twigs split against the chest of a massively strong horse crashing through the brush. Enemy are tossed and flung in horror, the scene is almost comical, reminding an onlooker of similar images when a young child once crashed through a pile of balloons, with such ease did he blast a gaping hole in their lines.

A large crevice has he already made, whirling sword and shield in almost symphonic rhythm, enemy bodies flying in every direction as easy as loose papers would be tossed by a leaf blower. He half expects an attack from his left flank, but as he turns his head to catch a glimpse of that side, he sees her standing, no pressing her own attack there.

She is clad in the most beautiful armor, polished to mirror like shined perfection, light yet strong, long lean girding’s protecting both arm’s and leg’s, she firmly plants her feet on the rocky surface and uses all her strength to press the nearly body length shield before her. The chest plate that protects her frame has a distinctly feminine look to almost terminating into a short skirt around her waist. Tens of enemy are held back as they squirm against the power of her arm and legs, the warrior’s power granted in her, the blood of the lion that flows within.

He almost stops his own attack as he considers the mix of majestic beauty and grace she display’s. Balanced on the delicate movement’s of perfect rhythm, her arm circling with deadly accuracy is followed only by the wisps of her white pure hair swaying softly under her helm. Hard is it to decide if she is laughing or crying, as the roar of the lioness pierces all the minds within ear shot.

As quickly as one slithers or squirms around her defense, bloodily damage is decisively dispensed from her right arm wielding a short but very effective and brightly adorned sword, resulting in an incapacitated carcass depositing yet again at her flank. The enemy is not as eager to attempt to engage in the place their comrades have just fallen.

As both fighters open up a larger and larger gap in the now dwindling horde, a clear light is seen on the other side of the rushing line. Matching in luminosity, to the bodies and armament of our two fighters, the distant yet approaching light quickly grabs the attention of the enemy as well. Just as suddenly a narrow gap opens and with a rush two angels fly through from the other side. In an almost aerial swoop, the two beautiful white blue blazing angels fly past the parting enemy, out to the two battling warriors, they drop glowing vials of clear bright blue and white liquid onto the heads and bodies of these two children, engulfing them even further in a Godly brightness.

Both warriors glance up with smiles on their faces, and it is clear to any observing that the smile are not as much precipitated by the angelic visit, but have already been long on their faces, for they have gotten to a point in the battle where victory is assured and a sort of mopping up feeling has come across their eyes.

As quickly as the prayers leave his lips, the Word of God descends into his heart, and he suddenly is brought to the memory of his own attacks. His, not in words, or voices, relentless, and distracting, but in images. A lifetime of visual attacks.

How long has the images of all of the same attackers haunted him, his whole life, for as long as he can remember, since he was a small child? Wasn’t it only until just recently, only since he has found his calling that victory was granted, that relief from the unending attacks, from the constant bombardment that would always leave him doubting his own faith, strength, and importance to God? Oh how he hates the enemy for what it has done to so many children, including the beautiful daughter standing before him.

A soft yet strong voice speaks in his mind and heart, and as quick, he repeats the word for both of them to hear, if but for the first time;

“Find your calling, your mountain calling, that which you were designed from even the beginning of time, and much will be the reward.” Soft is the smile of recognition in her eye.

“”The first reward granted is in the form of “Deliverance” from your enemies.”

“You will see not only your enemies flee from you, but when you take your mountain, your kingdom, the amount of enemy attacks will go down significantly.”

“So was it with me!” he says, as he marvels at the beautiful peace that crosses her face almost instantaneously.

What was just a moment ago a frown of worry across her brow, frustration lining her mouth, even swollen wet anger in her eyes, is suddenly replaced with a soft smooth hope across her lovely face, tearing eyes with the glimmer of joy. Bright, clear, a gentle touch of a smile just beginning to erupt from the heart that beats life within.

She knows the words are true because she hears them herself as well. They speak of soft dream’s deja vu she but dared to hope true.

“Wow,” he almost erupts in laugh, “that is so incredible, the things that have tormented me my whole life, were the very spirits that we have just learned have held us both back from finding out mountain calling” he says with increasing excitement. Not even as much to tell her but to also realize in himself, and maybe to one day tell others who are close.

They both quickly explode in a interchange of words and ideas; “The seven mountains;

Family (including relationships, children, friends) are tormented and held back by abandonment,

Religion (any and all callings into the ministry) is attacked with pride,

Business (including all jobs, work in public, business) receives torment by greed,

Government (including all ruling authority, police, military, civil service) they can be held back by corruption,

Education (teachers, students, even schools) their biggest obstacle is humanism,

Media (including news, television reporting, journalism) their giant is fear,

And finally The Arts (including anything creative; fine art, music, acting, dance, cooking, writing) they are tormented by immorality.”

Find your mountain calling, that one area you have been destined, designed from beginning to fulfill, and you probably will find you have had the greatest torment your entire life in and around the sin of said demon, who would discourage you the same.

“It wasn’t only at the moment that I found my mountain, my calling, and thank God He actually told it to me, but I needed to start working in it, dedicating it to Him utterly and completely, then and only then, did I also suddenly realized I had taken dominion over it, and the enemy fled.”

The awareness came across both of them almost simultaneously, for they both know the story, the efforts lately within the calling of God, but the revelation descended upon them like a vial of pure liquid wisdom, flowing down their heads across their bodies and right into every part of their being. So does wisdom from God flow through a child, strengthening, healing and birthing his bride anew.

Looking back it is not all that difficult to see in which area an individual may have been tormented almost as long as they can remember. Or possibly showing up as the first sin they have witnessed in this world, maybe seen in others, most likely though the hands or words of their parents. Seeing and experiencing these continued yet subtle attacks can shake and crack the very foundations we should have had built in our life. Those which were designed out of a sanction of love, they become a cracked surface we stumble over. We do live in a fallen world.

In most cases it could turn them, even at an early age, from desiring the very area God would have them take dominion, that single mountain he has given them, everything He has given them, every talent, every skill, every life’s experience, turning every storm into good, every sin into experience to help others, so they could be absolutely the best at the one thing He would have them do, in the entire world.

So complete is the agenda of the enemy, and also the insight to his ever younger attack on our children. And while the enemy is not omnipotent, he can recognize those attributes given even in the supernatural, realizing the drastic effect such attribute could wield against his dark kingdom.

Many examples of friend’s and family come to mind; a daughter, a best friend who has been abandoned since before they can remember, from those who should have given the most stability and love, result; an inability to establish and keep meaningful and endearing relationship’s, until the point where the thought of family just doesn’t fit any longer in their life.

A father raised in greed, where enormous talents and skill of lifetime’s success in business lead’s only to loneliness and despair, for the single question remains; “for what purpose did he even live?”

Teacher being forced to teach, that people are but an accident, insignificant, evolved, then wonder why they lose hope when looking at the faces of the children who have none.

Preachers, ministers, a child with a calling from her youth, an apostles calling, but when pride doesn’t allow her to hand the mike and listen to the derelict God has chosen to give a word to, she misses the greatest gift of her life, her mountain top victory.

How many people have gone into government office with the purest of intentions just to be corrupted by the magnitude of power, and left but a dark shell, a burnt cinder, of the man that went in? Probably not nearly as many, that have turned away from the calling because of the corruption they have witnessed their whole lives’.

How many news reporter’s have manipulated millions with fear, in the stead of building people up with hope and faith?

Actors, Actresses, artist’s, musician’s, writer’s, who have fallen short of what God would have had them become, because of distractions, and destruction of immorality. And on it goes.

Two warrior’s now stand next to each other, breathing hard from the exertion, their fleshly bodies will soon feel the exhaustion the souls have wielded, but laughing heartily as the beaten horde retreats squealing like pigs, tails tucked, running for the dark tree’s on the edge of the field. The remaining wounded are bound “in the name of Jesus” and with hardly a word, disappear into the void as quickly as the subtle words dance across God’s children their beautiful lips. They can almost hear the cries of frustration ringing from the tree’s as the leader’s bellow in sorrow, for defeat will be almost as painful as the binding and banishment their comrades have suffered.

Two tall magnificent warriors look on over a field together, swords sheathed, and shield at their side, standing strong in the faith that comes not only in victory, but with added confidence of experience they have just gained.

For the first time they see the light that shines mightily through beautiful red lined clouds of a new morning sky. It’s streams of whites and rainbow light shades, in turn transform’s all of the dark of the dry ground into soil of life. A fresh new blanket of dew forms across the hungry soil, small green leafs push their heads out of the ground, so eager are they to see the wonders of God, in the fresh garden of His son and daughter.

The battle’s not over, but now that enemy is on the run, mountain is clear in sight, it won’t be long before complete victory is realized, transforming this tormented landscape once again to the lush garden it was designed to be.

She sits comfortably in her car, door open and legs hanging out, with a sudden joyful gleam, a pure smile of excitement suddenly erupts from her voice. She explains how just recently in a dream and maybe more, God has spoken to her about things she was to do.

It seems impossible, but almost miraculously her voice is wrapped up in the vision of what God wants her to do in her life, and she just knows that it is what she has been destined her from creation. Could it be that a skill she has always believed she possess, may have had a talent for, yet always feared trying, could be the one area she was destined to overcome? That is of course with the injection of Jesus in every step.

Just the realization, brings almost instantaneous relief from her torment, she is so excited at the prospect, amazingly the voice’s have already lessened, but more importantly a deep sense of victory, for this time she has held firm. Victory feels good! Suddenly she doesn’t feel as helpless as she used to against these attack’s.

Hope has already transformed into faith!

“But what now?” She asks not as much as to her companion, but also to herself, and to the Father.

“Now you must hear from the Father what He would have you do?” the man softly says with confident happiness.

“You are walking on His path, your eye never leaves Him, we both know that!”

”For it says (Matthew 6:33); seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all things shall be given unto you.”

“I guess He has to tell you”, he says with an almost playful confidence a school boy might share when talking about some would-be sport he thinks he knows something about.

“And when He does tell you, you must try it immediately, even if you don’t see any results, because this is how you take your mountain.”

“Seeing the mountain, realizing the mountain is yours, is not enough, but it is through practicing or working within your calling, that you obtain victory.” Is the voice coming out of his mouth his own? Even he is having trouble distinguishing between his own and utterances of tongue even foreign to him.

““It is then that the “Kings reward”, or in this case “The Queen’s reward” will be given!””

A sudden rush of pure anointing flowed over their bodies, cascading from their heads to their feet, as if some angel just poured a vial of blessing over them. The words flowed out so easy.

Hard to remember who said what, because both were talking almost simultaneously, for the word that flowed, ran out as easy a spring gushes forth from the ground.

The Kings Reward comes in five stages, and remember it comes when you find your mountain calling, put into practice with a mountain top effort, and establish in your mind, making your promise to God; no matter what, you are going to continue down that path. The Kings Reward comes.

The mountain top effort is putting God into every aspect of what you do, seeking Him first, whether it be work, art, educating, governing, your relationships, teaching, or even the ministry. Funny how easy it is within ourselves, to put our wants and desires before God. But alternately as well, how easy is it to dedicate your every step, your every thought onto the path of the Father, the only difference, is the promises that follow, are guaranteed by God. When it come to man, well I guess you just have a man’s chance.

So what are the Kings Rewards exactly?

First the King receives “Deliverance” from enemy attack, and yes while he is not completely impervious to enemy attack, the chances and effectiveness of future attack distinctly reduce the cleaner the kingdom is kept from spy and enemy infiltration from within.

Second, the King receives “Praise”, from everyone even those visiting or residing outside his domain. People sing his praises as to his success. The works of the hand of the King bring not only praise of the people, but immediate and undeniable good to the people.

Third, he receives the spoils of war, “Restoration” of everything the enemy has stolen, even to an excess, the interest, seven times what the enemy had taken, calculated over the entire time the king has been under attack. This could be a lifetimes repayment from the enemy. And notice it comes from the enemy, and not the kings people.

Four, the king gets the “Gold”! This is not the same as spoils, but tribute! Gold, which represents purity in the heavens, that which truly does belong to God rains upon the king from not only his enemy, but also from all around, those visiting the king as a gesture to their appreciation for what he does.

And finally five, the king has a “Feast”, a great celebration, even to be set at the presence of his enemies. What is the definition of feast? Anything your eye sees you may have, abundance, more then enough for his entire family, even his children, his kingdom! Or in the words of our younger generation; Party, Party, Party!

Two perfect examples of like callings, ending drastically different; Saul and David. Both realized their calling, both conquered armies, but the only difference David did every step, every word, his path in deliberation and consideration of the Father, and for this he received a Kings Reward. David took the mountain, Saul never got out of the valley.

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord Jesus, help us in this most dark time realize our mountain calling, then grant to us the wisdom to take it. Show us Your path in our every step, and thank You Dear Lord, for Your abundant blessings, as we praise You for the infinite ones You have already given us.”

Amen

Dedicated to a resplendent warrior of royal stature; Christi.

I look up out of the window of my car, shadows of my past press hard against heart denying me many blessing’s as I trifle from the daunting task of meeting new people. Great are the giants that hold back the children of The Living God, from touching the gift’s God would so gently touch their hand.

Plenty strong was the fear as it cast it’s shadow with her dark tentacles pulling at every part of my being, not allowing me to even leave the car, sitting in the driveway waiting like some bored taxi driver buying time until his fare came back.

I was already thick into the gift of God blessing’s, the many gift’s a man might see as he but stumble’s on the path our so Glorious Father. When you witness gift after gift given in such miraculous ways, freely in glorious bounty, how could someone possibly turn their face, or worse yet, hide from meeting yet again another gift.

But such a man was I, no correction, having no problem meeting people I feel comfortable with; unstimulated, unchallenged, never purposeful, unable to prompt inner growth, basically anyone that kept me wallowing in the dirt I so fervently served for years, those kind of people I had no trouble knowing. Maybe it was because I was so secure in where I was at, that it was where I was yet going which prompted the scary, exciting, and challenging sight.

But step out, look into the face, not even the grand confrontation of the eyes of someone who actually might press and ignite that within me, which so desperately tries to shine out, no I think I should just sit in the car and let my mother visit herself the “Hidden Prayer Room”, she so eagerly spoke of.

When all fear was gone what was this that remained, a pride that I have all I need? A confused sense of someone or something seeming different is just to strange to risk yet another change in my already rapidly fluctuating life?

Could this lowly feeling, this whispering voice, this dark lurking creature, hiding under the bed of my youth, or in the dark closet peering out at night be “The Fear of Man”?

What could possibly a man fear, hearing word’s spoken of the another his mother wishes to meet. A Messianic Jewish man, a man who believes in Christ, who built a hidden payer room for people to stay, free of any costs, just to rest their head from the worries and torments of world and soul. Ok, he has also told people on more then one occasion about the “Chair where Jesus Sits”, but haven’t I on more then one occasion shared the two occasions I actually saw Christ?

But here is it still, bar from me any reservation as to the eccentricity, and my own trepidation to change, there remains but one figure between standing on the positive side of a recently crossed river bank, and further venturing into a Promised Land, and that is a giant of proportions that would dwarf Goliath. I say dwarf him because the fear today is amplified by a lifetime’s constant bombardment of all the senses brainwashing out of a child any and all uniqueness, individuality, personal potential, any qualities that might lend a person to believe they are special, created for a unique purpose in this world.

One possibility?;

Somewhere deep in the soul lies a hurt that found it’s way into a young life, most likely seeping into a perfectly created gently sweet adorned room, soft in it construct of mild shades and bright tender hues.

The pastel colored nursery of a child’s heaven, should only be filled with tenderness, love, and compassion; Light shining though cascading streams of soft light colors, warm blankets, and cuddly bears, with puppy dog eyes inviting a feast’s supply of hugs and kisses, mimicking those given in abundance by adoring caring parents. Secure is the furnishings of care, a loving rocker, a sweet bed safe from danger’s, a picture of God’s intent for this young life.

The dark mold slithers it’s way into the crevices that unguarded words and inadvertent neglect, have rumbled small crack’s in the young foundation, most likely at the base of the young house. That in which will no way show it’s evil head until it has grown thoroughly through the walls ultimately bursting out of it’s dark confines.

Demon’s can take on any and all forms, using all the created images that our God placed on this earth, and then warping them into their sinister use. Riding the coat tails of a neglectful father, or a resentful mother, dragged in like the dirt under the feet of wolf who pears through the cracked window hungry for young flesh to devour. Minds of small children misled and shaken by the very people trusted to impart truth, all along their heart’s cry out, because deep down they know the truth, the same truth they have realized at least since they were very little.

“Woe to them that cause these little one to fall, for it would be better for him if he had a millstone hung around his neck and cast into the abyss.”

Let’s examine dark mold for just an instant.

Starting out as the smallest of spores, incomprehensibly tiny, insignificant, even fragile, that such as a small insignificant creature, with stature so minute compared to a man, or woman for that matter, could yet wreak such havoc onto the life and purpose of said child? A man could lay it to waste with but a motion, such is the difference in strength, and it is not until it grows that any damage at all can be inflicted, and only then if it remain hidden, like the coward it is.

It creeps in through small imperfection’s of our home, the mistakes, or stress fractures caused by outward imposed pressures, our home not it’s, for it has to steal into that which is ours by design.

I needs to despoil nutrients from the house, taking from the structure, those parts that are meant for support, meant by God to help with the child’s growth; wood beams, floor boards, insulation, parents, family, friends, the church, school, and then it eats at them slowly almost undetected for years. Interlacing its black roots throughout the framework of the structure.

Oh by the way it has to be near the water, life giving water, that which again was created for the purpose of good; encompassing health, growth, nutrition, cleaning, healing, water is stolen and turned to it’s dark purpose, to facilitate rotting and make more room for more of it’s dark self. Ever greedy, every hungry, slimy, stinky, the worst kind of fowl blackness.

Taking that which is designed for good, like the church, and interweaving guilt and judgment, forging ideals that separate, push people away, kill, and stifle, instead reaching out in love, forgiveness, grace, and tenderness, as intended. The dark pulls back into dark recesses, sucks the water in and converts it to filth.

What is of the purest, clean, clear, freshest, conceived in the very heart of the Father, when her water was intended for wrapping warm comforting arms around this small boy child, pulling his arm close to her, in soft secure grip of loving tenderness, holding this young son of God close against her bosom, safe from the loneliness that this life would so speak into his ear, how could something so good, so true, ever be turned?

Some of the darkest most sinister attacks come right out of the swaddling of those closest, and intended for the most good, such as the church. Children of pastors, persecuted by homes riddled with dark cracks, have the greatest of difficulty, for the very institutions that where designed to help them, become their jailers holding them in a secret cell far from view, or deep under the ground from detection.

But greater is the calling to those who have the greatest challenges in this life! The veins of mold run so deep and thoroughly throughout some structures, often a complete bulldozing is only the beginning of the cleansing that must surely occur.

Thank God, he made the bulldozers as well, and they are under His call.

Black mold hides from the light, it is attracted to the dark, and it can only grow in dark damp places. Hiding not only it’s face from the life giving light, but if the light shines on it it’s entire existence dries up and withers. By the time the darkness finally starts showing its face in the light, the amount of the infestation is so great, and bold is its defiance even to the light, only a complete destruction and reconstruction can save the home.

Oh by the way, it’s spores are deadly. People can die long before it is discovered.

But remember my dear brothers and sisters, the light is there, it’s everywhere, it is our walls that the shadow lurks within, those same walls that hold us back from getting out of our chair and claiming the full discovery of the gift God would gave for us. They are the walls that stop us from seeing God’s face in every gift that places her sweet hand in ours. It’s our own house that keeps the light from shining into the dark places.

Take down the veils, open up the shades, make the walls transparent as pure crystalline gold an the darkness must die! Tear down the walls, those built by our parents, our experience, the world, ourselves, and only then can the cool spring breezes, the very breath of God, His Word’s, blow through the finely lit halls of God’s glory.

My desire to keep hidden, to remain behind my veil, sit in my car almost cost me one of the most significant blessings of my life, to meet such a powerful man of God, a sweet teacher, a blessed friend, an officer in His army beckoning to another; “come put out your hand”.

Funny how mold works.

But there is another possibility?

An influx of a specialist into the battle field!

The enemy mustering at the edge of a clearing, within safe retreating distance from the tree’s, can at time represent an almost overwhelming opposition, especially when the new young warrior to the battle field, has allowed years of assembly to accumulate.

I ponder the question asked of me only hours ago as I relate and raise the statement of frustration I have heard more and more from believers; “why do my efforts to fight obvious persecuting thoughts and temptations seem to progress without effect?”

Understanding the enemy is key int the ultimate hope to realize victory.

Going into battle daily for the cleaning out of the lurking enemy within the forest’s of our mind, can be a time consuming and somewhat frustrating activity, especially early on. For those of great calling, of which anyone reading this, I am sure with any confidence granted me by the keys from above to unlock those dormant rooms, would reveal the fact that many are the enemy that have been assigned to pester, tempt, ridicule, frighten, and distract, and even inflict a young potential officer in His army, to thwart him or her from the greater task at hand.

Perhaps even a Century of enemy troops stand between defeat and eventual confrontation with the leader, the Centurion that directs the rest. Getting rid of the these directing cowards is key in taking dominion of the second heaven within the mind. But let us for sake of literal content assume that our young believer, you, represented in this story have already been diligently cleaning house.

Stepping onto the battle plane, and taking in the scene before me, first it is necessary to take into the eye the structure of what I see. The battle field is always a place of destruction, it is the place where we have put to death those things that keep us from the victory and dominion of our house in entirety. Dark is the soil from the rich deposit’s of fertilizer, the many death’s of sin and self, that have already preceded. It doesn’t take an Einstein to know that the darker the soil, the more fertile and greater the garden that said soil will produce.

Oh yes granted, we have given leadership to our house, and Jesus, recognized and undisputed Son of the Living God, God personified and come to earth for one purpose, to grant to us the ability and Way to come back to the Father, a payment of our debt, He has been given rule. But we still have to make the choice each and everyone of us, for each and every dirty thing we have called our own, face them, identify them, and drive them out. Christian’s can sin, for that you need look no farther then the author of this article.

That means; armor up, go to the battle field, find them, make them identify themselves, and then attack!, if they don’t go running with their tail tucked, screeching like a stuck pig. It’s true, I’ve seen it!

And while todays assignment is not fully exploring the tactics, attacking postures, strategies, armaments, and available troops the enemy might throw at someone, we will for the sake of redundant reading limitations assume that said warrior has been to the battle field on more then a few occasions, cleaning house for the most part of the majority of enemy troops assigned to keep him or her from gaining and granting dominion over their house, and also displaying said house in the full clarity, with the face of Christ.

So there you have it, a house clean swept through more then the average bears attempt to power spray, and the marked results; a significant reduction of attempts of the enemy to try to make you fall, will often lead to lulls in the action whereby attacks and lurking enemy seem difficult to find.

The enemy does, for that matter, only have a enumerated number of troops, and while that account may very well be difficult for us mortals to wrap our minds around, they are limited all the same. The enemy know’s to waste troops on a futile effort as to harass one of The Father’s officer’s, is no more effective then trying take down said warrior with a snow ball, thrown from a great distance, in the blazing warmth of the clear summers sun in Phoenix Arizona. Of course that’s not to say he won’t occasionally take a shot.

The enemy might decide to send in a specialist.

Scene; There sit’s our young warrior basking in the sun of a green grassed hill, sword casually lying at his feet, not out of neglect but because the need to pick it up and slice the throats of enemies, incapacitate them then bind them up and cast them out, like yesterdays old newspaper. This activity has become less a challenge and more of just an occasional fox hunt, when he has a notion.

Oh he’d be the first to admit there are a couple of foxes probably out there still causing havoc, but for the most part, the hen house has been free of harassment lately, and when there is a very accurate shot standing guard, foolish is the fox that tempts his aim. Much is the fruit of a calm hen house, constant and steady flowing production of good life giving gift’s.

Peaceful days, and a warrior lying in the grass, one might say his bottom has even impressed into the slope the contour of a chair. His eye and hand examining one of the perfect flowers the Lord has graced our young child with.

Gently must he consider the tender flower, because fragile are her pedals, and while he has clearly the Lion standing a vigilant guard within, ready at any moment to pounce into action at but a Father’s call, so does he also have the Lamb of Christ. The lamb who has branded the man’s heart with tenderness, compassion, gentleness, learning in sync every move of battle is intertwined also with a method and manner of healing. Balance is always a key for success.

Suddenly and gently as the sweet scent of morning flowers wrap her slender fingers around his heart, a soft warm barrier descends upon him completely engulfing his upper torso, distinctly strong around his head arms and chest. This supernatural armor that seems to descend, usually precipitates something very Godly is about to happen. The world perhaps has called this intuition, a sixth sense, but this gift God grants is a reactionary calling out of his armor, for just as Jesus said in Luke 19:40; “I tell you that, if these should hold their piece, the stones would immediately cry out.”

His eye lifts but a moment from his careful examination of the flower, he glances towards the horizon resting above the slope of the opposing hill, noticing directly the brown haze that seemed to also decent upon the land. It is the dust of the footfalls of that which is mustering pressing the hill, gathering for some kind of attack.

As the opposing horde begin’s to squeeze in on the territory of our young warrior, but no less importantly then that, the area of the land he has been assigned to protect, his post, the warrior remains in the safe garden comfort of recline in his now moss touched chair.

For the keen sight has shown him there is a giant among them.

There is no immediate danger, they are still along way off, and there is the question of the giant!

Not that giants hold as much of a grip on him in the fear department, that they once did, for he has slew more then a few of their filthy brothers before, and with each, the ease of disposal increases. But there still remain the unknown factor, it is still a bit distant to get a good eye on exactly what is out there clearly, that unknown, lends it’s own factors of uncertainty, and it is a giant!

Let us further examine even as Jesus spoke about the stones speaking, the further context that might apply.

Luke 19:41-44

As He approached Jerusalem and saw the city, He wept over it, and said; “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace-but now it is hidden from your eyes. The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you and hem you in on every side. They will dash you to the ground, you and the children within your walls. They will not leave one stone on another, because you did not recognize the time of God’s coming to you.”

But praise God Jesus immediately also gives the solution, for in the very next scripture Luke 19:45-46

When Jesu entered the temple courts, he began to drive out those who were selling. “It is written,” he said to them, “‘My house will be a house of prayer’; but you have made it ‘a den of robbers.’”

Ok back to the young prince sitting in the grass.

Like I said ever alert is He for any and all attack’s, having the Lion’s strength and stature, also means he has His senses!

It is but a moment’s moment and he realizes the foul smell of something lurking close!

A demon!

He rolls quickly to avoid a quick attack that now only slices air in a snake like hiss, striking the ground where only moments earlier his head stood.

A scout, dispatched by the giant to deliver a head wound of fear that without doubt would have paralyzed, if not defeated even a fraction of a lessor warrior, but such is the seasoned veteran to these feeble attempt’s, that it was but a fraction of a moment before the true author of that cat piss smell was easily recognized, and likewise only a marginal evading move with consequent circle slice and yet another frog faced demon head goes tumbling down the hill.

Our warrior’s jaw set in determined indignation, but a smidgen of a smile, for the Lion has completely engulfed him in ferocity and confidence. His eyes set on the prey that awaits across the plain. What is amazing, is as froggies head goes rolling casually down the hill at his feet, the entire troop including the giant come to an immediate and abrupt halt! They are suddenly frozen by the blast of the Lions Roar that just crashed through their dark senses, they are frozen like pillars of salt, with one exception, the shaking of their knees can clearly be heard even from here……

running is really their only chance!

I look up out of the car window at the smile of the strangest Jewish Man I have ever seen. Draped in a purple bath robe, sweet joyful smile mapping his face as far as the east is from the west, white hair like the rays of the sun sticking out from his balding head, encircling his loving face like a streaming aurora. Difficult it is to make out any of those qualities though, past the sparkling diamonds shining out from the eyes so deep with so much wisdom and purpose, that a man comes directly to the realization that many are the volumes that couldn’t contain but a fraction of waits within.

“Come on in for a bit” he says.

Getting out of a seat, facing challenges, fears, giants, in this realm or another, is a magnificent calling we should all but feel honored to take. Great are the giants that stand in our way, greatly microscopic in comparison to what we have been given.

We all have our chairs we long, and fear, to leave.

By Peter Colla

For Peter Laue

“Dear Lord Jesus, thank you for the wisdom You have so graciously granted me. Help me further to use that wisdom ever seeking to demonstrate Your face not mine. Thank You for all the skills You have given me, either by my experience, training, or those you have breathed into me with the various experiences my senses have acknowledged throughout my life. I praise God You have given me all I need to overcome any battle.”