“A Morning With Villa La Fagianaia”

Villa La Fagianaia

Villa La Fagianaia

A honeymoon morning in Tuscany is a symphony of sounds, sights and feelings dancing across one mans senses with no less vibrato than the softest most superbly played Mozart.

A masterpiece of fresco pigments laid down with just a hint of pure virgin olive oil, gently stroked earth tones of softly shadowed greens, speckled with the purest yellow blossoms, red poppies, lavenders and light rose, all covered with the most subtle white and blue mist gently laying across the more distant hills.

The breath of the Villa La Fagianaia, whispers in her slumber sway, warm golden stones hug my love gently as she slumbers softly in this new day.

The light aired sheets caress soft morning skin as the cool fresh air flows as a trickle through the open sill.

Sweet is the flowered scents resting on damp misty cloud, tingling again with just the softest herbs of olive branch and nectar shroud.

IMG_4711Peddles of all possible name, dance in the lightest possible breeze, they bathe in the morning dew drops that caress their waking leaves.

The heads of slender grass glisten like diamonds with condensed droplets of pure life’s love, waiting each in turn to drop softly onto whom or what they may add their own essence from above.

The bell of some distant castled tower chimes a single tone, and her sounds slowly faint into distant responses unknown.

IMG_4710Memories of her solum tone linger long after her furthest pass, giving glimmer in her sweet taste of tiled rooftops of long past.

Birds chirp in some unfathomable yet random unity as they sing their praises of still another perfect days creation, they each speak of the infinite gift God has himself tasked them to preach.

Oh how tempting is it to just sore in the sky above and among the soft misty gardens of shimmering greens, earthly browns and blue tinted shadows. But they must linger, perched on the cool damp crested branch sent to task the song that must yet be sung among the most perfect mornings dance.

IMG_4708Soft silhouette, gentle bell tone, light vibrato melodies of a hundred separate ageless stone,

their voices all distinct yet separate in their blended harmonies, so do all these visions caress my longing senses even as the gentlest morning breeze touch my resting senses and plays to forgotten dreams of yesterday’s memories.

By Peter Colla

“Thank You Lord Jesus for all the greatest gifts You give me each and every day, even as I hardly begin to sense them”

Posted in Beauty, Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, Healing, Health, Italy, Love, Marriage, Physical Therapy, Relationship, Sanctuary, Tuscany, Uncategorized, Villa, Wellness | 1 Comment

Soft Is Her Dream

UnknownIn my mind’s eye I have dreamt once or maybe it was a lifetime in my slumber, of a beautiful garden of flowers and green, shaded trees with their cool enticing grasses, begging one to just come and lay your head in its dew touched fingers.

I walk, no run along a path, soft to feet yet firm with stones, cobblestones of honed stones ancient but newly set. I run along this path with the legs He has given me with ease glancing at the many flowers that line the walk.

I softly yet distinctly hear His voice say to me; “My dear son, touch any of the My flowers you see, give to them as you please, take them with you or not, your choice, for this is your garden that I have made you.”

My eye still rests further down the path because there is where the bright Son’s shine. I touch many flowers as I run by their beautiful faces turning towards me for a moment as I pass.

Then suddenly I hear steps of another gentle but firm, strong in purpose and heart, running even as in stride coming closer alongside.

Through the corner of my eye, I see her softly striding up alongside, with the slender strength of her gait. Powerful are her legs that carry such a treasure through her life.

She is wearing pure white linen in the soft dress that flows across her tanned sculpted majestic line graceful as a gazelle in her stride.

I dare take my glance but a moment to look to my side and see her soft hair pure light and flowing lightly with the breeze. Her perfect neck straight and true as is her heart.

Her gaze on the light of the path, her stride set right next to mine, so perfect I can hardly hear the footfalls as they softly caress the stones below.

Do I dare reach out to touch her hand? For how can such a beautiful daughter of the King possibly show any interest in me? But her breath is so sweet flowers and the musk of her gentle flower touching the very depth of my soul! I long to hold that taste but a lifetime deep with every breath!

I must, so I reach out in excited fear, my hand as I run, and in jubilation, I feel her tender touch as the sweetest softest fingertips a man has ever longed to kiss, tenderly touch mine in stride!

I look for but a moment and to my amazement, she is reaching also for me! Smiling even playing in her charm.

“Beautiful are the feet of the One who brings you love, my son” I hear Him say.

What a perfect smile she has as she dances along the cool path. White smile like her hair and wet red rosy lips smiling in life and love made for kissing life into a children’s hearts. She is the embodiment of love and life. Carrying truth with her every raised chests’ breath!

Her eyes reflecting and at the same time sparkling with an intensity matched only by the brightness at the end of the path.

My heart beats with thundering rhythm as it meets my own steps in stride. Almost stumbling as I look on in amazement, but quickly resume my step.

We both turn eye down the path, hand in hand a few flowers gathered to take along and with a pure laugh and sweet sound we run on to the infinite distant ends of this magnificent garden!

Cool waters of distant shores, snow-capped mountains of distant hills to climb, colors unfathomable and tastes, some almost as sweet as her breath!


Written as Seen in a Perfect Dream

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord, Thank You for Your most abundant gifts, they so abound in this world, but so it clear that You have made so very much for me, even in my dreams…”

Posted in Battle, Beauty, Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, Father, Healing, Health, Jesus, Land, Love, Marriage, Medicine, Nobility, Prayer, Relationship, Sanctuary, Soul Mate, Spiritual Warfare, Touch, Wellness | 3 Comments

A Local Therapist’s Take On The VA Debacle, And General Shinseki’s Resignation

A single man, while having the ability to change and effect many areas, maybe even breath life into a dying body, has little or no chance to affect the overall eventuality of said course the would be corpse is heading on its own; if it sees no wrong in its course, if it has no intention of changing, if it has no idea what the root cause of which the deathly infirmity sprang, it can not fathom the depth of cancer within, the mind of the afflicted whispering in dark places, and not even an inkling to the life styles that brought him to this dark deaths’ doorstep in the first place. This is the conundrum, the leader yelling to a deaf man who thinks he can hear, as he runs headlong off the cliff.

imgres-2Eric Shezeski was the sacrificial lamb, fall guy, doomed soldier chosen to rush yet again some heartless machine guns nest in a battle that could never be won by a single man. From the moment he accepted the VA’s Chiefs position, anyone or any commander, who had even the slightest knowledge of the depth of the disease that rests within the body of the Veteran’s Affairs Care System would have seen this eventuality long before The General ever stepped foot into the office.

What did it matter General Shinseki’s gave an illustrious and distinguished carrier of years with self-sacrifice and service to the protection of the rest of us Americans? Giving himself almost immediately in his long carrier in honor and dedication, to the point of multiple bronze stars, purple hearts, valor and honor, body parts, a life, dreams, all handed with dutiful ease for a single purpose as to only grant for the rest of us a possibility of life with a bit more comfort, security, and knowledge that our children can sleep at night without the fears that plague so many others throughout this world.

Some might say, what would I know, the writer of this article, never serving in the armed forces, didn’t work at the VA, how could I possibly even begin to think could comment on something I know nothing about?

Well, let me try!

For almost twenty-five years I practiced physical therapy in my own private practice, and for the greater part of that time frame, my office was literally only a couple of hundred feet from the Phoenix VA, the same VA that has become so newsworthy of late. Many a time would a veteran come wandering into my office hoping to be seen for his physical therapy needs, wondering if our office could possibly give him care, a handful of help, a thirsty man’s relief, a morsel he so desperately desired

It was at these moments we would become frequented with one of the heartaches that had become a regular daily routine in and around the bureaucracy that surrounded a veterans desire to merely receive some kind of reasonable medical treatment in a socially acceptable time frame. Medical Care which was only promised him in writing before his armed service was solicited years before.

images-7Tales upon stories of soldiers waiting weeks even months for just a response regarding their inquiries for a possible treatment of ailments, these hurting children of war still seem to be suffering today. They told me of having to wait weeks to just be evaluated for a hurt back or injured knee, and then just being told that the waiting list for treatment was longer still. This would result in often putting the eventual care of an acute injury out as far a six months or more, and it didn’t take a medical degree to understand that by waiting that long the acute injury has long since gone into the chronic realm of a treatment swamp.

Oh sure they could receive a pain med’s or some kind of muscle relaxer, but how can any rational thinking care provider possibly think that relaxing the muscles or dumbing down this person, could possibly help relieve the irritation, limitation on his life, or restrictions of this soldiers’ bodies, its freedom, his injured torn tissue or compressed disc has caused. Not to mention the possible addiction that could occur if pain meds are used for that long.

But that’s not where it ended!

These men out of desperation would more often than not venture into the private practices of Family Practitioners, often paying out of pocket because the wait to be seen by VA was too great. So prescription in hand they walk into my office, with the hope of some kind of relief in their eyes, not unlike my own child pleading for relief after scraping bloody his knee. But the nightmare of malcontent has only begun, for now, the bureaucracy again is called into motion.

Over the course of the last few years, insurance companies have used the ploy of verifying coverage, stating to an unsuspecting public that they are making sure that a person will have payments for a medical visit.In a short time to follow, an even later need to actually receive authorization before services could be rendered was initiated, basically giving permission to grant care, as a way to manage care (Joke!), the truth; cut costs by limiting services.

As it now stands the Doctor no longer tells you whether or not you will receive a needed medical procedure, but that right rests upon the non-medically trained person sitting behind the computer screen, staring into that heartless box of circuits, and decides based on a tabulation of data or cost-effectiveness stockholder desired profit margins and penny balancing ratios, whether or not you will have your care authorized. Nowhere worse is this seen than in the attempts to receive authorization around Veterans.

Prescription in hand! Care needed verifying and prescribed by a Doctor! The physical need witness and verified by a licensed Therapist who can give the patient what treatment he needs! But here lies the problem; getting care authorized at an out of VA location, even if the said clinic is contracted with veterans insurance plan, takes a special authorization, and again this can take weeks, even months. First the number you must call to request authorization always comes into an answering machine, of which return calls never seemed to come. Delays again!

One of the more astute, and by most peoples standards, almost to the point of crazily fanatic vet., who wouldn’t take no for an answer, said one day; “the only way to get it done is call over and over and over again, for a week or two straight and then they will call you back”. So this became the standard at my office for trying to receive even a call back from the “Auth Department” at VA.

imgres-3But it didn’t stop at that, care was often at first denied, second or third try too, or possibly the vet had to jump through countless hoops; with forms, requests, calls, report to this place or that, sit in this line or that, hurry up and wait, and when he finally did receive an authorization for care it was extremely limited to a fraction of the visits they needed to get better. The doctor would prescribe three weeks, auth would be for two visits. When these few visits ran out, the whole process started over again and this would cause lapses in care, risking the loss of any gains made by the visits to date.

But if we thought about treating without the authorization and we did, we were promptly told that any treatments being done outside of the authorization of the “All Important Claims Representative” would be denied and not be paid. Further, she was quick to remind us that; “unauthorized care could not be billed to the patient, because of contractual agreements the insurance company placed in our practicing agreement, treating unauthorized care could violate our contract and risk cancelation”, basically denying us the ability to treat other vets in the future.

We would have to treat basically for free, and risk financial repercussions, I could easily have filled a clinic the size of Walmart with such patients! But these poor soldiers, also because of injury and trauma were outcast economically as well, were often unable to pay anything out of pocket because of their own work and physical limitations.

I often would ask, considering the degree of difficulty even a few visits could require, why would the Vet still choose to be seen in the private sector? The answer was always the same, when it care to veterans care at the VA; long waits, overcrowded care facilities, understaffed, the lack of any empathy especially from the admission or administration, often even contempt they were given for bothering the staff member in the first place, the overall and standard feeling the Vet’s received was one of; “quit bothering us, and lets push them through as fast as possible to get them out of our hair!”

Now granted my experience was limited only to people who already had run into delays or negative behaviors, I have heard from many Vet’s who only had pleasant and positive experiences in their VA experience.

I had once commented to a Vet who told me of such a wait or foul treatment, about how my dog seemed to receive better care at the veterinarian’s every time I took him than he seemed to receive at the VA!

I explained my dog gets in on the same day, the people at the front desk smile and treat the dog nice, they have assistants that care and help with the visit, the Doctor actually sees the dog, and spends time with the dog more than just a minute or two, seeming to actually care, the dog gets touched not just talked at, a care plan is determined and finally a care is initiated immediately. I was not surprised that this story was received with just a simple nod of the head, a smirk, basically a simple affirmation by the Vet.

One might say; well doesn’t the veterinarian get paid cash by the dog owner so the dog should get better care, but the fact that these men and women risked their lives for the service and protection of our country seems to me as at least payment for common curiousness, and treatment better then a dog.

By today’s standards and even the most minimal care situations, patients still should expect to be seen in a reasonable time frame, at least within a day or two from the onset of an injury, to at least assure a treatment can be established before the injury worsens or other complications would arise. And if that time frame cannot be given because of full appointments or scheduling conflicts, I would feel it is reasonable to expect that said patient should be able to go elsewhere to receive care.

Complaints of waiting, and malcontent, bureaucratic red tape to the point where the Vet just wants to give up, or the injury gets so far along he just learns to live with it was common. A typical attitude reported by the Vet’s regarding hospital administrative staff is that the Vets are sometimes regarded as below them, bothersome, and not worth their time even to hear.

It doesn’t surprise me that as many complains or like comments I had heard throughout the years, would it finally come to the light of the public eye that “wait list or black listing” occurred against Vet’s who for no other reason than they might have made some lazy self-righteous nail filing office staff member mad, resulting in them being put on the bottom of a list, their file being put on the bottom of the pile, their request stuck in the no-work drawer or worse yet filed in the “Circular Receptacle”, that seemed to be the case I witnessed for years.

Oh and just try to get some kind of outsourcing contract for Vet’s in the private sector, the same restrictions, red tape, waiting time frames, denials and blacklist occurred. Insurance companies feed the public the lies that they contract to assure quality care, but anyone in the industry would tell you they contract to limit the availability of service, restriction of pay-ability by themselves and basic control over their constituents.

The VA falling short on so many levels that it would be considered by any reasonable thinking individual to be an atrocity to the taxpayer, who do care for the least for these people, the men, and women who have given and risked so much for us and our children, is not just a single problem that can be solved by any one man, even a General a War Hero. For it is a systemic problem that permeates within the entire attitude of the health care society at large.

images-5Insurance companies don’t care about giving its clients care, they are only looking for reasons and excuses to cut costs anywhere they can, give the least amount out while taking the most in, and not look like criminals doing it! But that’s a different discussion; https://paulorpeter.com/2014/02/24/insurance-or-spiritual-enslavement/

The VA is no different, it has been strapped with this obligation to care for the remnant of war and military spending, the political machine creates when it sends our sons into battle. Not everyone who participates in various levels of care for Veterans seems to care at all about them as people, and merely see them as burdens.

And what of our Government bureaucracy it can stand back and watch, knowing this has gone on for years, as its underlying agenda’s or reasons play out, while at the same time spend billions to fund these wars, all for the call of liberty?

No many at the VA don’t care about these people any more than the bureaucracies that sent them and profits from their deaths do!

So here comes the promises of reform! Send in a hero General Eric Shinseki, of which no one will ever doubt he could lead these obviously failing troops, who is used to having his orders followed without question. But somewhere along the line do we have to assume the body of the problem admits to itself there is a problem, then we have to hope it communicates to the leader there is even a problem and doesn’t just lie, and act as if it doesn’t exist, sweep it yet again under the rug, and hope it will fade from sight.

No, the problem is not a following of orders type issue, but a question of the heart of the Body of the VA. If the heart was changed, the parts of the body would recognize those parts of which didn’t fall in line with the new found love, honor and integrity, they would report these dishonorable actions or individuals that lie in dark corners, and the leadership would extract them as it would any cancer if healing of hearts could not be accomplished.

images-6Healing is as much as anyone might want to try to argue is from God and all about compassion, empathy, care and love, there is also a place of honor and integrity. And even while we are talking about military hospitals and such, soldiers fight wars and death is a part of this, of this no one can argue, but hospitals are supposed to be a place where soldiers can heal, and that my friend is almost the polar opposite of war.

The General while no doubt a great Commander and fine man, was doomed the minute he walked onto the playing field, for he was fighting a battle he was not trained for, any more than just being a heart patient somehow qualifies you to operate on one. For any chance of success he would have to have gotten in touch with the very heart of the VA if he had any hope in understanding the scope of the problem before him, and unfortunately, that heart right now has no intention of changing it is the bureaucracy we live in.

By Peter Colla PT

“Dear Jesus, I pray for those soldiers who might have lost their lives while waiting for care, and I pray further for the General, that he does not lose heart and realizes in his sacrifice, yet again the battle may now finally be exposed for a healing win.”

Posted in Battle, Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, End Times, General Shinseki, Health, Jesus, Military, Physical Therapy, Politics, Spiritual Warfare, Wellness | 1 Comment

The Call of a Healer? and excerpt from “The Touch”

images-3It is a fact of human nature, a person can not recognize exactly where they are if they have never experienced a like occurrence before. Consequently, if one is to become a healer in any part or capacity, it is imperative that they have the experience of being healed. One might say it is not in the discovery or desire to become a healer but in the surviving and eventual healing of a traumatic event the places the calling or recognition of healer on someone.

Of course we are all healed even on a day by day basis, throughout our lives, and subsequently, experiences might make us, even in the least degree, able to empathize with others, even in the simplest healing situations, thus holding to the Word; we are all called to be healers. But not all of us are brought to the ground, face down in the deep valley, facing consequences of health that shake the very fabric of our being and set to possible despair any chance of the life going forward even with a remote semblance of the one dreamed of thus far. Not all of us have our world destroyed by some health issue, or maybe eventual we do?

Case in study; I was a fifteen-year-old boy, somewhat athletic, more want, than ability, who happens to go on a hayride with his high school key club. A volunteer community service club, whose purpose is honestly more of a gathering for high school kids to meet than it is community service oriented, at least at the view of a fifteen-year-old high school boy.

images-4A perfect evening, cool desert night, just the right combination of sage-scented breezes, coupled with the sounds echoing in the night, coyotes just close enough with their yelps to press the girl closest to him just a bit closer for some kind of unseen and surely unjustified protection, dreams not yet fathomed or deserved.

Here we have our young lad, wide-eyed and heart racing, eager to see all of life’s thrills his world has yet to give. Who does he happen to find himself next to? No other than Debbie, not only the cutest and most popular girl in the freshman class but also star cheerleader, someone he is sure had no idea of his existence until this particular day. Greater gift upon gift; she happens to be sitting next to me, plus the added bonus of finding most of what I am saying so far quite interesting, at least she is laughing and smiling.

And while I may have been a rising star in the Key Club world, being somewhat of a hand at poster painting, nothing can I say or even imagine is deserving the honor being granted me today by Debbie. Nothing except possibly the fact that my best friend Don is also one of the most popular upper class-men at the school. Don not only talked me into joining the Key Club but asked me to come tonight to this already monuments event. Don is not only an undefeated wrestler of over hundreds of straight matches to date, three-time state champion but to date, the most honorable, humble, trustworthy person I had ever known, extra plus he happens to like me.

Shortly following the halt of the hay wagon and the even more cozy gathering around a campfire, I recognize that Don is taking on all contenders in one-on-one wrestling matches up on the hay wagon. While being no fool, I know full well even with maybe twenty or thirty pounds on the smaller 125 lbs. wrestler I have absolutely no chance. But observing the laughs Debbie is emitting at the various boys being flipped around like rag dolls, and knowing the wrestling champ is my friend, figures to grant me even more points than I have already accumulated tonight, so I step up to challenge my friend. Who is, by the way, not even breathing hard after disposing of another friend of mine twice his size and maybe a half bigger than myself.

After only minimal grabs and thrusts I quickly find myself face down in a bit of a double headlock, facing the laughing smiles of my friend in front of me. Not wanting to give up in quick time, less than a ten count, and hoping to use my weight and size to any advantage it might grant me, I decide to slide my legs more to the center and try to widen my position, to put on some kind of stalemate maneuver. Countering any move Don might pull out of his pocket, I hold on tight and just stall for time settling on a draw, at least to the eyes of anybody who might happen to be watching. This would surely impress princess Debbie who no doubts stand and watch in cheering joy.

How soft and perfected is the gift a Father, so many years ago given this young son, the creation of flesh, muscles, tendons, working in smooth unison formed in perfected functional beauty granting strength and ability…his knee. Strength and stability to take punishments and play over years, constructed in inner function combined with outer perfection that muscles clothed in soft skin demonstrate anything if only the masterpiece of a Father’s creation. So slides the knee across the surface of the wood and straw, unaware the lurking dangers set in place months if not years before, ahead waits is the fang of serpents bite. A splinter four or five inches long just split enough off of the dry wood and placed in just exactly the right angle as to wait like a dagger for the unprotected young flesh to slide by. The strike is no less unexpected, or less devastatingly ruthless as any snake bite, and long after awareness of the body jumps to your aid, far foregone is any chance to avoid its deep bite.

The immediate agony and the almost instantaneous jump to my knee, leaves not only my friend but everyone else around without doubt that something horrendously wrong had occurred. Before long, forgotten was my attention to Princess Debbie, even ignored were the inquiries of my friend Don, with my only attention on looking at the source of the pain trying desperately to shed the meager light of the fire on any wisdom it might bring to the injury. I begin working vigorously to remove the almost pencil thick stub of wood that had now not only lodged under my knee cap but also broke off only leaving a small stub sticking out, with it’s nearly too small of a remnant to grab and pull out.

So with my limited experience and absolutely no training, all I was left with is the inherent knowledge and pain that this intruder must be removed. Pressure on the opposite side of the knee seemed to cause the end of the stick to push out just enough until I could securely attach fingernails like a vice to the dagger of wood. Then with one burning and painful pull, I dislodge it from my precious knee. Long and almost stiletto-like, this bloody two and a half inch long piece of a wood splinter from under my knee cap inside my knee slid out, like a dagger from a sheath.

Immediately I almost instinctively knew that this was not going to be the end of my new problem, for as the knee increased in pain so did it increase also in swollen size and stiffness, to the point where I could hardly place any weight on it. Long gone are the teeth of the serpent, but the venom and damage still seemed to be doing its work.

The ride back has faded from my memory, and while I vaguely remember still sitting talking to Debbie and maybe assuring my worried friend Don everything was going to be fine, my mind can hardly remember doing much other than constantly looking to the now injured knee. The injury had reduced my entire world from one of joy, laughter, campfires, cheerleaders, coyotes, Gods blessings, and dreams, to an area of view slightly larger than the scope of a view including only a few inches that surrounded my knee. My world had become my injured knee.

After a rapid visit to emergency room with it’s overworked and under-rested doctors, who granted their own portion of wisdom find nothing, and then an even more rapid revisit only three days later, (four days before recommended by the previous Dr., I might add) to an orthopedic surgeon who seemed to be granted much more wisdom than the previous doctor, I found myself quickly being rushed into the operating room. I was too young to understand the diagnosis, but not so to witness the shocked look on the doctors face, and frantic orders the moment he barked them out at everyone around, as he drew a syringe of green pussy fluid from my now extremely swollen and bright red-purple knee.

I am not sure where I heard those dire words; in all of the two or three operations that followed, or the almost one month of lying on my back in the hospital. Not being able to hold down any food and losing nearly forty pounds, whether it being a reaction that also erupted making me deathly sick and vomiting to any antibiotic being used, or the shock of the trauma on my young body, made the choice of any antibiotic all but sidelined, result; my knee had been peeled like a banana and the only treatment that remained a washing with clean saline (water with a hint of salt) pumped run through a tube over the now exposed tissue of my knee. In all this frantic chaos somewhere I did hear the doctor try to console my mother as he was urging her “If we couldn’t get the infection under control and out of my knee they would probably have to take my leg off?”

I wasn’t a particularly fast runner, but if I did participate in any athletics, something I always had an enormous interest in doing, running seemed to be the only skill I could come close to demonstrating. Plus being raised pretty much from the south side of the tracks, I always knew that if I was going to get through college, getting into some kind of program where a scholarship was involved seemed to be a must. It so happens that the same friend Don, I wrestled on the hay wagon, was also to a degree helping me with application and qualification into the Military Academies. There being one point that was necessary for admittance into any such schools, a student must letter in Varsity sports all four years of his high school career in order to even be considered. That single fact was rushing through my mind as a foregone conclusion from the very moment I was sitting by the fire to even with every word the doctor spoke.

images-1I have always walked and spoke to God, even from a young age, and while I had no idea what was going to happen, for no reason I could understand then, I wasn’t afraid and just knew I was going to be ok, I was going to get through it. Finally, after at least a month, the infection was finally subsided and I was finally stable enough leave. I remember sitting and the doctor looking at my now mangled knee which couldn’t straighten out, and even but a fractional amount bend, telling me; “how lucky I was.” I quickly asked; “will I ever run or jump again?’ He looked at me with a sad but somewhat consoling smile and said; “Probably not.”

That was not going to work well into my plans of possibly getting into an Academy. As the doctor left the room with my mother, I remember there was another man who stood near and looking at me said; “You want to run again? Do whatever you can, hobble if you must, first a little, then a lot, then miles, and before you know it you will run.” “If you want it bad enough you can get it back.” That statement even if far down the road, and contrary to what the doctor said did give me hope, if even only a very little bit.

Months of walking with crutches followed, little if any progress as the knee swelling reduced, it remained stiff an painful to put even a little weight on, and if you asked me anything about that time in my life, all I think I could remember is images of my knee, bandaging it, carefully lifting in and out of a car, and walking with crutches. That is all! I had become reduced to my knee injury, no longer participating in clubs, sports, or any activities I can remember, as a matter of fact, I remember pretty much being alone.

One memory comes to mind although; I remember one particular day at school, with two crutches and fumbling horribly at my locker as I wrestled with books and papers and those two ridiculous crutches. Suddenly I get hit with a can or a wadded up piece of paper in the head, causing me to drop my books or papers all over the ground, and the almost immediately the eruption of laughter behind me, as I realize one of the upper class-men football players was not only the instigator of the teasing but now was making his way over to press his fun over his new found victim. I vaguely remember him making comments like “poor little cripple boy” or something as he gets closer and kicks my book to push them even further out of my now pathetic attempts to reach.

I remember saying something back, almost challenging the almost twice as large boy, but such comments were only met with more laughter from not only him but his friends who sat nearby and laughed him on. The boy moved towards me with a sneer and I was sure that at least a knocking to the ground was the minimal I could expect from this exchange coming. This was going to hurt my knee.

Then suddenly there was an almost immediate silence, lifting my eyes up from my now mangled book, I see that my provoker now laid in the clutches of John, who must have come suddenly around the corner. John was not only the star of both the basketball and football team being that he was at least six foot five and every bit as strong as he was tall, a mammoth of a man by anyone’s standards. He lifted my large, but seemingly light to John’s standards, assailant off of his feet and slammed him quite forcibly against the lockers, and said; “You pick every piece of those papers, and if you ever touch my friend again, it’s going to be you on those crutches!”

Not a word from my assailant except a fearful head nod, nor either from the friends who were moments before laughing, because the minute John went into action, they all ran like they saw charging lion! John releases the boy who scrambles to pick up the papers in such a frantic state, it was clear to me he was much more frightened now then I had ever been even moments before. He said “sorry” as he handed me my books, and quickly left the scene. Tears were now running down my face, and for the life of me I don’t realize why, or maybe now after all these years, I do. John softly says; “Are you all right?” “I don’t think those guys are going to bother you ever again.” He smiled and turned to walk away.

And all I could say was “Ya.”

A month or so later I would be picked out of the crowd at church and would experience what I would for the rest of my life remember as the time I thought I was healed. Mario Marillo picked me out of the crowd, a seemingly impossible task seeing that I was standing all the way in the back and way over to the side, well out of view of not only the pastor but anyone else who might see us kids talking and socializing during church. He called out “And there is a boy, they told him he’d never run again, he’d never jump again, and he’s right there!” turning his arm to his side and pointing his finger right between my eyes, while not even looking at me, I was shocked to see him continuing to look forward at the crowd and not even look at where he pointed. All my friends around where urging me to go down saying; “That’s you, that’s you!”

After hobbling down on my crutches, he looked at me and said; “They told you; you will never run again, they told you; you would never jump again.” “But I will tell you not only will you run and jump again, there will come a day when you run faster and jump higher than anyone you will ever meet.” He touched me on the head, everyone cheered and I hobbled back to my chair. After being prodded by my friends and those around me, I admitted that maybe I felt little different, maybe, and life went on.

Years later, after hobbling turned into jogging, and jogging into running, first laps, then miles, and making not only the varsity cross country team, but going to State and our team winning the state championship twice. Track team pole vaulting, with later 440 sprinting and our team winning the state championship twice. Getting nominated to not one but all of three of the military academies, Annapolis, Colorado Springs and West Point, and getting accepted into Westpoint, just to pass on them all and go onto Oral Roberts University, because it was were I believed at the time God wanted me to go. Then walk onto their NCAA Class One cross country team.

imgresA couple years and I travel to Europe, meet my future wife and work my way into playing the highest level of Korfbal, the second most popular sport in Holland right behind soccer, and the one my future wife happens to play on the Dutch National Team. Five years, finding myself studying physical therapy and running my way onto the highest level playing team out of any American to play the sport in that country. I got to play with her on the same team for one reason, and one reason alone, and this was clearly spoken by her head coach Theo, not only one of the finest coaches I have ever had the pleasure of working with but also one of the best men it has ever been my honor to know, because at this point he said; I was faster and jumped higher than any person he knew in the sport, and certainly faster and jumped higher than anyone he’d met. That fact became evident to me over the course of the next few years, and later would come into significance in my mind as well as spirit.

imagesI was healed, and more importantly, somewhere along the way I certainly stopped seeing my world being defined and limited to my injured knee, I started dreaming again. My world became large again, even to encompass multiple continents.

For all those years when I would infrequently think back or only rarely give credit to the healing, finally at this later stage I began to. I finally and more often would tell the story of Mario Marillo and his pointing me out of the crowd, the crutches, and hobbling, and God being faithful to his word. But now as I ponder and think more clearly about things, I realize Mario was and is a profit, merely pointing out for the edification of the body that which God already had done, quietly and softly months before.

Because at one moment there was a boy and his whole world had reduced to that simple injured knee. Then Jesus showed up in the body and form of John, and picked up that enemy and rebuked it, driving it away once and for all, issuing in healing, renewing a spirit, bringing precious water on dry and parched dreams. And it was at that very moment I realize now, thinking back all those years, I no longer thought of myself as a knee, but as a friend of Him. That I know now is why I cried all those years ago; when Jesus steps in and helps us, heals us, opens the prison, scares away the devils, one can not help but cry.

imgres-1With that healing, was also my call to be a healer. So the question to the reader is; since you have also already been healed, to what degree are you called to be a healer? This, I guess, will depend on your experience.

Years later I started feeling that which manifested in the physical, it began with my hands getting warm. The first physical sign I could remember experiencing that told me something was different, something supernatural, something that left no doubt in my mind, my life and path had forever been changed all those years ago by a sliver of wood.

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord Jesus, thank you first of all for every and all of the healing given me so often in every day of my life, and I pray you show me where, and when, and finally what capacity You would honor me in assisting You in the healing of Your children.”

Posted in Battle, Christian, Christianity, Demons, Discipleship, Father, Healing, Health, Jesus, Medicine, Real Estate, Spiritual Warfare, Touch, Uncategorized, Wellness | Leave a comment

Father’s Choice, and excerpt from A Fathers Love

images-2How many times do my children ask Me to do something? Ask me if they can have this item or that, asking if they can be allowed to do this activity or another, all within the reasonable granting access of my ability to deliver but more often than not within the decisionary realm of a single question “is it really in their best interest to give?” Answer; almost constantly.

I so often sit and watch my young son enveloped in the task at hand sorting through the infinite gifts that God has so graciously given her, puzzled in the beautiful realizations of discovery that is granted each and every day this life’s dawn has so generously granted. There is a purity in the touch of a child’s discovery that feeds a place in a Fathers heart, like the breath of a baby’s slumber or the sounds of permeating my sole as his sweet sounds of contentment reach my heart like the fragrances of mornings dew in grassy gardens or fresh baked bread on a hungry heart.

The question of the day; “Being that it is time to move from this place, and move to another town, another land, a new home, should I tell Him, should I ask her what she thinks, his opinion, his vote?”.

I know my wife’s opinion, she would have us ask, for we are not only leaving a place that has been home, for as long as the child could remember, but has been a place of safety, success, many are the friends all of the children have around, the grace of abundance reins deep within all surroundings. Our Son has grown in maturity and she would include him in the decision-making process, for no other reason than to honor him. I am not as sure.

We already know what the child most likely will want. The child knows what they see, they have their friends, they know the homes, the successes, and the security of the neighborhood already discovered, conquered by the discoveries and adventures of yesterdays play. They have already overcome the fears of yesterday to find the gifts in smiles of friends found, they have built their own treasures in this short life’s garden formed with perfect soft new young hands.

As a Father, I too want nothing more than to give all of my children everything that they desire, nothing less than honor, but that is the dilemma, when does a gift cross the line of good and become a burden? A difficult decision even for the most loving and caring father, to weigh all the factors and consequences as to an action, fit the flower into a garden of already abundance, as to not make it a distraction or greater yet, a stressor inhibiting said child with burdens they are not yet ready to carry.

imgresWhen is it prudent for a father to just bring the new challenge into the life of the child without burdening them in advance with a question of whether or not they wish to proceed. So often in my own past, challenges and new homes, lands, valleys were delivered to me, without warning or question, by my Father, leaving me only the experience of discovery, and sometimes a long uphill climb to find the mountaintop on the other side.

Children are so eager to grow up, so quick to run through the discoveries this life brings, sprinting with haphazard recklessness down these steep paths this rocky world has presented, often unafraid of the dangers that rest within the shadows of loose foundations and tangled footings waiting like serpents to catch unexpecting naive feet and bring soft pure bodies crashing down. It is in these lacks of experiences, lessons not yet learned, children run instead of walk, leap before looking, taste that which would poison, turn left in the direction that looks at the time to be the most desirable, but if they only had known through experience left held dangers, when right is the way she needed to choose.

It is also easy to understand when a child is left to choose for themselves, left to make decisions without experiences, that they might in time after choosing incorrectly, begin to resent He or she who gave them the choice in the first place. For who’s responsibility is it when a child falls, the child’s, or the teacher who failed to teach, the one who cares so little as to not warn them before falling? A good father would never bring them into a place without giving the means to climb out.

I remind my wife and myself, children have not the experiences to draw upon to make reasonable and prudent conclusions when decisions are given them that may have lasting effects on their development. Basically, they do not have all the pieces of the equation to effectively come to the right conclusion. And it may be wrong to put him already in a position to try to decide?

I have often seen children who given far too many choices, being placed in a position of needing to decide many things for themselves, left alone to their own ways, seemingly leading to behaviors that others might observe as selfish or even rebellious. Why would this be, if they seem to be getting everything they desire, wouldn’t one conclude they should be happier, more content? Why do they seem so overstressed?

imagesAnd granted our Son is talented, mature well beyond his years, given to so many examples of mature decision making, how a father so desires to honor her with being involved in this so delicate decision. But no, the burden of stress outweighs any honors she might gain, he is just not in a place yet to make such decisions, she just doesn’t have all the facts, he doesn’t know all of the pieces, the players, the consequences, the opportunities, so the decision needs to rest on the Father.

So that leaves One and I ask myself, should I take my family from this home they love, this place of friends, these faces of familiarity, smiles, and safety, and cross the desert of unknowns to a new home. The question is thrust upon the shoulders of this child that dwells within my own sleeping mind, the ponderance of all possibilities, factors of need, responsibility, opportunities, what is better for the facility as a whole, the good of all, and the decision that will grant the greatest Good.

That is ultimately the responsibility of the Father for His child, to provide the greatest place he can in this most dangerous world, giving the opportunity to live the life God has assigned, and do it in a way that places the least stress on the developing child, granting the most use of all of His gifts to insure my Son grows to strong man, unburdened by as much as I can carry, so she use every morsel, every breath, every drop of pure water to grow to her greatest potential, a blossom of perfected beauty unique in this most spectacular garden. And as a father, as a child I need to ask The Father in me, what am I to do, show me where and when I am to go. Not the place I think or am trying to rationalize based on my limited experiences, but the place where an older and wiser Father advises.

Sitting in front of me as my mind wrestles with all of these prayers, my son quietly uses a sanding rock to delicately form a bird out of a soft piece of wood. Meticulously he works fashioning shape and beauty for that lump of clay that sage wood was only moments before slowly transforms into a creation of infinite beauty and value. The bird takes form as pieces flake off and perfection replaces the imagined creation in his mind. Even more beautiful is the concentration and efforts his little hands’ place on every stroke of the wood stone on the immersing bird. The sweet smile as she forms and works the precious creation in His hands. No greater a smile than his fathers, as he watches in bathing warmth his son work. A father blinks and fluttering away a bird flies, released in the imagination and creation of his son. Beautiful, no perfect, is the only word The Father can with tear filled eye sigh as he watches his child play.

images-1How a Father loves watching his child create, emulate Gods given purity, unburdened by a world just steps away, and ever under the constant eye of the father who love seeing the discovery in every breath his child breaths into his newly imaginary bird, greater is his love with every breath, how is it possible that a father could love a child more, but as impossible as it is to immagion, so every day, with every growing breath, so to does the Fathers love grow, it grows with experiences and memories, with every hair, every sound, every smell, every touch, with steps, with falls, with smiles, with tears, hopes and fears, and dreams, and imaginary created birds.

The child looks to the Father for the answers as to where it is best to go, what it is she is to do, what berry he can eat, what water is safe to drink, when it is safe to close my eyes and trust that as I sleep, my Father will ever be standing watch making sure safe and lovingly tomorrow I will wake.

By Peter Colla

“Jesus, help me to make the right decisions not only where to go, but in how and with whom I will walk, every step, every breath, every moment.”

Posted in Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, Father, Intercessory, Jesus, Parenting, Prayer, Spiritual Warfare, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Gods Gift Handed From One To Another

Indian Creek Main

I imagined somewhere left in this land, fashioned by the creative hand of God, there still is left properties nestled softly on the edge of yet still nearly untouched lands, preserved from times long past as memorials to a time of virgin forest with abundant game and clear streams.

How difficult am I to wonder the depth and breadth of Gods creation except to experience it first hand. Nestled gently between three canopied Ponderosa dense mountain hills flows year round crystal clear streams, trickling in soft-spoken serenity peacefulness for any within ears reach. The coolness and clear fresh taste of the waters are only rivaled by the glistening of the many diverse colors reflecting gently from the pebbles as elk abundantly drink from her shores. Such a place, I dare hope still exists and does; Indian Creek Meadows.

And as her name might suggest; Imagine a soft grassy meadow lined on all sides by this majestic oak and pined ridges, a stream flowing right through the heart of the property, then let your mind dare hope, two natural springs producing the clearest and cleanest water tested and tasted, a sense of heavenly gardens’ comes to mind. As the cool year round brook flows cutting its way gently so many years ago through the natural rock wall formation, this grand majestic structure of beauty passes also through the property.

What makes the property even more attractive is its location, lying almost hidden at the end of maintained forest service road, bordering on seven side national forests that continue on for almost sixty miles in secluded and pioneering like access. A favorite place having over one hundred and seventy acres that for decades blessed private hunting and naturalist enthusiasts alike, only minutes from an active precious metals mine, this land itself must have been at one time considered for such prospectus, having its own derelict cabin and closed off mine on the property.

Only a few miles from town, yet far enough to allow a body the sense of seclusion, there is still the security of know town and utility is within reach. Multiple beautiful pad locations exist, with forest roads already cut in, granting the owner all possible views whether mountain, meadow, stream or any combination. If someone wishes a piece of true natural seclusion, safely away from the prying eye of neighbors, this is a true sanctuary.

This gift from Gods hand is being offered for sale either in whole or in part and would be perfect for consideration in a conservation land tax credit option, or as a refuge long and away in times of tribulation. This blessing I wish at this time to either share or hand off to him or her who will build a place for a safe and secure peaceful sanctuary, away from the business of the town, hidden in the hills and forests of central Colorado.

Bless You


“Dear Lord let the gift of which You have handed me be given to him whom You intend it to, allow the peace and blessing this land is intended to be granted to them who desire it.”


Posted in Battle, Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, End Times, Intercessory, Jesus, Land, Prayer, Real Estate, Sanctuary | Leave a comment

Insurance or Spiritual Enslavement

images-7I can remember a day early in the career of a health care provider, one with fonder reflection, a gentler time, when basking on touch of soft scented spring breezes felt like willows lacing themselves in the arms of those in need with honeysuckle blossoms, cast their long slender branches into depths of peacefulness, gave way to a view to a calmer reflection of tender gentler care.

Men and women soft of touch, firm of thought, rendered all types of healing arts with actions of professionalism, given not for prestige or money, even as this most usually and almost assuredly followed, but for the deep desires to merely help other people in need. This very desire being the driving force that released spirits into the sacrifice of reaching out a helping hand, a man could find a special calling, giving a sweeter meaning to a life, that without, would most assuredly lack taste or spice, a bland dish; unpalatable.

To answer such a deep seeded calling, when one could see, if they might, the life dwelling within the very eyes of the many he or she might help in this world, and perhaps aid through the seemingly impossible trials of sickness and despair, that is often brought to some, a quenching water to the dry mouth of life.

Was it not a simpler time when people paid for the medical services they needed, a fair price for the time spent, and while I may be giving up my age by saying so, many times people who were even a little short, might bring in eggs or a baby pig, or maybe do a little work on leaking plumbing in the Doctor’s basement as a payment in like, and to this medical caregiver; payment of such was just fine!

It was the gratitude expressed in the smile of a woman when she finally came to the realization her child was going to be fine, or the injury to her husband wasn’t as bad as suspected. And while the two chickens or newly finished quilt hardly made up for the relief they found, ever happy was she to know that the Doctor, the kind man, who had been such a Godsend, would sit for many a warm night inside the arms of that quilt it took her so many hours to produce, maybe presenting but a fraction of the warmth her love ones produce for her as well.

It was as sudden as a thief in the night, or maybe a dark mold slowly growing in a dark damp place, whose dark tentacles only show their intent long after the roots sit so far in the foundation, nearly nothing can remove them. A creature of dark hearted stealth started slithering its evil talons hidden right in plane view, only inches from the bare innocent feet of our children; “Enter the insurance company”, the heartless snake, who creeps in with their seemingly innocent statement; ““give us a little of your money each month for medical insurance, so you can be “insured”, or “assured”, that when you have medical needs, the money will be there to help pay the medical bills, the “care” will assuredly come, we will pay them!.”” But that is not exactly what was delivered?

Let me describe in the next few paragraphs the part of the story the media refuses to bring to our attention, even though they are quite knowledgeable about it themselves. I am aware of this information because I have wallowed in it for nearly thirty years, myself being a medical provider with my own private practice, as well as working through various specialties within this field for this entire time. I have witnessed the degradation of a profession, of a calling, of an industry, almost as it has unfolded in front of me, like watching a piece of fruit whither, rot, and eventually decay right in front of my eyes, all the while also seeing the attempts of the media to place the blame where it shouldn’t have even been.

Let us find a villain we can point the finger of accusation at, and granted a small fraction of truth can be shown, the Doctor’s, but most importantly away from the true culprits; the insurance companies.

imgres-2It astonishes me how many people have been duped, or are being blindfolded to the corruption, either way most people have no idea of the truth regarding how little the insurance companies really cares for them, no the truth is, they care for only one thing, taking total control of the people, and getting paid for it in the process. Stealing from God those firstfruits, those gifts of our labors, He intends so desperately for us to use for His kingdom, as blessings for our lives, our children, each other, expressions of love, instead of given to a greedy spirit who only wants to invoke fear to steal from God, while control and enslave His children.

Medical Insurance really did not become a term of common knowledge even in the insurance agencies themselves until the second half of the twentieth century, finding its foundation on the heels of accident insurance. This following a series of dangerous endeavors that seemed to injure or kill many people, while sensationalized and basically used by the media, early life insurance companies would capitalize on fear in order to make people became scared by earlier events, such as the Titanic, into purchasing insurance in order to purchase “assurance” against a future accident might occur. Soon the insurance companies saw the huge profits that could be generated by receiving small premiums, especially after they played and even feed on these fears, but there were still just so many of these tragedies, and it only affected a small portion of the public.

It is was about this same time a huge media propaganda campaign was initiated to basically scare the public into the need to stop trusting in God for their health security, but rather the entity that has through lofty promises, itself boldly attempted to provide security even in the event of the most tragic and fear-driven event; death. So maybe innocently or perhaps by design, the life insurance companies have tried to usurp for almost one hundred years the security only God can give, the security over death, and when this worked, why not try it with other areas; fire, transportation or auto, home security, mortgage, renting, business, loans, and eventual heath itself? In essence, take the place of God.

It is first important to realize that the same families that control the banks, oil, federal reserve, weapons manufacturing, who are the major stockholders in all of the fortune five hundred companies, including the media, and pretty much lust to control everything and every creation under the sun, that same creation of which God had originally intended for us, everyone of us, also started the major insurance companies, or have retained at least a controlling interest in every one of them, worldwide.


It was not long after insurance companies started providing comprehensive medical insurance, as a matter of fact only a very short time, by the early-eighties, that these same insurance companies began a campaign to acquire ownership in hospitals, and within a couple of years, by only 1983 had already purchased 20% of the hospitals in the United States, and today own almost 90% of them. Why?

This brilliant move grants two very important components for success, and guarantees expansion of the control of the medical insurance industry. Let me explain;

Now lets say you are a greedy old man who owns’s an insurance company, or worse yet a dark spirit whispering in his ear, and you know the goal is to make enormous amounts of money at the expense of the general public; problem is, if your company is a public traded company, (and why wouldn’t you want it to be public and generate a profit, you want to control the markets as well), there becomes a need to not show to much profit! First and foremost, for the justification of increasing premiums and reducing payable services can only be believed by the public, if a hardship is demonstrated, stating a necessity to raise rates must be made. But more importantly, is the absolute must, to make certain the peasants don’t grab pitchforks and look for a public burning, after realizing the vast amounts of Gods blessings that have all been stolen from the mouths of our children!

So where to hide those enormous bundles of stolen gold? Answer; buy the people who they pay the most money to, then pay it to them, thus themselves! As of today, insurance companies or at least the subsidiaries thereof, own almost “all” of the major hospital’s in the US, and are presently attempting to acquire the larger firms of general practitioners (Doctors), as well as specialist, and if not the insurance companies, then the pharmaceuticals. But we should not forget who own’s the major pharmaceutical companies as well, yes the same people who own the banks and insurance companies!

So the greedy old man, concocts this brilliant plan; buy up the hospital’s, drive the bills up so high the public becomes scared of absolute ruination if they find themselves or the need to send their children into such a place for life saving care, funnel huge portion’s of insurance premium sums of money to them, paying without question ridiculous fees such $250.00 for the little plastic bucket, or a one and half inch tube of tooth paste, the same products you can buy at “The Dollar Store” for much less than a dollar. Show fewer profits on the insurance companies book’s, and what a bonus, “we can blame the rising cost of insurance premiums on rising health care fees charged by the Doctors, and the stupid peasants will only have to look at their own medical bill’s to see the enormous cost. Blame the individual Doctor; “see he is rich, it must be his fault!”!”

Is it such a coincidence that about the same time the insurance companies began to obtain the hospitals, that the rates of the hospitals and all the care surrounding surgeries went through the roof; the early to mid-eighties!

images-6The greatest fringe benefit of this scare factor; people seeing the enormous cost’s of a typical hospital stay, or an operation, become so scared, they hardly dare live without insurance. Fear, a powerful weapon to bring the populous under servitude, bring them to their knees and convince them to give their money, even before it gets into their hands, first fruits, their sacrifice that is brought to the altar of the “one who gives assurance” the insurance company, instead of being used for the children of God, or His kingdom as intended.

Ok, people, I will say this one time!!!,

I have been practicing medicine for twenty-five years in my own practice, but the amount I get paid from health insurance, regardless of what I charge, has not gone up a cent! They, the insurance companies keep us, providers, settling for these frozen rates year in and year out, because of contracts; HMO’s, PPO’s, Industrial Insurance, and the like, and if we have a desire to renegotiate the rate, their answer always is; “if you don’t want the contract, the guy down the street will take our clients.”

You see my dear brothers and sisters, insurance companies could not care less how many providers or contracting doctors they have, as a matter of fact, the fewer the better. More waiting time for our appointments means less billed visits totally or the ultimate home run; we give up out of frustration when the clinic tells us there is a one-month waiting list. They love working with large companies, because the large company does exactly what the insurance company says, and charges the little squabble-ace, never daring to irritate the great master with a request to give the poor patient actually what they might need. But just shut up and do as they are told. The risk of losing the contract is too big.

Oh sure, there are groups out there that provide a service that is so rare, so new, that if the insurance companies didn’t contract, (at least when they don’t get away with calling it pioneering, or unproven, and denying it as experimental), there is the public threat of outrage is always what lingers in the back of their minds, so in these few rare cases they have to pay larger fees or are not be able to negotiate reductions. These doctor’s or procedures are rare, usually, specialist surgeon’s, new groundbreakers of one or more odd procedure, some new apparatus or medical treatment that very few do or can get their hands on. These are the only ones who usually become the few sequestering the highest paid and annually increasing payout’s, but for the most part insurance companies will strive to bring all entities and providers under contract submission, until such time that they have the market covered, it is only then that they can put the actual squeeze on.

And until that day actually takes place, the day they can control all aspects of our health, they will blame the rising cost of healthcare on the Doctors sighting the very few who might get full rates. Little does this poor surgeon know, but for his few years of walking on the top of the payout food chain, he is vilified by the big corporation owned media whore, and pretty well blamed for all the financial woes of an entire industry. In Jesus’s time tax collector’s where used much in the same way, also given a “pittance”, and basically made the enemy of the people, to take the true eye off the real villain, the one stealing the money in the first place; the Roman Emperor!

Ok, let us get right into it!

imgres-3Mitra is the pagan god of insurance or the assurance of health and welfare to all that will worship it. It has transcended through the ages, mimicking Jesus in every way it can, as almost every high voluted demonic pagan self-proclaimed god did. Being the so-called benevolence of kindness. Claiming to be of a virgin birth or pure. Claiming the same date of birth as our Savior. Even sending out twelve teachers as its emissaries to teach it’s horse piled lies. It is a true Anti-Christ, something that promises what Christ freely gives, but delivers the opposite. Claims to be of the light, but is filled to the brim with darkness.

Amazing how all these false gods want the same thing; control, first fruits, and our ultimate destruction.

In the early kingdoms of Mesopotamia, Egypt, Babylon, Rome, just to name a few, Mitra, a figure of a woman, adorned in golden jewelry, was worshiped by laying gold, or the first fruits of one’s labors at her feet, for the assurance of getting through the next years harvest. Insurance against destruction, a promise, give her your first fruits now and she will take care of you in the time of need. Sounds familiar?

Does it surprise anyone, that Mitra was on the symbol, or used by the initial founding companies for the life insurance that later turned into the health insurance companies of today? Look it up!

Most insurance companies have no problem writing a check to deliver death and darkness into the vein through chemo, paying upwards of $10,000 per inter-veinous chemotherapy treatment, or paying for an abortion. But to ask them to pay for a woman to have an early preventative mama-gram, than the averages or computer screen says, even after she feels a small lump, forget it! Or an extra visit for a man trying to rehabilitate his back so he can return to work and support his family, no way.

You want the truth; I have seen it all; demographic denial approval based purely on where in town people lives, authorizing care then sending denials to the patient to scare them into quitting, bumping up patient responsibility or co-pays up until the point where the so called co-pay represents almost the entire bill, purposed losing of information merely to stall approval, waiting until the period of care is exhausted then making the approval knowing full well the care can no longer take place in the specified time frame, throwing claims in the garbage.. Another common trick is hiring secondary management companies that deny everything, and then the company itself doesn’t even have to take the blame for the denial. And on and on it goes, tricks after tricks designed for one thing; to steal more from the people in what was promised a paid in advance benefit, while they hold the gold in the fat coffins of the money changers that call themselves the insurance companies.

If all gifts come from God, then so did the knowledge that was given to our fathers and mothers in the form of advances in health care. And while Doctors should be paid an honest fee for their services, companies have no right delving out those gifts given to our fathers at such exorbitant fees that it would cost, it would put a family into lifetime ruination merely to perform a service that saves a child or wife’s life. A doctor has a gift, of this no one doubts, and they should be paid for their gift according to supply and demand. They should have the right to set those prices of their care, not insurance companies or their cloned servants the hospitals, and let the doctor look into the face of the child he is treating to see if his own eyes can live with the price he places on that service.

images-5And what is wrong with a system that through government mandate forces participation. Forcing people to participate in a system that in itself demands them to bow down and give homage to a spiritual entity.

And what about the Doctors? Why should they be forced to perform surgeries in places that are so exaggerated in costs by the insurance companies, that a mere days stay costs the patient $10,000? While at the same time paying back to the insurance company malpractice insurance fees (a mandatory fee, often in the $100,000 or more range per year), fees for participation (contracting fees) with the insurance companies themselves. If there was a fair price paid to people who were the victim of malpractice, perhaps the doctors would need to be scared into believing they have to pay such exorbitant fees just to survive such a lawsuit.

What are we to do? Trust again in God, for by Who only through Him healing comes. Turn away from the dependency of Insurance spirit, and call for true health care reform; a return to a fair price for a fair product, putting an end to a few using those gifts God gave our fathers; treatments for the aiding in the healing of children, and share again that which people need for a fair price. A return to a fair price for a fair product in hospitals, where they are held accountable for costs that are nothing short of stealing.

imgres-3And instead of paying billions to the democracy of health care, a fool website that doesn’t work, or agencies sole purpose is to cut cost at the expense of care, use those monies for the people whose costs are greater than can be paid under normal circumstance.

Look to the days of the country Doctor, when almost every form of care was given at the office, a simple remedy or tea was enough to solve most ailments, instead of some oil based pill that while it helps with one symptom causes five others. And the cost, well if you didn’t have the money, for the most part, a chicken or baby pig or quilted blanket, or a heartfelt thank you was enough.

By Peter Colla

“Dear Jesus let us not fall prey to the greed and traps of dark spirits, free us from the fear that has been spoken into our ears through servants of evil. Let us remember He, You Lord Jesus, and through You, all healing comes only from the Father, help us trust, and thus give glory where and to Whom glory is do.”

Posted in Battle, Christian, Christianity, Demons, Discipleship, End Times, Jesus, Prayer | 1 Comment

“Lord, Am I Rich?”

Soft was the voice speaking in deep caring tones, uttering only a whisper through veils of a hidden shroud, pushing softly through the clamor of endless voices, desires that fill the many rooms of every thought. His Voice, its sweet-scented hues, mellow gentle in touch, caressing just as gentle only moments of the conscious thoughts that bustle through the chaos that fills every waking moment of a glorious day;

“Are you rich?”

Not as much of a question, as a ponderance set forth by a Gentle Father wishing more than anything, the hardship of lessons learned tomorrow could be avoided by a simple instruction of today.

unnamed-2For the fraction of a said day, and in but a moment of peaceful recollection, the mind cascades through a gambit of comparable portraits beautifully composed in and around a life. Experiences, those daily challenges, the endless burden of responsible dilemmas cascaded against a person as they muddle through their own gardens nervously, even desperately, striving and often failing to navigate the stones God so graciously provides to keep his children’s feet out of the muck. Always, are we not, in search of the golden egg that can most assuredly guarantee sustained happiness.

But how often have we, glancing flowers, not in path for picking, yet set so with boundless choice, step from firm and grounded stone to pluck, but for a moment that small piece of the garden, created and displayed, yet not intended to hold, and there we find ourselves ankle deep in muck yet again.

Wisdom pours like water around the rim of an overflowing glass, spilling across the surface of every canvas, one but takes a moment and lends a quiet ear to hear.

So was it spoken by a Moslem woman, recent miraculously healed after a nearly fatal multiple gunshot attacks left her with an obliterated hip and the resulting Doctors prognosis; that she would never walk again. She herself, after only a few short weeks, never ceasing to give glory to Him who healed her, when not only did she walk again but all function returned, yet more importantly the hope for a life of expected normalcy returned, did other statements of Words of wisdom ring through this observers eye.

One day she hands me a bowl of the most delightful curry chicken and rice, her families favorite dish. Objecting, I quickly pointed out the portion was too much more than should be proportioned to just me and my small children. But unsaid and more so true, her families economic condition was obviously not as abundant to miss even a Widow’s mite portion of food. Objections fell on deaf ears, and as evident as her healing, the resolve of her gesture, left no doubt to a single fact; I would be leaving with this wonderful gift that day.

It was then that wisdom spilled!

She went on to explain; they did not need as much, because her teenage son did not care for this particular dish, or for that matter, the majority of the food she prepared, he would much rather dismiss himself from dinner, and then later when hunger takes its hold, step out to the nearest fast food troth for a quick fix of whatever synthetic sugar and carbohydrate chemical processed substitute happen to pull his young chain.

I quickly said; “You allow that?”

And she calmly said with a warm knowing smile; “He thinks he is rich, he can choose whatever he wants, even when the gift has already been placed right in front of him.” “He wants to be in charge?” “I will let him, one day he will see the error of his ways.”

He thinks he is rich…

My eye immediately glances to another painting resting lonely in the corner seeming discarded from prevalence, resting quietly in the dusty corner of my mind. Haphazardly placed out of view, turned facing the wall like some scolded child, lonely and weeping in sad solitude. Fearful of two things; one, that the world around will move on and she will miss the gift God had intended, but second and more devastating is the possibility he will “be” forgotten, forgotten the dream that once was.

How strange is the time we live, never before have I seen so many people flying around in such a frantic manner? Chaotic in self-satisfying indulgence, long gone are the days when we hardly left to want, let alone wait.

Many years ago, I vaguely remember the hope of relationship, a marriage or building that dream of a family; children, the dog, watching grandchildren playing in the grass in front of the home, the same home you now softly swing on the comfortable porch swing hand in hand with the spouse you grew old with.

The building blocks of that dream, the base coats, the first layers of foundational hues on the canvas were laid down with the letters sent at great distances. Words of quiet contemplation, the Words penned in hope of touching hearts for watering loves’ garden and the dreams of resting in scented grasses and fragrant flower with the one you love. A word would be said, and the wait then began for the response, left you were to wonder, hope, even fear what response might return. What a glorious experience such a love was to build.

Long gone is the bittersweet ache of the wait for that next letter, the anticipated unknowing that place strains on a young heart. The heart like any other muscle gains strength by exertion, the harder and longer the workload placed in the development, the more powerful the performance, and more importantly the greater the endurance.

Today with our immediate satisfaction of unlimited access, millions of fish to chose from on the Internet, and immediate response of cell phones or text, it is of no wonder so many people, so much love is casually being discarded, thrown away, forgotten in some dark lonely corner. Dreams lost and with them the children’s lives, the love that brought them into this world, their very creations’ love cast aside, because of one reason; no endurance!

images-2Soft and sweet two people, on the painting, holding hands in the misty eves’ glade, walking down the path of life’s anticipation, the seeds of love anew. One can almost cut the loves feeling, so thick it brushes your face with its intense scent. The sweetness of innocent youth far from worries of life, hope breaths life, a child’s life, when love touches such as these. How sweet are the memories when love first drops in the rich soil of the new garden?

Is the gift of Gods love today any less than yesterday?

If all good things come from God, then assuredly love comes from God. Is today’s love so much less than the love of our fathers, fathers, father?

Maybe people are quitting today on marriage so easy because the grass seems greener, so many more choices?

Or maybe its just the time we live, where commitment like morals fades in a sea of indulgence?

If anything, given all the choices, given all the pressures, the social neutering of morality, so much greener grass we seem to be swimming in it, all of these things had been there from place to place, time to time, in great granddads day, the only real difference today the almost kingly ease we all have in our lives, our self-indulgence.

In the time of Caesar, where kings, or queens for that matter, had their choice of hundreds if not thousands of companions to choose from, they could have nearly any item of indulgence, any food they desired, brought to them with but a motion of their finger. Warm clean water to bath in, excess to toss to the pigs, or for that matter to the street, the pigs of the kings rarely got the scrap! Draped in fine linen, only new sandals for his feet. A comfortable safe roof, soft bed, vast army to guard his kingdom. Jewels of precious stone and gold on his fingers, around his neck.

The kings could travel vast distances and hardly needed to walk, carried was the preferred manner. All the information that was important to Caesar was brought to him as fast as possible from all corners of the realm. His every need, want or desire could be met and all around him a great multitude of laborers to fetch anything and all, almost his very thoughts granted him as quickly as he thought them, and why not he is Caesar, he deserves it.

If the king in the day of Solomon saw a beautiful handmaiden that caught his eye, he could take her, no effort, no work, no consequence,… no endurance, and why not, he was king, he deserves it.

And when she was finished with her new bauble, the latest bracelet on her not so young skin, what did it matter, toss it to the corner, there will always be another thousand to take its place, with but a motion of the finger, who cares what happens to the now tarnished bauble, the discarded child, why not she is the queen, she deserves it.

When does indulgence turn into an entitlement?


Soft was the voice speaking in deep caring tones, uttering only a whisper through veils of a hidden shroud, pushing softly through the clammer of endless voices, desires that fill the many rooms of every thought. His Voice, its sweet-scented hues, mellow gentle in touch, caressing just as gentle only moments of the conscious thoughts that bustle through the chaos that fills every waking moment of a glorious day;

“Are you rich?”

Not as much of a question, as a ponderance set forth by a Gentle Father wishing more than anything, the hardship of lessons learned tomorrow could be avoided by the simple instruction of today.

Am I rich?

I pray not…

By Peter Colla

Dear Jesus help me remember your words;

“It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.” Mark 10:25

Posted in Battle, Christian, Christianity, Discipleship, Intercessory, Jesus, Prayer, Spiritual Warfare, Uncategorized | 3 Comments

How To Win A Spiritual Battle?

imgresBattered, tired, pushed to the point of absolute exhaustion, the mud and blood drenched soldier cradles his rifle like some long almost lost lover, when did he feel so completely famished that he could even taste his own blood within his own breath? This, coupled with chilling cold, the kind that resonates through the body, leaving its scorpions sting as the only fragmented reminder that his fingers or toes even still exist, bring our not so young Captain back from the brink of clouded recesses, that the aching lack of sleep the last forty eight hours of almost assuredly plunged him into. If it were not for the stinging wind, the almost constant whistling of one or more attacking bullet most only inches from hitting home, taking his mind or heart’s flesh from the safety of his own being, would he have long given in to the clutching talons of the earth’s merciless pull to just lie down and possibly never get up again.

But a restful sleep is not a luxury for them who have been called to lead, for many are the young ones who have been called to his protection. Soft sheepish eyes, innocent in years and breath, looking to him for guidance, their hands tremble even more so than his, not so much out of their lack of bravery, but because of their fear of the unknown, for each of their young hearts have only barely stepped onto the dance floor, babies each with empty dance cards yet to be filled.

How merciless has the enemy been! For a direct attack, the demon knows he can not muster, for strong is the Warrior Captain. Deep and true is his training, strong is his will and faith, many are the skills given him long before being placed into this battle field, but this battle has turned from one of direct attack, to one of attrition. The enemy has began using the weaknesses of the young, the frail starving hearts under his command, pushing them, manipulating them, strangling them as a measure to get under the fingernails of the leadership, and exploited them to a point where our Captain is almost ready to give up. A spiritual battle!

The enemy knows very well, strangle out the provision, the life’s blood supply, and doubt will manifest, and where there is doubt, young men will chose wrong instead of right, down instead of up, lay down instead of fight, curse the light and hide in the dark, and finally begin to ignore the direction or leadership of those they know in their hearts have more experience than themselves. Our Captain can hardly bare the burden or guilt of seeing his soldiers pain, when mistakes cause loss and death. With each sulphur smelling wound, or salty blood spray taste, oh how he just longs to cradle each in life, rather than the crying tears on the winds the relentless enemies attacks. The enemy is a cunning wolf of merciless lust, a relentless hunger for innocent young flesh, the weaker, the harder it strives to sink it’s rotten teeth into exposed young necks. He doesn’t look to wound or thwart, but to rip apart, the very God’s blood that gives health and life.

Sometimes, as just now, our Captain has but a moment, a lull in the action, a small reprieve from the constant attack, but it is in these moments that his heart rests on the anguish of his men’s choices. It is between the attacks that the guilt of the children under his care stare with lifeless eyes back at him through his dreams, when the feeling of real guilt squeezes its cruel claw around his now exposed heart, lashing it’s own foul talon’s of pain with a laugh. Silent must he scream, for he can not let them see, they can not know the pain he must endure, for strong must he remain or victory for his enemy is assured. How he longed to take that pain from them, but he can not, for each in his turn, they have stood by their own choice, and fallen even so.

“Oh God what am I to do?” he prays, they say no supplies are coming, and he dares not even ask. What must he do, how can he fight, how can he ask these children to stand when he barely has enough to hold but a moment or two. His own supply nearly completely gone, do they not see the look in his eye as he contemplates standing before the pressing enemy with nothing but flesh and blood, and tear.

Sound of mounting attack, dark victorious snarls of animals who smell flesh and weakness, hesitate not and step up into the field pressing what they are sure is a exposed jugular, the taste of sensed advantage drives the attacking horde into a feeding frenzy like attack. There is almost a demonic screech or sound animal ecstasy on the wind. The Captain can do nothing but cradle his rifle with it’s two remaining shots, a single tear rolls down his cheek as he stares at the young boy shaking next to him, listening also to the boys own defiant screams at the pounding foot falls only short distance closing.

“Oh God, I have no right, but I ask intercessory, even those who I do not know, even those from afar.” “I pray for their intercessory to help me with those under my charge, your warrior interceder’s even from around the world, Jesus help us.”

imgres-1A little time before, a week or two or four, a moment, a few heart beats, maybe a blink; a young woman wakes from sleep. Long past is the time when warm the home was, the war has robbed them all of heat or fuel, but more so it has robbed all of them of youth. Off, out of bed she must rise, bare feet white with cold against freezing stone, off to the munitions factory she must go, for it is her job. Not because it pays well, as a matter of fact it pays poorly, not even enough to take proper care of herself, how long has it been since she had a real proper meal, to long for her body to remember or wage a proper fight against the sickness building in her lungs?

But it seems it is all she can do, we are at war, well not quite all, she begins her day to pray! Pray for the men so far away, those on the front lines, the warriors who risk lives in direct enemies sight, and for herself that God will give her even if just a little more strength than she might be able to naturally give today for them.

She intercedes all the way to work and even while she is working, non-stop through the day, even through unto exhaustion; one more case, one more row, another pallet maybe one more than yesterday, “package it up and push it through before the truck door closes”, before she nearly buckles from cold and cough. She can almost hear a demonic scream of ecstasy on the gusting winds outside. The last one the ties barely fastened, even dangling in an almost comical fashion from its sides. She silently watches it leave her sight, flowing on wings of her prayer, cascading down the road of sight, swirling snow in its wake, until disappearing into the dreams of her heart, the rest is up to Him.

imgres-2Driving all day and into even the night, a man to old and broken to go, remains in his pain; for brothers, son’s, father’s all look death square in the face, but here he sits. Tears run down his face, for he would go if they but take him, but no, he must stay. No mercy for the pain within the fall he suffered so many years ago, a time when he knew so little and why. But mistakes leave their burdens sometimes on a body or heart, with little left but scar and bone to hurtle a life’s wall to large to scale. So with painful cry he prays; “If not I, then let me intercede for those babe’s that lay down their lives for you Lord.” “Allow me to drive swift and true, and if possible give even a little more than I Naturally can, clear the sleep from my eye.”

Long into the night he drives well past the point of aching back and risk to self, screaming into the yard only moments before the last ship of the night is ready to depart. An old cripple man, steps out of his truck, stiff legged and tired, but not to much to help himself push the load out of his truck and up the ramp onto the awaiting ship, never stopping to take a much needed breath or pause from his continued prayer. A call from the ship’s Chief “All aboard”, and men stop moving as sailors begin stow rope and harness to go.

But not a crippled old man, he strains even more to push by himself yet one last pallet up the loading plank. Straining up slippery slope, his leg buckles, and year’s old pain flashes through his now bent knee, but he holds and pushes even harder. For now tears mix with pain across his face as the strain of his groans are all that are heard from those who stand near and watch this lone warrior push his burden up the ramp. He can almost hear a demonic scream of ecstasy on the gusting winds on the ocean’s cold. The last pallet set just inside the gang plank, the ties barely fastened, one even dangling in almost comical fashion from its sides. Finally as he steps back onto the deck and turns back one last time. He almost watches it leave his sight, flowing on whisping clouds of his prayer, cascading down the harbor of sight, swirling snow across a bow of a ship, a grand hand holding fast to his departing prayer, until disappearing into the dreams of his heart, the rest is up to Him.

imgres-3Crashing waves, storms hurdle their unending torment against the skippers ship. Frantic as ants are the sailor’s as they move in almost miraculous precision trying desperately keep the cargo secure as wave upon endless assault slam their cold cruel fists into unexpected boys. If even one blow is successful, to a assured death a sailor would go, many a men have been thrown to their death suddenly, by no fault of their own but only because fatigue or single miss in choice step was made. How many mothers have lost a child because of the heartless clutches of the sea and it waiting jaws of death, or because of the roaming wolf ever waiting for a moment of weakness, or miss step of the helpless sheep, waiting silently for moment in which to pounce?

On the Bridge stand a salty sea captain, standing many hours longer then he should, pushing his ship on a course more dangerous than her structure dictates could, and all along a silent prayer echoes from his never ceasing lips; “Lord I intercede not for myself but for those boys who stand in the trenches, who risk their lives; bring this ship, your provision through the storm, give them hope, give them faith, keep them from harm.”

On the deck a sailor, a man struggles through pains and strains to secure pallets and supplies, for long has the sea sickness taken hold of his body, but even with wave upon wave of nausea, he will not stop, for far from his sight his brothers stand, and risk their lives in a place where he does not. Slippery deck and a cloudy head makes his footing less than secure, and the wrenching of his stomach does little help secure his stand, but he pushes through silently prays; “Lord I intercede not for myself but for those boys who stand in the trenches, who risk their lives, bring this ship, your provision through the storm, give them hope, give them faith, keep them from harm.”

One more he see’s, dangling strangely near the side, a pallet needs extra fastening, looking like it was only quickly secured, the young man hurries to tie the provisions tightly to the deck, slipping as another cold wave slams into his exposed neck almost sending him cascading over the edge into the raging surf. He can almost hear a demonic scream of ecstasy on the gusting winds as he nearly tumbles over the side, but somehow by miraculous strength or blind faith he catches with one hand a dangling piece of rope from the pallet he only moments before was trying to secure. He pulls himself in almost one motion back up onto the deck, even startling himself at the precision of the one handed maneuver he just made. So firm was his grip he could hardly relax it from the dangling rope, but never did he stop his continued recital of the prayer just under his breath.

As quick as it started, the gushing waves and endless rocking of the ship seemed to marketably reduce, being replaced by a more soft fresh white snow fall. Just as fast, the sickness that gripped his body seemed to subside, enough for a sailor to casually walk away, and in the same way a skipper who saw the same event watched the sailor walk across his deck. Both men never stopped so much as a word in the continued prayer they both silently spoke, and glanced back at a pallet sitting silently nearly on the edge of the boat, its one tie barely fastened, even dangling in almost comical fashion from its side. Finally as the skipper watches the sailor step back towards the bridge, and turn back one last time to look, both their gazes rest on the lone package. They almost watch it leave their sight, flowing on winds light of their prayers, cascading down an ocean of billowing snow and whites flowing like millions of angles across streams of cascading sight, swirling snow all in its wake, until disappearing into the dreams of their heart; the rest is up to Him.

imgres-4Back at command, a Coronal listens silently as the last pleas over the radio for resupply are answered in silent disappointment, for long gone are the last supply. The needs are great and provision scarce, the relentless storms their ruthless onslaught have left resupply at bare minimum, one can almost hear a demonic scream of ecstasy on the gusting winds, the need for provisions to be given only to the most vital areas leaving pleading cries unanswered. Men are losing faith, losing life, the trickle down of short supply, robs leaders of time and provision needed for a hearty campaign. What can he do? He is under orders to, but he has to also look into the eyes of his men as he hears the cries of the many over the radio.

He knows he is not in the front lines but his heart is, and there also rests his mind and prayers constantly, not for himself but for those who sit tight with little and risk much, those submerged in the attacks and all the filth the enemy can hurl at them. Silently he prays; “Lord Jesus, I intercede, give me but a little, some provision for these men; for the Captain, give them strength, give them heart, take from me that which you might have given me, and give it to them.”

“Coronal” an aid busts through the door of the command tent, “One of the pallets of supply fell of the truck from convoy earlier, apparently the binding ropes were not completely secure, what do you want us to do with it?”

“Sergeant, you take a small company of men and get those supplies up to the Captain, on the double!” the Coronal quickly says as he adds words of praise to his silent intercessory prayer.

The warrior, the leader of men, the child of the King never stopped so much as a word in the continued prayer he silently spoke, and glanced at the broken pallet sitting silently in the back of the jeep, one of it’s ties barely fastened, even dangling in almost comical fashion from its side.

He smiles as he watches it leave his sight, flowing on strong arms of his prayers, cascading down a road of billowing snow and whites flowing like swirling dervish across streams of cascading light, churning snow all behind like the wings of a great angel, until disappearing into the dreams of their heart; the rest is up to Him.

Sound of mounting attack, dark victorious snarls of animals who smell flesh and weakness, hesitate not, and step up into the field pressing for what they are sure is a exposed jugular, the taste of sensed advantage drives the attacking horde into a feeding frenzy like attack. The Captain can do nothing but cradle his rifle with it’s two remaining shots, a single tear rolls down his cheek as he stares at the young boy shaking next to him, the boy throwing out his own defiant scream at the pounding foot falls only short distance closing.

“Oh God, I have no right, but I ask intercessory, even those who I do not know, even those from afar.” “I pray for intercessory to help my with those under my charge, your warrior interceder’s even from around the world, Jesus help us.”

He can almost hear a demonic scream of ecstasy on the gusting winds pounding of foot falls of his own heart beat, he can hardly tell. But just as sudden, men appear from behind, carrying arms of supplies quickly dispensing it into the hands and hearts of his waiting men. Tears of joy, joy among the cold and muck, joy among the pain and blood, smiles even in battles eve cross the faces of his men, but not nearly as many as the ones streaming down his own face.

Just as fast as he had seen heart leave the eyes of his men earlier, the power and faith returned into the sparkling eyes of the Faithful. Men who were nearly broken, turned and faced a descending enemy, no longer in fear but in confident defiance, with the Power given by an all Loving and Giving Father. The last thing the enemy would hear, was the last thing they expected, and it not only sent a shiver down their spine, but also formed in the darkest recesses of that abyss they called a heart; an unmistakable reverberation; “they had lost”.

imgres-5“Attack” the Captain says not even bothering hardly to turn to watch, so confident is he in the outcome, he silently stands leaning against the fox hole wall looking back as an odd piece of rope dangling from and discarded empty pallet and silently gives thanks for all the intercessory warriors around the world that answered his call, at the moment of his deepest need.

How do you win a spiritual battle?

With a spiritual solution!

For Rebekah Laue

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord Jesus, give me wisdom to recognize those spiritual battles, and even more to remember the many warriors around the world who wage a spiritual battle through their faithful intercessory prayers.”

Posted in Battle, Christian, Christianity, Demons, Discipleship, Intercessory, Jesus, Prayer, Spiritual Warfare, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

What Does Health and Wealth Mean to You?

Assimilating the two thoughts, like two people, is not as difficult as one might think, but more like the blending of complimentary colors across a pallet we call life, blending soft hues, earth based scented grain’s and flowery formed fragrant radiant’s, with it’s subtle additions of life giving oils, and but droplets of pure water, all in preparation for a gentle stroke of the Master, these shades and highlights placed in perfect conjunction, across the canvas of a painting where all the necessary pigments are but parts chosen and contemplated for the production of something everlasting, majestically beautiful, and gloriously perfect as His hand skillfully glides all the created parts into a Holy garden of boundless bliss.

When asked this simple question from my mentor Peter Laue, the answer is not as simple to state as the deep seated emphasis that draws to the surface from the spirit within, answering such a question. Simple as it may seem, the highlights that are among the thoughts of Kristi my dear girlfriend, His wondrous daughter; gentle touches of harmonious dreams, precisely placing vibrant color on a blank yet darkened landscape, gives life to the more earthly tones His son Peter, myself, display in his more earth toned broader strokes, these trusted colors that everyone not only see but recognize as real.

And as the colors come together, it is clear to all, all that will see, that the One and same Masterpiece develops from a supernatural Hand and a truly Godly vision this painting becomes. It is a stand back and observe type posture whereby Health and Wealth are but among the results of the production resulting from the process. Flowing waves and radiant blue flamed fires of glorious response radiating from the center of the creation our Father puts into action with each and everyone of His creations.

The degree and clarity of which the Health and Wealth is demonstrated to all who dwells within eye or ear, starts in their hearts as it senses in an almost supernatural intuition a touch of Jesus beaconing to be witnessed, and is displayed in direct proportion to the purity in which the master can apply the paints. The purer the colors, the more lifelike the display, and the more grandiose the Heath and Wealth. The purer and translucent the demonstration of He who Rules within.

A living mansion growing like a blossoming garden of perfect scented harmony, producing like fruit from the abundance that is His ground a ground ever growing in foundation and faith, releasing further the Health and Wealth for all to share, those at home, those coming home, and those at far way land’s, as we ride on silver wings of majestic angels carrying His son and daughter down the path that the Father has seen even from before time itself was.

That is what we see!

Kristi wrote;

Father it was asked of me what is it I see.

What is health and wealth?

In your heart knowing who we are made in the image of, relentlessly striving and becoming one with the image and knowing faith relies on unforeseen realities. Because when all this aligns, health and wealth follow suite in Thee. This abundance is up for grabs when all aligns in Thee.

This is what I see.

Traveling the houses breaking free to align us in Thee, this is what I see. An enormous wave, a fire in me set free to walk amongst the houses to release health and wealth for Thee.

Your kingdom, Your light in me. Returning home, Your Love set us free. In this jet I fly, go and take them with me.

This is what I see.

Peter wrote;

Health and wealth are the same thing.

Striving to give ourselves to God fully and utterly, is a constant process, it is a cleansing of sin, the earth, flesh, even ourselves! and giving ourselves completely to God in every way.

It is a constant death to everything that is not of God even ourselves, and a steady and gradual completion of Jesus in us, in it’s completeness…

A striving to see Christ staring back at us out of the mirror …

This can only be accomplished when the walls of our temple have become pure and then transparent we become, showing completely and unclouded the Christ that reins within.

And because we are at a place of purity, Health; It is at this moment we have health, and everything that is in our lives is that which God has given us!

So if we have everything that God would give us, we truly have wealth! Health and Wealth.

They are the same.

“Dear Lord Jesus thank you for all your health and wealth demonstrated in every breath we are given in this life.”

Posted in Christian, Uncategorized | 1 Comment