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 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 Creak Meadows.

And as her name might suggest; Imagine a soft grassy meadow lined on all sides by these 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 make the property even more attractive is its location, lying almost hidden at the end of maintained forest service road, bordering on seven side national forest 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 business of 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 be granted to them who desire it.”

Interested parties who might be seeking the same for a safe hide away or just a beautiful hidden vacation place may either contact me Peter (602) 315-6894 or;

Check out the property at Farm and Ranch Magazine
Or contact Jacki Christian (719) 742-6000


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 found, ever happy was she to know that the Doctor, the kind man, who had been such a God send, 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 knowledgable of it themselves. I am aware of this information because I have wallowed in it for nearly thirty years, 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 is 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 first fruits, 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 fead on these fears, but there were still just so many of these tragedies, and it only effected 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 world wide.


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 own’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 moneys 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 pitch forks 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 moneys to, then pay it to them, thus themselves! As of today, insurance companies or at least the subsidiaries there of, 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 moneys 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 less 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 peasant’s 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 alter 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 re-negotiate 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 to 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 health care 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 pay out 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 the real villain, the one stealing the moneys in the first place; the Roman Emperor!

Ok lets 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 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 ones 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, than 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 save a child or wife’s life. Doctor have 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 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 law suit.

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 fare 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 in stead 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 who’s 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 heart felt 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 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 a 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 simple instruction of today.

unnamed-2For the fraction of 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 attack 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 to 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 chose what ever he wants, even when the gift has already been place 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 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 bitter sweet ache of the wait for that next letter, the anticipated unknowing that place strains on young heart. The heart like any other muscle gains strength by exertion, the harder and longer the work load 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 is 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 todays 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 really 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 companions to chose 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 manor. 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 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 entitlement?


Soft was the voice speaking in deep caring tones, uttering only a whisper through veils of 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 a 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 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

Who Poisoned the Water

It is said “they” are putting poison in our water, toxins in the inoculation’s for our children, hiding subliminal pictures in children’s films, developing GMO crop’s that will kill us in a few generations, fixing our election’s and own our politician’s, working in labs to develop weaponized diseases that can wipe out large portions of the population, manipulating governments for their own destruction both from within and among each other, and even would manipulate an entire economic failure of society throughout the whole world, plunging everyone into a world wide social and political downslide that would most likely end in total devastation, famine, war, and lead to the deaths of million’s, if not billion’s of people. But the most frequently asked question is why? And if this is true, who is the “they”?

Many of the same people out there that share the same question’s as to the why, often ask what possible benefit would it demonstrate for a small group of individuals, corporations, or even countries, to desire to kill so many innocents’? If even there was one or two individuals, or a few that wanted to accomplish such a diabolically ruthless destruction of the innocent, how could so many collaborators be organized in secret to perpetrate such an act, undetected, on so many levels, by many unrelated companies, over such a long period of time. It seams impossible to think how long it would take to set such an act up, let alone pay for it?

Let us suppose there is an entity out there that utterly and entirely hates all people, and wants nothing else than to either kill, control, or enslave all man kind for one reason, because we, people, are created in the image of God, and he is not.

Isaac Newton said; “energy can not be created or destroyed merely converted from one form to another.” So here is this poor, pathetic entity, this large bundle of potential energy, that by it’s own choice, and “free-will”, walked away from God, and doing so also walked away from everything that was good, loving, light, truth, peaceful, tender, joyful, giving, healing, life filled, compassionate, satisfying, restful, and honoring. And since this entity can not be destroyed, it was doomed to an eternity of living in complete absence of God, you take away all good, and all you have left with is the opposite… bad. How sad the entity is, when it has to exchange everything that is good for evil, love for hate, light for darkness, truth for a lie, peace for war, tenderness for harshness, joy for terror, giving for theft, healing for sickness, life for death, compassion for cruelty, satisfaction for thirst, rest for anxiety, and honor for all forms of belittlement.

We can give it a name, does it really matter which one, for even the least of man kind, being created in the image of God, is infinitely superior to anything that is not. We could call it lucifer, a cockroach (fitting), or an amoeba, a wisp of air, a rock, a pretty stupid choice, the devil, Darth Vader, Ronald McDonald, or maybe something more fitting to it’s true ability to effect us, especially if we just decide not to let it; Boo-Boo the imaginary killer bear hiding under our bed.

Then let us also suppose, since this creature is away from, in essence the opposite of God, it exists within a realm that exhibit’s all of those factors, bummer for him. While God love’s, he only hates, everything, even himself. While God is about peace, Boo-Boo is about war, strife, and aggression. While God creates everything even life, Boo-Boo only wants to steal, destroy and kill.

Boo-Boo can’t create anything, he is only a stuffed bear, but can he steal? In John 10:10 is says; “the thief comes only to steal, and kill, and destroy.”
He “only comes to” do that, it doesn’t say he actually does it. I have also heard it spoken in church, that he can steal that which was created by God, but can he really? For if he could, wouldn’t he have long ago stole everything? Or maybe can he only take what man has freely given to him by us?

Can he kill, create sickness? If he could, wouldn’t he have killed all man, created a super bug or cancer that would have destroyed us, destroyed everything long ago? The Bible teaches in deuteronomy, among others, that disease is the curse that comes from sin, our sin, sin that people do, maybe that we create. Sure we are being tricked and prompted by satan, but we still do it. But Boo-Boo never minds taking credit, it can add to our fear reverence of him.

Gen 3:17; “Cursed is the ground for thy sake”, we sin, our sin has an effect on the ground, the world around us (see; Visions of Reality), with the choices of our sin, disease results, and this result then prey’s on the innocent and wicked alike.

So here is a Good God that gives so many diverse gifts to His children, why?, because He loves them more than all of rest of the universe itself, more than He even loves His own life. What good Father would not gladly step in front of a bullet for his child? Any Good Father I know!

God gives us all, all of us, an infinity of everything we can immagion, every sort of wisdom, knowledge, raining blessings down on heads of His many children, as we play joyfully in the soft grasses of gardens blossomed on the breeze of His own breath, we dance through this wonderful life holding hands of other children, His own son’s and daughter’s, shining eyes of diamond sparkles bright in their perfect design each and every one of them. The blessings are as infinite as the creation of the universe He has so freely given us, all for the use and benefit of us, for to bless us and each other, and in so doing give glory to the giver.

Well ok, it’s getting harder and harder to see the dance, through this neck deep muck and mire of sin we have to wallow through all around us. We can’t blame God, we created it with all of our sin. No wonder the world is at a point of regurgitating from the sickness we have polluted it with (next blog).

But then there is Boo-Boo and his other little buddies, the rest of the “beanies”, whispering into God’s children’s ears, coercing them to miss-use that which was designed for good. Prompting them to use God’s blessings in a way that is not about growth or good, but dwell’s in a more diabolical outcome, one that will ultimately be bad for either the person directly, or someone around him, and thus ultimately for himself as well.

Yes this creature, this immortal stuffed under the bed hiding bear Boo-Boo, has powers that men can hardly comprehend, a diabolically complex ability to manipulate on a worldly scale, either directly or through the other lessor minions he has power over. It can, mirroring as God does, whisper into the ears and minds of people, louder for those who listen, but a mere nudge for those who don’t. It can prompt through the gifting’s of things it has already acquired dominion over, things of this world, but what it can not do, is create! For to create would put it in a class, or image, that it is not, one with God and man.

When we people give things to Boo-Boo, yes then he can use them for the purpose of his ultimate plan; to destroy, enslave, and completely dominate over God’s greatest creation. What a better way to pay back your enemy, than to rob, enslave, even ultimately destroy your enemies children, you start by just coercing them away!

People on the whole have a natural tendency to know what is good for them and what is not, and they certainly wish, for the most part, to give their own children what is good and necessary for them to grow up healthy, and continue on long past their own existence. So if Boo-Boo is going to get the children, he is going to have to do it under the watchful eyes of the parent’s.

Ok back to our original question, and we will stick with just one; why would corporation’s or nation’s put poison’s in something like immunization’s or our water?

So here comes Boo-Boo, and he comes up with a diabolical plan, forged in the minds of greedy men, men or families Boo-Boo manipulated centuries ago through power and greed, promising rule, a cold loveless crown of gold and gems, so he could manipulate them into positions of power he could use when the time was right. Boo-Boo gave them riches and power, at least the ones he had control over, all a while whispering in their ears, telling them what he would have them do, “dominate over the people, for they are under you”, he would tell them.

“Enslave them for it is your right by birth”, he would tempt them, for they lust for power. And eventually; “kill God’s children”, for the ultimate lust for innocent blood is the perverted end of all power. But never forget, it was always their choice! These men, these puppets, when they would give him an inch, an idea, Boo-Boo wanted a death, a sacrifice, a theft, a baby thrown in a fire, some poison in a well. Attack God’s people any and every way possible, to the ultimate destruction of all people as a whole.

But these men are not fools either, for what happen’s if a ruler is found to be to cruel, or too many children turn up missing, and the mob figures out it’s the rich guy up on the hill? The mob grabs their torches, pitchforks and storms the castle. It doesn’t matter how many troop’s an emperor has guarding his back, if the mob decides you are dead, your goose is cooked on a stick, or dangling from a rope. Even the great Julius Caesar fell to the mob! History is a dark teacher, full of ghost stories and tales of terror to those who live in the dark places, especially when they are sitting without the luxury of a lamp.

So here we have these very rich guys that have been in Boo-Boo’s pocket for centuries, they know they can’t just do something that is to direct, as to wake up suspicion, but must maneuver in secret, through many channels, using many levels, covering their tract’s and keeping their ultimate identity secret.

They long control as much as they can, and realizing what is the best thing to control, if you want a greatest deal of influence, answer; money, and thus be able to buy up all the blessings of God. So they strive to own all the major banks, maybe even production of money itself, the markets, the oil, all the wealth, and they eventually lust to own, or at least control, the various governments around the world.

Of course it has been only in recent times that this was even possible to control nearly all of the monies, countries, and ultimately the people of the world. Many have tried conquering the world throughout time, and I am sure through more than a prompting or two from Boo-Boo, but the vast distances and enormous man power it would require to not only take control but to keep it, would make it impossible to enslave the entire world at the same time. Plus there would have to be something that everyone, everywhere needed, and if you controlled this, you controlled them. Oil does allow this for the first time in history.

Caesar, Montezuma, Genghis Khan, Napoleon, Hitler, Oprah, when they all realized they could’t rule the world it wasn’t long before they fell. If any one country gets to strong before total domination can occur, Boo-Boo get’s working, I mean whispering, and starts destroying it from inside as wells as out. Once he find he can not achieve his goal of world domination, adios muchacho’s, or muchacha’s in some cases.

Boo-Boo’s ultimate plan is bring everyone over the entire world under his control. That is a big plan for a little bear hiding under a bed! He is crafty, you have to give him that!

In order for him to accomplish this, since he can not do it himself, for he is but a stuffed bear, he must stick his “lackey”, his puppet, his pathetic little toy, in that place of total domination, it is only then, that he has any hopes to rule. How sad is that he hates the puppet more than he even hate the rest of us! How do I know this?, because Boo-Boo just wants to destroy all of us, he wants to not only destroy puppet boy, he will betray, turn on him, and ultimately feed him to the wolves when his usefulness is exhausted. History!! What a moron puppet boy is!

So here is this small group of puppets that control all of the money, oil, and basic treasures of the world, it is through the money they also try control the armies. the puppets are constantly being whispered to, for as things heat up, so do all of the many complex interactions of the cogs involved. It requires a constant bombardment of voices, like a stadium of screams and demands, pestering on the inside of the poor children’s brains, that have foolishly given themselves. I am sure it must sound like a swarm of venomous insects. What started out as a greedy little tickle, ended up as Kaleidoscope of loneliness and deprivation that could push anyone beyond the boundaries of sanity. How could a person not pity the puppets!

They strive to control first money, that’s the hook, which quickly turns to power, in companies such as banks, insurance, weapon’s, energy, communication’s, new’s, education, and art’s, later it warps into control of entire multi-national corporations or groups of corporations. When money exceeds the amounts they could ever hope to spend, Boo-Boo just tightens his grip by instilling fear, fear that everyone wants to take it away from them, that which they feel they own, they have built, they are entitled to.

Little do these fools know, that everything they have, everything good, was a blessing from God, and what an opportunity they might have had to really make a difference for The Kingdom, and ultimately in their own lives throughout eternity, had they just listened to a softer, loving voice, instead of Boo-Boo.

Very soon just controlling a vast multinational company is not enough, maybe control over entire industry might do it, or maybe a small country, but that’s not enough, a large country, or many? How can we blame these poor puppets, for he is just chases worldly gold, like a crazed dog chasing it’s tail. In his heart he longs for a gift from God, attempting to feel some kind of completion, but little does he know satisfaction in this life can come from one place only, and that is through doing something for which a person was designed to do. A man could own the whole world, and if it was not what God had designed, no satisfaction would come, for satisfaction comes not from Boo-Boo, only thirst for more.

Then there is Boo-Boo whispering in his ear again, find me a way to kill children, and some scientist comes up with the brilliant idea; we will have this or that company put mercury, or some kind dormant virus in the inoculations of children. Boo-Boo’s top men make it happen! Boo-Boo whispers in ears of other men, other puppets, what would be good to add to drinking water? An idea come from a man; hydroflourosilicic acid, more toxic than lead! More ideas, more money, body scanner are used to irradiate children’s bodies, because of some made up terrorist threat, that the average American has a greater chance of dying of a bee sting then dying from terrorist attack’s. Dormant cancer causing viruses are animated by the radiating (public record), and the cases of cancer in children in America goes up 3000% in the last ten years. No problem Boo-Boo gets the media to lie, and blame someone else, “the wrath of God maybe.” Boo-Boo is excited.

Boo-Boo talks to key people in the educational system, promising fame and wealth if they will demise a way to reduce the population, so they write about the need for population reduction, the necessity to get rid of people, all stemming on the backs of what is good for the world, environmental. Little do they know as they conceive ways to destroy God’s children they add murder and lust for blood, to the already feverish state the world is in. This world was created for man and not the other way around.

“The company you control with your money, or the grant’s they rely on for their success, they will do what you tell them, or you destroy them.” Boo-Boo then continues by telling him to talk to the media, they will make sure that only the information he wants released get’s out, the truth will be squashed! Whisper in one ear, make a suggestion, a promise with no intent to fulfill, help another’s career, just to destroy when they are used up, create an army of puppets ruled by another puppet. There is always plenty to whisper in his ear, the one puppet that has proven over and over to do what Boo-Boo demands. There are many ways to get what he wants these days, plenty of ears to whisper in. Most will sell there devotion for much less then their fathers did, for it is gold Boo-Boo has, but souls he desires. How pathetic they all are, Boo-Boo must think, selling their souls for much less than Judas did.

Boo-Boo talk’s to the politician’s and if he doesn’t directly, the men who control them with power and money, do the talking. Getting them to vote on bill’s forcing people to use their poison. Writing in this or that law that rob’s the children of God the provisions given them by the Father, and deposit’s it into the bank account’s of the puppets he has under his thumb. Signing law’s without even reading them, for they show where their devotion lie, and it is not with the people, but in the thirty pieces of silver.

Boo-Boo puts the squeeze on all the people by inflicting harder and harder conditions in which they try to provide for their families. But it is never Boo-Boo, he can’t do anything, but men; because of their sin, that’s why the squeeze happen’s, Boo-Boo just whisper’s in men’s ears so they think they are profiting from it and squeeze even more.

 Genesis 3:17 “And unto Adam he said, Because thou hast hearkened unto the voice of thy wife, and hast eaten of the tree, of which I commanded thee, saying, Thou shalt not eat of it: cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life;”
 18 “Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field;”
 19 “In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”

More children contract autism, no sane person would want that, Boo-Boo does. More children get sick and die, no company of executives would stand by idly and watch their company kill million’s, unless they knew they could do nothing to change it, or they fear saying something, Boo-Boo laugh’s.

Families are destroyed, women are used, father’s loose hope, visionaries close their eyes, men of power become pawn’s, other’s who once stood for honor sell their devotion for thirty pieces of silver.

What does Boo-Boo do, he just keeps whispering.

The question is not, who or why?

The question is; how could it be any other way?

So what do we do? Well, we can storm the castle with pitchfork and torch? Not a bad idea, but God did say “Vengeance is mine”.

Ok, well if everyone started to open up their eyes and just spread the word, light would shine into dark places, and we all know what happens; the cockroaches scatter!!

The funny thing is, as the puppets get further along, it would seem like they are getting sloppy, or maybe they are just starting to feel like they have to communicate to get some kind of order in the chaos. Perhaps like some pathetic prison cell mate bragging about the number of bikes he stole before getting caught, they just seem to desire to gossip (not surprising), what ever it is almost everything is readily available on the web, and miraculously right from their very hand.

Is it possible these old rich puppets hiding up in their castles or down in their not so secret bunker’s think they could be safe from God when His vengeance come’s knocking. Pharaoh did!

Well hopefully they will realize one day, that they are also children of God, and no matter how many babies have been killed no one is beyond forgiveness. Everything that has happened has done so as predicted in the Bible, and only God knows the future, the end is already spelled out clear as day.

So the real question is do you believe a sure thing, truth, or do listen to Boo-Boo?

It is never to late to believe, even at the moment you are hanging on the cross.

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord Jesus, help us all to see all of the lies of the enemy around us, especially those we ourselves have a hand in perpetrating. Give us the strength to speak out freely and boldly to everyone who would hear the truth, turning even a subtle light on in this world of darkness.”

For more information about the Lion Of Judah Medallion; https://paulorpeter.wordpress.com/2011/06/25/lion-or-lamb-a-vision/

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Investing As God Would Have Us, an except from “Investing with Hope”, a chapter to be yet titled; IRA, investment or pagan worship

All of life is like that of a river, flowing coursing through it’s journey, gently gliding and running around over all kinds of obstacle’s, at times bending with effort, at others changing direction with greater want, sometimes stalling, occasionally rushing, touching its cheek softly against the smooth jagged rocks of life’s many ups and downs. How peaceful she appears when meandering with an almost non-apparent flow, basking in the cool reflections of a tapestry of soft dancing clouds reflecting mirrored tranquility across its face, the sun warming its depths radiating rainbows of many artist shades crimson hues and gentle blues, the fruit of life blossom out of its shores, pressing joyful gaze up as they stretch wanting hand for yet another drop of water. Beautiful in its majesty the gentle slumber play pirouetting around bend and along shore, glancing but a moment in time, this blink, this gift, the spoken word a breath from the very lips of God, as restful and as the steady as breath of a sleeping baby, sweet to sound and smell.

“He that believes in me, as the scripture have said, out of his heart shall flow rivers of living water.” John 7:38

I heard the voice of God say to me; “write what I am going to say for any and all to hear.”

When the waters are clear, the true necessity of purity is so evident, opening up a window within, creating glorious views of shimmering waters with their cascading diamond like hues issuing out for all to see. Created and loved for Him and all to enjoy, experience, taste, pure in it’s design for all that comes in contact appears brighter, vibrant in thrilling clarity, a cascade of colors that adorn the many blades of earth shining in reflective clothing with an almost luminescent radiance of their own.

The life that dwells in and around her touch which can only abundantly increase, it is, and always has been good, a fresh dance of smiles and word’s touching hand upon cheek bringing an almost soft need to close eyes and sleep in her warm embrace. The glistening shades that cascade among the pebbles, the shimmering of life reflecting off their surfaces, good and beautiful light gleams in rainbow hues that are only dulled in but dry air, this painting can not be reproduced by any earthly hand, leaving any duplicates but dull replicants lacking life and luster.

Purity is essential, for as within even upon the surface must the very skin of the water remain free of contaminants and foreign pollutants, keeping tightness the surface pure in essential origin, tight yet pliable in caress to keep its subtle surface tension receptive enough to receive the breath of life, permeable to the clear light of the sun, otherwise all the life that dwells below will be robbed of vital oxygen necessary for life, the life will be choked out of them. A thin film of black oil is all that is necessary to smother out all hope of breath below, like a almost intangible shadow so does this deep earth dwelling darkness bring death in an almost slow choking manner.

Murky waters in like wise, hide that which is under the surface, in some rivers they mask dangers; snakes, alligators, germs, all sorts of creatures that prefer to hide in darkened places waiting for one or another innocent passer-by-er that they might sink merciless teeth, it is the clear waters, and in the bright light of clear day from which they flee. These same cloudy waters can at times choke some of the life out from within its waters with their filth and sands, providing only a place where bottom dweller may feed off of the death and carcasses that collect upon the foundations of its depth.

When darkness abounds, brightness within closes in shaded veil, and the light granting all vision even within but inches of the surface dulls and fades to black, vision from outside and that even them within are dulled to cruel blindness, earth has been added to the water, the purity that once was, the newness of the childlike purity is now diluted by more and additional infiltrates, it ages and dies. Murkiness thickens and turns into a slurry, darker and blacker, slowing even the progression it’s walk, until no trace of light touches the depths of her soul, the fountains of living springs dry, cold become it’s depths breath. The once fresh streams in turn eventually thicken to the point of becoming mud, which eventually as the motion slow’s to stop, all the water dries up, it hardens, even to compress into a solid that has the potential to become harder then cement, wrinkles and cracks. Long past the fresh scent of cool life given water is replaced with the stench of death.

When water flows to a stop, or flow to a dead end, and there is only inlet without some kind of outlet another stagnation occurs, which most assuredly brings death, and is not pleasing to the Lord, it becomes as a Dead Sea. Waters in such a body as the Dead Sea have plenty of inlets, much of what God has created being brought within their body without any outlet, the accumulation, the hoarding without ever giving, causes an accumulation of poisonous wastes, a holding of byproducts such as salts. Their banks swell, but all in held even that which God would have released, an accumulation of wastes occurs, a poisoning of the water. Without any hope of removal of the diluting poisons in the way of an outward flow, the glutenous inevitability produces an environment that is hazardous to all life. This is an abomination to the Lord.

There are other abominations, but first among these is mentioned as first in His Ten Commandments; “I am The Lord Thy God… Thou shalt not have any gods before me.” So when waters are offered up to pagan gods as an offering to service and prayer, even if in innocent blindness, it is of no wonder why these treasures are not blessed and easily stolen by the enemy. That which is meant for good and life is used for purposes of dark, bringing no good to themselves or those around, bringing no good fruit, only being stolen and used for death. That which was given to man as a free gift from God, can so easily be stolen when first offered up to the devil in homage, laid at his feet, all to be used in his service, all for some hoped and prayed favor, a person might wish for.

If it so in all areas of life, so is it also in finance.

One way we can do this is when we offer our treasures up to other gods, sometimes knowing, and other times even unknowingly.

God The Father would have us all be as living streams even in all of the gifts He has so graciously given us. Money or wealth be not withstanding, when we are given a few grains of sand from His abundant supply, they are not given us to keep, bury in a jar in the yard, stuff away in our own bellies, or given unto agents of darkness to forward their evil ways, but they are given us to use in service of He who has given it.

“I will go into depth one aspect of this in this subsequent chapter, and then in others within each of the further chapters, until it is clear how God would have us handle our investments our gifts, as is pleasing to Him.”

But for today we will talk about the first He has shared with me, and that is in regards to IRA’s.

I heard the voice of the Lord say to me “Get up son and take that gift that I have given you and remove it from the hands of the IRA.”

“For IRA is an abomination to me.”

I didn’t understand what He was meaning, and so I asked; “what do You mean and why?”

After a day and night of prayer and deliberation, I heard The Father again say to me, and anyone else that would hear; “IRA is a pagan god, where by my children adorn her with their gold and throw their money at her feet. They do this in prayer to please her.”

“They have done this since the time their feet first tread upon the earth, and they do it still.”

Then he said firmly and suddenly; “Look it up!”

So I sprung out of my bed and immediately looked up the meaning of the word IRA in relation to a pagan god, and sure enough IRA, is the name of the pagan deity IRA Dei, (pronounced EE-ra), and what ever other people may want to say about it, in their own unknowing defense of this spirit, it is and has always been referred to as “the pagan god of wrath”.

Apparently it was from this ancient god deity that the Greek god Hera came, and it was said that in ancient times people would bring their gold, adorn her image with golden jewelry, and lay their wealth at her feet, in an attempt to thwart the wrath of gods. She being the queen of the gods.

“Heav’n has no rage, like love to hatred turn’d, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorn’d” by William Congreve’s The Mourning Bride. Was his creational prose perhaps inspired by a more ancient fear lingering deep within the essence of our spiritual knowledge?

Men have perhaps known for ages, and have given gold, adorning the image of the woman with gold as a practice in prayer to thwart her anger, is it so different today? Many a man have adorned their woman with gold and precious jewel, some out of adoration, but many out of prayer to thwart her wrath.

But perhaps in an greater collective, with a more sinister presence dwelling just beyond the horizon of conscience awareness, we put our money and blessings, the fruit of our labors, at the feet of IRA and then pray that it will multiply. we do so by releasing the control and use of this gift for but a promise of prosperity. All a while we know fool well that the markets are controlled by powers of earth, we have about as much influence over their outcome as we have on a roll of the dice. Evil is, and always has been, in control of these earthly rulers, but greater is their strangle hold today, and they are not driven by any supplication to the One True God, but are prompted by greed, selfishness and lusts.

Even the experts compare the stock markets to nothing more than a legalized form of gambling, but these same experts have also brainwashed all of the sons of man to believe that this is the only safe and sure way ensure long term growth. Safe from what? Destruction, ruination, wrath? With exception of the ones holding, throwing, and reading the dice, who happen to be the same ones who decide the outcomes, it seems to be common knowledge that the same groups profit with seemingly supernatural knowledge to when and exactly where to place enormous short calls on the markets just before they tumble, generating for themselves and their minions billions if not trillions of profits on the backs of the common peoples losses.

Sure the “powers to be” throw crumbs occasionally to the very rich, who we may have placed before our eyes in a public display, giving us the thought that they might actually be in charge, but these crumbs are only in exchange for their undying devotion, and finally in exchange for the dark tasks they wish implemented from the companies of the slaves who’s soul’s they have purchased with their token bags of silver. The outcomes are always balance just enough to steal as much as possible the publics money, only this must be done in the most subtle way as to not risk discovery or panic, and cause the masses to exit from the trust in IRA.

Ok we all know the problem, but what to do? How to invest money as is pleasing to God.

Take the money out of IRA, the stock market, and place it where it has a chance to flow! For out of the heart living waters will flow, abundantly, and be a blessing unto all.

Place it into a structure or environment that has the ability to be as unto living streams. Out into some place where it is clear to your own view, where you can see it, you the one for whom God has entrusted it to. Look with clear eyes, clean and pure as to unto the purpose and direction of Jesus.

Some place where you have hand and eye upon it, where you some kind of control over, as directed by your conscience, by the subtle nudging of the Holy Spirit. For it is a gift that has been handed to you, by God, for you to use for the Lord. Sure you can others manage your projects, you tasks, but never far from sight, stewardship, as this is what you are called to do with your gift.

Chose some place where if you decide to be gracious, you have the control and opportunity to do so. Fruit by definition has the ability to both grow into more fruit producing trees, whose shade, leaves, and fruit, when in season, can be given to others, sold, traded to flow, to sustain life. “It is by their fruit, you will recognize them.” Matthew 7-16

Where it can be channeled to promote life, and not death, not handed to them who would do evil, or laid at the feet of idols, only then do you place your treasure in heavenly places. Goodness not evil. Good will begat good, and evil only evil.

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal, But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust does corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal, For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. Matthew 6:19-21

One example might be;

Buy a rental house, for within its door resides life. The great part is, in most cases the IRA can be transfer’ed into another form a investment without any penalty or tax.

And if a man comes to you and says “I can not pay on time this month”, you may have an opportunity to be gracious, as you are led by the spirit, in Christ, bringing blessing upon him and more importantly yourself.

Your acts of kindness will flow out as living waters and touch other through the man you have helped. The children that dwell within the walls of your gift can in turn flow out and bless others with like gift granted them by the Father even if and through your very hands. Gentle is the stream of life flowing from and through your hands.

But more importantly the gift you have been given has not been buried in a jar in the yard, it has become a part of the body and flows. It has not been offered up unto an idol, and it has not been used for the kingdom of evil. Oh sure there is always a chance some of the gift may end up in the hands of someone who would use it even in part for evil purposes, and we do live in a fallen world, but for the most part it is part of a greater body of living water, and the little bit of pollutant is quickly diluted by the rapidly flowing purity of the water flowing in and out.

The moneys you make on rental income, you can and will again invest in further improvements of either your own family, or that of the community, and thus build a entire structure of goodness springing up around the waters. A flowing river of clear cool living waters. Life will spring from the shores, from with in and even upon the very waters. All will grow and blossom, and it will be as jewel in the crown of you head forever, blessing your children, and the children of children’s children.

All of life is like that of a river, flowing coursing through it’s journey, gently gliding and running around over all kinds of obstacle’s, at times bending with effort, at others changing direction with greater want, sometimes stalling, occasionally rushing, touching its cheek softly against the smooth jagged rocks of life’s many ups and downs. How peaceful she appears when meandering with an almost non-apparent flow, basking in the cool reflections of a tapestry of soft dancing clouds reflecting mirrored tranquility across its face, the sun warming its depths radiating rainbows of many artist shades crimson hues and gentle blues, the fruit of life blossom out of its shores, pressing joyful gaze up as they stretch wanting hand for yet another drop of water. Beautiful in its majesty the gentle slumber play pirouetting around bend and along shore, glancing but a moment in time, this blink, this gift, the spoken word a breath from the very lips of God, as restful and as the steady as breath of a sleeping baby, sweet to sound and smell.

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord Jesus, help us always to see how and where You would have us put into use all the gifts You have so graciously given us to but stewart for You. Let them be stored up as treasures unto heaven, where there is no moth to eat, rust to destroy, thief to steal, for that is where we desire our heart to be.”

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A Blacksmith becomes a Tow Truck Operator, by His Grace!

The blazing heat never much mattered as it pummeled his face with their constant bombardment of stingingly sweet flashes and blunt wisps of bellowing hot breath, not always taken on the chin with as same reception a man can muster on an other more anticipating day, he clenches strong jaw as he wraps gloved hand around the smoldering hot bar. Lifting the white hot metal out of the like hot coals, the blacksmith places the super heated metal now already glowing in orange-red brilliance on a the clod black anvil, he immediately begins hammering the slag, those black imperfections that are pressed to the surface by the combination of the fire and the repeated pressure of the hammer and its own distresses, allows them to become exposed to the light of dawns day and then be removed by continued pummeling and the eventual insertion into Gods cleansing waters.

Long be the years the faithful Blacksmith has labored over the daily tasks of continued forging, working the metal and refining the perfection of those given under his responsibility. Even when muscles pained, back and neck strained with the constant hammering for no other reason than to help remove the impurities, for the final artistic display, it was always worth the journey. But even he has seen a decline demand of his specific products he so began those many years before, granting the great diversity of the art that he now practices, somewhere down deep in the back of his heart he senses a change is in the air from the confines of his cozy trusted shop, its wood tones and handily placed tools at casual reach, never far from the comforting eyes of others that love him, for he dreams even but a moment to push out into the blazing light of the world with eyes on a larger rooftop with blue skies and majestic white clouds.

But the years and heavy burden does work on necks’ and back muscles’, as they voice their own words of rebellion to the everyday load, likewise the seemingly repetitive tasks in a day-in, day-out “I have to continually repeat my deposit of skillful seeds to an ever needing and often slightly over dependently craving audience”, can in itself make even the most successful servant long for days of absence. He can maybe with a more wandering eye pray for a light day, any a man might hope and even silently cry for a bit of a distraction from the squawking baby bird yet deposited again into the nest waiting to be fed. Is it wrong for him to silently pray for the peacefulness of the blue skies, he asks himself?

And so came into a life a new assignment, a new challenge to the ventures of this down the road walk that embellishes all of us each and every day of our lives, our man gets new papers. That trek down the path we have with solum heart, and sober word, made our oath to follow, orders even as in any soldier, not understanding completely the complexity and ramifications of said order’s, but stands in diligence until new assignments come down the pike. A tow truck drops into his lap as a new task to ponder. With it the knowledge that a trusted Dispatcher will also give him assignments as need be.

Strength of hand and broad shoulders, all of the necessities one might need to possess enabling a man to handle the less technical aspects of a tow truck operator, all rest within the belt of tools at his disposal. The new truck being an mantel of strength and power granted him from Above, like receiving an immensely strong horse capable of pulling any sunken wagon out of the muck, so is the new embellishment girding its arms entanglements around the pylon’s that already anchor him in the Rock.

Assignment or relief, who’s to say? For this re-assignment or task granting from the Supreme Commander, fills a heart with such a warmth like sweet soft touch of a young lovers smile embracing his soul with just the slightest nudge of a Fathers approving love filled eyes, that our man can not help fall to knees with gratitude for yet again the honor such an assignment places into mind. A smile, ear to ear is difficult to hide when it bursts from the deep caverns of the soul, a warmth building within constantly combining the continued contemplations of a spirit erupting if only to release but a fraction of the light that has been deposited with his orders.

He beams as he drives down the street, following yet again another dispatch from the Voice softly yet sternly resonating thought his waiting ear. Ever giving direction which way to turn, what street or path to set foot, for that next waiting recipient of his tow trucks blessings. The nice part about responding to dispatched Instruction from Above is that recipients always are in a place of needing, receiving, and flat out dire desperation, finding the tow truck operator always received with wanting smile. Assignments are pretty easy when the Dispatcher sends out the Word, but that is only a percentage of his work load, many a long day is spent in subtle search for people and candidates needing the skills he can deliver. So he ventures on.

There is always the possibility of a haphazard broken down or stranded cowling sheep, sitting quietly along the road, or nose deep in the cold snow of the ditch just a turn ahead, a wayward lamb that in most cases ventures out without the proper preparation, or an overextended journey beyond granted strength or enabled supply might warrant. The problem with people who are broken, often times they have no idea from what part lying within is broken, and most of the time in an area of their motor they hardly fathom. It is the meticulous nature of the Blacksmith, and his willingness to call back to the Dispatcher, who happens to be a wonderful Mechanic, for His wisdom that often proves invaluable to finding just the right part that may need changing or repair.

Sometime people only have a flat tire, and while the tow truck operator can change tires, in many cases a little breath of fresh air is all they need to continue down their path, allowing them themselves to seek further repair, and in a sense, finding a solution themselves. There is a self gratifying feeling of accomplishment when a person can help themselves out of their hole they have so meticulously stepped in themselves, and even if they are but a contributor, the Blacksmith gives a strong hand in help but they go on to the repair, seeking their own, walking them self with but a nudge, oh how the Blacksmith smiles as he sees little children waddle down the road with but a little help, advised and seeking their own solutions.

Jump starts, and people who have run out of gas are always fun, these desperately poor individual just need a little hand, a small gift, a little spark, to put them right back into full sprint. The Blacksmith never asks for money when he give to these, but just reminds them when they in turn see someone in need not to drive by, but stop and offer the same hand in turn. And so as the ripple flows through the still majestic and mirrored pond with but a single stones throw, so is the effect of this good mans gift radiating out throughout the entire world, sometimes even bouncing off the shore and actually coming back to gently caress his face.

The funny thing is when he just comes across these poor stranded and helpless souls, a person never knows what and who he might meet, not always are they all as receptive to a Hand. These souls a tow truck operator must approach with most reserve and tenderness, they not always knowing their own wanting need of help, even when it is clear the help is exactly what is prescribed, let alone appreciated, or even accepted. The shock of a realization of need, can sometimes be overwhelming to an contented creature that has had everything they have ever wanted in life, even at the exclusion of many they have brought in themselves and then later not wanted. It pains his heart when he has to occasionally pass on by or leave when he clearly knows help is what they so desperately need. But people need to be left in their own choices, seeking their own road or ditch.

How even funnier it is when a tow truck operator can venture down a particular stretch of road, down certain segments of peoples paths, and low and behold he will find someone in the ditch, even more comical is the fact that it is often the same person he had just pulled out the day before, needing to be pulled out time and time again, without ever admitting the fault that brought them in the ditch in the first place. There comes a time when even the most giving of hearts dwelling within the chest of the loving of tow truck driver, will be fed up with yet again pulling the same person out of the same ditch, he sets them back on a path, just to watch them tumble head first again the very next day.

These acts of kindness, and seeking, on the part of the tow truck operator, does in itself bring its own risk of a stiff hit to the chin, for reactions are always as spontaneous as the randomness of individuals he finds, and every once in a while a snake in sheep’s clothing rests in quiet hiding ready to diabolically place silent fang in an unsuspecting Good hand. But thank Jesus the training that the Blacksmith had years under his belt and reaching into dark places for raw metals to refine, has made him particularly aware where and when a snake lies in wait, and quick is he with a forging hammer ever ready to deliver a deciding blow onto the head of a slithering serpent. So many snakes have had head pummeled that now they seem to run at his very sight, for the power of their eventual destruction beams from his very thundering steps.

In this particular case the assignment has definitely granted from the Voice! Another broken traveler, venturing out in a dangerous world with less then the preparation needed to make the successful journey, how sad it was to find her tear drenched in her sobbing smile hoping and praying for just another shoulder to lift a portion of the burden she has fallen into with her own two feet, blessed it was for her that the Blacksmith strong are his shoulders and easy is the burden He is to lift for her, because in only the shortest time he introduces the actions of his labor that more then adequately place her back on path again, this time with assuredness of successful completion. He never asks for thanks, and never expects pay, for the Dispatcher is paid all that is due and any compensation our tow truck operator might receive given back at home where his heart so longs, dwells, and looks.

Another day, venturing down the path, opening an eye to the Light, the Light being Christ is all of God. He is the Light ever and all permeating, penetrating around us in gentle blossoms of warm scented touches, His soft light gently caresses the skin that surrounds our spirit, and even if it be of the world, and created of the dust of this earth, but formed by the very Breath and Hand of the Father, so caresses He gently that which He created. Spoken into existence by His very spoken Word. Oh how he praises God that he wasn’t born blind to have the very Gift to witness the Light bouncing off the gift He so abundantly gives us. Like the clear crisp road he now drives down comfortably in his tow truck, like the many smile of lives that pass and wave in response to his own friendly wave, like the birds, like the fresh coffee, like the very breath he breaths, like the heart beating in his chest, so is every part of the Gift that presents itself in this fine day glorious.

Driving round one more icy bend on this late winters day, the year and years speeding to a rapid halt as he tries to look if one more person finds themselves in need. He spots up ahead long off in the distance maybe just another person; could they be partially in a ditch sitting with but one wheel off and now spinning wildly but going nowhere, stalled puttered out in tired slumber not sometimes just because of a simple part that has given up, out of gas out of energy in need of a little fire in the belly, maybe they just needing a jump a little spark to send a jolt through the mangle nerves of the body, another flat tire another simple breath, or truly completely broken down one needing to be towed back to the Mechanic, or one he just has to pass by?

Funny how you never know what the next bend in the road will find or the gift of a smile that will shine His light again across your tired and expecting face.

Written for Peter Laue, The Blacksmith, The Tow Truck Operator

By Peter Colla

“Lord Jesus let us all be Tow Truck Operators, all be servants giving to any and all You might Dispatch us to, and even them we happen to pass.”

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A Visit To Hell; What’s The Fuss All About?

Sitting in front of a computer screen, plush leather chair, glass of scotch, never far from hand, reclining in his cold trinket filled office, this seems to be the position he spends most, if not all of his waking hours, that hypnotic eye into the universe, which admittedly even to himself, has become a bit of an idol over the last many years; well at the very least, an alter where he comes to for long hours of reverence and supplication. His red and yellow stained eyes glued hungrily to the bright light emanating in blazing pulses of emotional gluttony, for he can hardly pry a moment from the display, tentacles intertwining within his entire essence, all he is, wraps guarded illusionary numbers and worth in boundless call, then dances like a specter across the table of the accounts within his vast sandbox, the few shekels’ that define who he is.

Power and success, those rolls of belly fat he can not seem to dispose of even with the most expensive pills and liposuction, they hang even on his jowl’s, then again perhaps they dwell there pulling on a mouth that lies even to people he loves with the same ease a swine wallows in its own muck. Never has it been difficult to muster, the collection of every earthly thing he desires around him, for he has managed all to easy his money, the control and manipulation throughout sectors that grant making more so easy he can hardly remember if or when he has ever lost anything. A world within this world, this inter dimensional internet environment of imaginary power and control has become, creating in it an entire kingdom of people, uses, slaves, services, all serving him, all geared to the interaction of the demands he places in and around the circle of influence, the vault of money he alone has the key to unlock.

Over the years of his long child’s life, he has enjoyed the always fully fed feeling with its many acclimates offered in their bare breasted embellishments, the wining beggars with hand kissing reverence always having fixed eye on his money pile craving the success he sits upon, the top of the hill, there is only room for one. The more money he made, the more praise and reverence people offered, in general their prayer’s, their lusting requests for some of his gold washed across him in adorning grandeur, in their postulated offers of friendship always seemed to stroke his wallet more so then his own belief of how he really felt they perceived him as a person. Even his own wife and children would do just about anything he asked, just to taste the sweet feel of the cold paper in their wanting grip, how he more then often saw the sadness in their eyes, was that but a reflection of disgust he felt when considering their requests, oh sure he would dispensed at his discretion only with the strictest self acclimation, for he knew deep down in his own heart never would he give, if it didn’t benefit him in some way. He smiles softly to himself with this very revelation.

A small advertisement suddenly flashes across the screen, a white laced banner-add moving slowly across the monitor in a rather slow parading fashion, crossing the tables of his stock and asset portfolios, “Well, how dare they advertise their crap across my scream!” he says to himself, as he chases his curser to try to click the “X” in the corner. His mounting irritation adding to the blaze of his own anger, for what he doesn’t exactly know, but almost immediately notices is the content of the add, a Christian add!, “Give up your treasure on earth, look to Jesus, for he would have you free of their chains”. He blurts out in almost rancid scorn “I bet He would!, steal my money, or worse yet give it to people who are either to stupid or to lazy to earn it themselves!” The man pauses ever so momentarily, even under his breath, as he quickly clicks away the banner.

“Ouch!” He feels a sharp nail like prick pricks just behind his eye. How irritating something can be when it pesters us from those things we would rather do! His mind wanders slightly back to the days of himself as a young man; strong, confident, so much so he knew he didn’t need anyone or anything, only the product of his own talent and strength. Working in the hot summer sun hanging roofing material can be heavy work even for the strongest back. He sees himself and his friend up on ladders, lifting a large piece high above their heads as his boss tries with less skill and much more brute strength to hold it up and manage to attach it. “It is so hot the sweat is running in my eyes!” his friend says in what amounts to just a little self pity. “This is got to be what hell feels like!” he continues with only a bit of a laugh. “Na, hell can’t be this bad, I’d like to see what all the fuss is about!” our young man of confidence says with a casual laugh, as he presses the one side of a heavy beam up and attaches the screw with only one free hand.

A small almost insignificant twinge behind his right eye, takes his attention only briefly from the task at hand, ridding the screen of the annoyance and returning to the tally of his charts, sucks in his soul like the dirty breath of whores mouth. The little muscle spasm tweaks his muscle just below his temple, causing but briefly to blink hard a couple times, attempting to relieve the irritation. “Maybe he has been starring at the screen to long?” One eye blurs, no doubt a tear from the irritation, letters and numbers jumble in dancing vibrations as their meanings quickly jump but a moment from the surface of his mind. “What a strange smell, rotten eggs or something?”

The pain is sharp, but quickly moves out in a rippling wave-like fashion, a quiver of a muscle pulling sensation it almost draws his head slightly to the right as the muscles quickly release their pinching grip. Suddenly his mind remembers days of old, a flash of an almost video like performance across his eye when he was but a small child, his a father cold and solemn man pushing away a toy from his young hand, “We don’t have time to play, boy! Cows need to be milked! Where do you think the food comes from!” His father grabs his arm less then gently, and shakes him a moment to emphasize the point, but fear in his young heart was enough, as he shoves him aside with a bit of harshness, the so-called father storms out of the room. A tear flows even today, from that now blurry right eye.

What a strange sensation of warmth that radiates across his head just deep behind his eye and ear. Images dance across the clouded eye the theatre screen of his mind, his beautiful wife dressed in whites purity smile, draped flower cool cobble stone walks of window shopping, a soft sheet to the face pillows scented warm kiss, the tender red lips of a spring scented bouquet of dreams a life anew, her bright eyes calling in their own sweet sounds a hope for peace somehow expected in promises of his love. His children’s lives their baby steps in soft flowered feet, a father dreams for them every hope piling up like golden bricks in an uncompleted corner room, forgotten but now suddenly seen, the times he had hoped for but never found even minutes to experience, always the numbers, the gold coins, the cars, the women, the trinkets. Cries even wails of tear filled plea’s spill out from a wife, his baby as he calls from outside a locked and barred heavy wood door, old and rotted its timbers snarling a laughing grin back at him. He licks dry mouth with a tongue now swollen and lifeless as the memory makes it extremely difficult to swallow.

The warmth spreads strangely across the side of his face and an even stranger inertness of almost emptiness replaces the prickling sensation of earlier, a dark cold void in-folds within an area that only moments before was filled with warmth and light, parts of him vaguely seem to be pulling away from themselves and the fabric of a minds pirouettes continue to meander across the wooden floor of his life even if starting to unravel. He sees with almost telescopic clarity an adult life filled with so many times he has taken from others, innocent people kneeling, children he himself has pledged love begging to him in their spirits, pleading for mercy and reflecting back a man incapable of seeing it over the wall of gold right in front of his face, stealing for no other reason than because he can. Feeding that black hole that rests just below the spot he now can not swallow past, he has an almost visual effect of some pathetic greedy fat cat, choking on a massive fur ball while clawing hungrily at everything around it, fearing even one small marble will escape, yet hardly being able to hold the massive horde in it’s arms. “They’re mine!”, his own mind says in desperation to hold them.

He reaches with his left hand for his drink of Glenfiddich and coke, funny as he grabs, he notices his fingers and arm are not there? The warmth spreading now into his neck and face, maybe beyond the dark crevice that was behind his eye is now a gaping void harboring a fearful something, like the lurking creature he just knew loomed under the bed of his youth. There is a strange absence from an entire part of his body, no correct that, as if the whole left half of the physical universe has vanished. The screen begins to blur, another banner add; “Believe, Jesus died for your sins!” Did it say that? He can hardly tell, maybe even dreamed it, but the Word “Jesus” seemed to glow with its own incandescent light. The Word falls aways like looking through eyes while starting to fall up. Still that overwhelming feeling he must say he is sorry to people he has stolen from, destroyed, hated, no, one more then some, dreams taken and tossed aside, shekels’ all for a life of taking.

A tear falls not from his face but as a booming of the now fading drum that putters to a slowing stop in the far distant echoes of a darkening picture before his eyes, an almost blurred tunnel vision of rainbow grey’s and pastel shades. What is that smell? He suddenly slants to a completely different direction of its own will. Forgotten almost as fast the many memories he so eagerly tries to hold on to, almost trying to grasp the running spilling water of a broken faucet or hold on to blowing breezes as they whirl by. The last thing he sees is that Word Jesus across his screen, he can almost see himself from an increasing distance, sitting there staring at that monitor with a goofy bent smile, slumped over, hand clenched on some paper from his desk, nowhere near the drink he reached for.

Whats going on? He knows almost before the question ponders the edges of his thoughts, billowing flashes of radiant rainbows, colors and smells of a lifetimes experiences fly past so fast he can hardly realize each, yet he feels them all completely and fully, much more then even the first time, years of touches, smiles, words, tears, hungry children reaching hands for him as he over and over again turns his back. A tunnel of life’s experience pulsating towards a central light so bright and pure he can hardly look at its edges. Feelings, cascading across memories blend within every action he has taken and pulsate with the result of those, he sees so many faces, so many words, every word he has ever spoken, every blessing those words have given and the so many more curses they have caused. Everything, everyone, every speck of a single word blends into a rainbow of speeding light.

He, or at least that which was him, the being that he is aware of himself speeds up, beautiful and pure in an almost baby like freshness, but there is suddenly a pulling at one of the sides of his face, a cold grip stinging in heated scratch, he wants so desperately to look at the light, he just can’t, like a little child to embarrassed to look a teacher in the face after steeling a toy, the degradation of the cruelty now digging its animal claws into the side of his face, neck, and ripping mercilessly down his back, the stench of the guilt splitting through his insides gives him such terror, for he can not bring himself to look ahead. He knows about all the dirt that lies under the now gashed skin, the entire life of seeking self, only self, throwing so many babies into the fire, even his own children, his beautiful loving wife, wallowing in the greedy lust through beds of filthy spit and sweat, golden walls of coins stolen from children who needed them for food or dreams, that they would now never see.

Just as fast as his head turns away, or he turns it away, the picture of what lies before changes into a darkness like no black he has ever seen, or even imagined. Not reflecting anything, or even a flat dull in a night like finish, but devoid of substance real, imagined, or created, a complete absence of anything and all. Terror grips him, but at the same time a feeling of remembrance for that part of him lying under the skin, the hungering, lusting, angry cries of past memories fleshly earth recognizing almost pushing towards with a flash of their own supercharged explosions of anxiety filled actions through every once of his now plunging awareness. That which lingers beneath actually seems to be pulling towards the dark like mass reminiscent of some long lost severed dead limb clawing back to its black host.

Further he falls, deeper in the envelopment of the life sapping black tar he entwines. Now all of the darkest memories of every back act flashes before his eyes, magnifying-ly seeing fully every result the lake of tears, feeling every sting tasting filth that presses in on all sides like a mountain of suffocating blankets holding him in place restricting even breath enslaving his every movement, binding his very thoughts to subservient-hood, burning in his heart with all the total results of every thought, deed, missed opportunity, and word. Years and days play before his eyes in darkened shadows of guilt and anguish, seeing so many he has hurt, devastated, tormented, oh, his poor wife wallowing in pain and tears for the lost betrayed love she missed, as he slept with other women so many times in his mind and body. The broken hearts, like bones they snap with all their pain, so much greater in his use of all of them, as he watches himself taking hands and slowly mercilessly bending fingers until broken, it tears knife gouges across her heart and he sees the full effect his actions whipping mercilessly across her beautiful back.

He would cry, but no tear comes only dry heat blasting sand across eyes frozen open in terror, is the horror inflicted or placed upon himself by his own mind, not wanting to miss even a glimpse of the contorted faces that pass by, he can’t even will himself to blink? Heat blasting in stinging touch as black cold flame roll mercilessly across his body, chilling ice-cycle daggers dig and slice most of the time the stings seem to correspond with the pain he inflicted on others. Men he hit with bare fist as he stole their money, a sharp burn of invisible slam of some unseen bat cracks across his face, as he feels every pain he gave. He gags at the every smell that fills his mouth with the most putrid kind of nasty vomit, nothing good, nothing sweet, acid burning dry dust slime gagging taste. He tastes how he used people, like garbage! Women he used as objects, convulse in pain before him as he feels the torturing flesh burn off his legs, chest, hands, penis and innards. But just as he feels the flesh fall away, another scene, another pain, more flesh, replaces it.

He sits naked on cold floors of unforgiving metal, skin stuck in frozen pain, his mind kisses golden coins, as his children starve, a starvation of hearts. Hunger freezes its merciless touch causing his stomach to convulse as he belches up clots of rocky golden earth grinding its claws all the way along the surface of his throat. He feels the hunger he so mercilessly inflicted with his greed. The face of his own child, his son, as he pushed him away again and again and again, the hunger the child felt as a father takes the few crumbs of time from a pure baby boys plate and baths his filthy body in them. The image burns the coldest chill as a son who turns from loves expectation to a cold dark horizon, knowing full well nothing good rests behind him. He wants so desperately to cry out to him, but the pain in his own ears burst with the screams of all that dwell in the shadows around. No comfort, no rest, peace as absent as the light. A man lifts his head in silent scream, but even merciful air escapes not, anguish rips the very fabric of his mind.

Lingering all around are the pestering touches and stings of thousands of slithering creatures, hidden just within the dark, but a fraction of a space from delicate skin, they crawl mercilessly in and out every crevice of his body, biting and ripping pieces as they go, like the many events his life’s ambitions robbed from others, the plans he set, the contracts he had no intention of fulfilling, so bite each poisonous spider, sting each scorpion, each hidden worm, laying eggs that in turn hatch into hungry creatures of their own, feasting down to the bone, leaving nothing but pain. And with every unexpected memories action on his part, so does he receive an unexpected sting in the very place he hurt them. The burn of the poison in each case only mimics the pain and disfunction his own actions caused. Hidden just beyond ability to see, are growls of hate lurking, circling yet waiting for their own opportunity to pounce. The fear it induces forcing him to turn his head to and fro in frantic anticipation even if but to get some kind of merciful glance of the attack just before it lands. But the blackness shrouds it so thick, was his intent so contemplative there was no escape, no light?

It is but a moment, and yet he seems to have been here a millennium, so many days, weeks, years, all lined up waiting for their turn. Off in the distance he hears the approaching foot falls of something large, no, inconceivably dark and gigantic, for the creature which approaches has no problem demonstrating its intent; a complete ravishing of everything that it hates in what is left of him, the essence of humanity, he knows the coming ruler despises his very creation from the very bowels its existence. It has one intent, to use him to satisfy its own need for vengeance, to put under servitude and completely destroy any resemblance of the creation it loath’s with every fraction of the power and dark mass it has under its command. Only slightly less painful than the approaching rumblings of its steps coming steadily closer, is the constant and now deafening screams and wailings of other creatures around him, who can only moan in their anguish as they know fool well what approaches.

“Mercy” is worded silently in his mind, choked out like the life of a child he wanted aborted when his lover told him of her pregnancy, her dreams suffocated in like manner. Compiled by the so many merciless incidents he remembers, when he gave none, tongued in silent scream as he hears every cry he laughingly turned his back on, and skin that pleads for relief from the frozen metal, when none was given by the millions of times he had a chance to. Had even the slightest mercies been offered by him, all within the ability of the cold coins given him, maybe he might have earned one? Even as he tries to ask for mercy, he knows in his head a whisper is allowed to escape his lips, maybe but a satisfying plea, not for him, but for the creature who laughs in pleasure as it approaches. It want his pleas!

His eyes burn to but see a glimpse, but no light at all!

His ears burst in fright as blasts of footfalls strike hammer blows against that tender inner skin, pain with every step as they approach, no chance to escape, hide, or even move.

His every attempt as he squirms to escape is met with a boa constrictors response from the blankets of chains pressing in their merciless sting against his raw skin.

His mind races to the end of his life’s thoughts of maybe repaying debts owed, the now not so crazy notion of returning seven time what he stole.

Years of the Word passing across his mind , the foolishness he thought, the howling laugh of that which approaches, who is the fool now? His own non-existent need to believe in anything except himself!

Sitting at his desk, that banner that crossed his screen … the anger he felt, but then that last one; “Believe, Jesus died for your sins”

That last single word; “Jesus”.

He starts to scream in silent whisper, he can feel that word of “mercy” forming on his tongue. The creatures looming approach enveloping closer, taller, greater then the largest mountain before him and still closing. Its laughs are deafening and painful, now pressing every memory, every thought out of him except on that which approaches.

His lips wrap around the word, starting to form an “M”, desperately trying to push but a splinter of air out, he fills but a mouthful of hot dry dusty stinking air, and presses with the only given bit of the word the now monstrous creature sucks out of him in a last wills submission. He is doomed there is nothing good!

A single tear starts to form in one of the wide terror filled eyes of the poor child cowling on the freezing floor, skin burning in flamed intensity as the wind of the creature steps up. The child starts to expel’s his single word, the waiting lurking grimace of the mountainous creature stands waiting in expectant pompous domination, with a burst of but a single puff of air one word whispers out;


The child remembers his last thought, with a lightning blast of realization, his mind wraps around that last sight, “Jesus died for your sins”, they are not his sins, He took them, He paid the price, He bought my salvation with His pain, His blood, His death! YES he believes!

All the black memories fall off, just as fast as the dust and dirt in a warm winters shower. The blackness within him screams out of his body, fleeing for its own pathetic excuse of life, running from the light exploding from the smallest seed within.

In a blurred flash of rainbow light and tunneled vision, a light opens high above, the son lifts his head easily and gazes straight into the light. The looming mountainous creature in a horrific bellow of angry hatred and anguish, desperately closes its massive arms clawed hoof-en hands on what has already vanished! Leapt long above in a light speed flash. Its horrific scream but a distant fading whisper, as the small child rises in a lightning blast of purity and peace.

In an instant he stands before One he immediately knows! Wearing simple linen, the fabric blazes with a light stronger than all the combined suns of the universe, for it is made of the very material the breaths life into the stars. He is girded in the middle with golden strands of living light, woven within the essence of all the life that feeds the very life we walk upon. Jesus smiles with a tender understanding love, that brings a completion to the tear falling now from a child’s eye. He reaches ever so softly to the cheek of the young boy, barely a teen in age by stature, and takes the tear as it gently rolls down his face.

The Son of David turns His hand over, clearly seen is the nail scar on his wrist, and shows the now perfectly formed diamond, the tear turned into a gem resting comfortably in the Fathers hand. “I don’t understand?”, a son not so much says, as thinks. “I was in hell, why am I here?”, the young boy asks with the strangest confusion of question and gratitude.

The King of the Universe, looks at him with eyes penetrating every area of a blue sky in their own reflecting color, looking right into the very soul of our young man, He almost merely puts the thoughts in, but speaks in a voice so soft and peaceful, the child can clearly taste the sweetest fragrance of flowered tenderness, clean and pure like babies breath, the very Words caressing his body and ears like the most loving touch. “You believed at the very point of your death, it took you a moment to understand the forgiveness that belief grants.”

“You experienced but a fraction of a heartbeat in hell, but enough to go back and understand.” His words just beginning to register as the wisdom of everything The Lord just shared filtered through his young mind. “Plus, remember you asked all those years ago to see what all the fuss was about”, the Lord of Heaven and Earth says with just a casual smile.

The Lion of Judah continued; “Remember what is written; I believe, now help me with my unbelief.” “You believed in an instant, but had to go through your life’s experiences to gain the wisdom to ask Me to help you truly understand the significance of that forgiveness.”

“Why do I have to go back?” tears now welling up in his eyes again, for he has clearly no desire to leave perfect peace, contentment, a feeling of being connected in every way not only with God, but with every other being up here. A total fulfillment like nothing he has maybe only felt way back in the womb.

“You have to go back, it is your becoming not only a believer, but a disciple, that is your calling. It was the prayers for your salvation, even from those of the people you had hurt, that sent that banner across your screen.” Jesus says with a subtle, yet completely commanding voice, a Fathers perfect encouragement, leaving no doubt it is not a discussion, but merely a statement of what is perfect and good for the order of the Kingdom, “Your work is not finished.”

“So close you were to being lost!” Understanding rings His face, an aurora of musical harmonic light in soft tones of every color of the rainbow, plus many never before seen by man. It encircles Him as clearly as the perfect red-brown wavy hair that almost moves with the gentle breeze of His words, their every movements bringing yet again another bouquet of fresh smells, and feast of flavors.

“When you go back you will know what to do.” answering his question even before the boy can even think it. And then softly and with the love of the most assured Brother, He touches the shoulder of the slightly older young man before Him, a blaze of tunnels light, a falling though memories again, never does our young man take his eyes off the Eyes of the One in the center of the Light even as he travels far back to life.

“You have a lot to do and only a little time to do it.” The soft words echoing as the Lord of All fades from view, leaving only a small speck of light in his now closed eyelids.

Red lit darkness of the inside of his own closed eyes, oh!, he is back. The old man opens his eyes slowly to brightness of artificial lights, his chest painfully coughs, as aching stomach and back muscles react to his minds commands to sit up. Paramedics, and even his old friend and family doctor from down the street almost holding him from sitting “You need to lie still, you suffered a stroke!”

He brushes their hands away, with a little more ability then they had thought possible, the confusion clearly registering across their faces as they stare in amazement. “Ridiculous, you have no idea what I have been through!” he says sputtering out words clearer and stronger then ever.

His own doctor now quickly assessing as much as possible, while attempting to listen to his request, “You have been dead, with no life signs at all for at least twenty minutes, the ambulance just arrived to take you to the morgue!” Confusion and astonishment no more evident than the face of who says the words, hardly comprehending the sight that is playing out before his own eyes.

“Well obviously I am alive now, help me up to my chair, I have a lot of work to do and hardly any time to do it!” the now a more vibrant man says with such authority, it leaves no doubt to anyone in the rooms mind it will happen. They lift him up, he looks at his own hand, now opening and closing at his will, for but a moment he smiles at this when his eye catches the face of his wife.

He reaches out a hand to call her close and as she moves up, he grabs her and hugs her as tears pour down his face, “I am so happy to see you again, I love you so much!” He can barely manage the words through emotion choked happiness, as he squeezes her closer then he has in over thirty years, she erupts in a happy release of tears and laughter.

He softly kisses her cheek over and over again, moving his now tear wet face only away softly, looks her right in the eyes and says;

“We have a lot do, and only a little time to do it!”

(to be concluded in part two)

By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord, I know You paid the price for my sins, and I ask you to wash them away, even from my memory as i know they have been placed from yours.”

*The above mentioned character is a fictitious representation, and if he or any other character in these blogs in any way resembles anyone known by the author, or reader, that is by coincidence and no way intended.

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The Upper Room

Walking on dusty road, tired and weathered by days long night, wind and rain pelting face and freezing lips, he mumbles words or two to a Father never but a step beside; “Oh how I long for but a soft cushion to lay my head, cool clear drink of water, warmth for tired feet.” The Man of God, settles in rhythmic one foot in front of another, giving continually to the road, to those who have set tired eyes into his paths gaze, whose lives he had touched for a moment along the fabric of flower pedals that course through this Godly journey designed by Him.

A man, a woman, two that have become one, a child of the Living God, conceive an idea, a small creation of love, bubbling up like the clear waters of the cleanest pure spring, flowing in the crystal coolness from a living rock, for such an inspiration as the wisdom granted from the Creator of the Universe, can only come from the rock grounded foundations of Living Stone, buried deep within the confines of their longing and seeking heart. Words flow out of mouths of praise, whisperings that transcend time and space, flowing brooks of living water, finding origin in a heart filled with the Holy spirit, poured out for an entire universe to enjoy. Let us hear softly those words again?

“I will build a room for when the Man of God comes by, a place where he can rest, a place of safety, a room”, like a ripple in the flowing fountain of crisp clear water so does the thought start, a gentle nudge from a Father who would so love to see His child succeed, taking but a step, a hit ball, a finished sentence, a full meal, lying satisfied in a warm bed, gently sleeping in comforted content, oh how He smiles, as He sees the soft lifting to the feet, turn into a flutter of many step’s by His so precious child.

“We will build it at the highest point on our house as to lift it up to, and into the realm of the Father, an Upper Room!” Majestic in thought as the stones find foundation, resting upon one another, fitted together with the mortar of faith and love, so do the blending of idea and the inspiration of the Spirit, meld into one structure, a living sculpture of stone and wood, crafted in the heart of man through blessings and touch of the Spirit. The stone that is discarded will become as to a living temple, living stones.

“We will build the room as to be unto glory for the Father!” Wood, earthly goodness that expresses all that encompasses the light and life of His creation. Cascades of soft streaming lights, veiled if only gently with curtains light hue of off whites, flowing linens her tender laced fingertips touching glass like the feather tips of angels wings. Gentle breezes the lights dance through the air of the room beaconing and wrapping arms around any and all who’s tired pangs bring feet within gentle touch. Cornerstones of Living Rock, discarded by the world, yet treasured by the Father, given by many hands, molded into one beautiful clay vessel.

“We will place a warm stove in the heart of the room, filling the hearts of all who come with warmth of the Jesus!”, window’s blaze and the rainbow light that flows through gentle ripples, fall into concert harmony with the gentle red waves of warm radiating tenderness, out of the wood burning watchman in the center of the room. His gentle roar a soft purr taking tired guests softly by the hand and resting weary head on it’s warm inviting shoulder, ever inviting all who are tired to come find rest in His arms. The gentle breezes of his quiet breath massaging tired cold feet back to days of forgotten youth. A good supply of wood, fresh in scent and touch, for any and all to use.

“The sleep chamber will be a place of safe, receptive, sanctuary!” Chiffon’s and soft cotton laces, pillows of down, harbor a sleepy head as guests discard burdens outside, come up for a rest at the feet of the Living King. Casting away thoughts of turmoil, the Man of God will will set cloak and shoes aside as the comforting arms of a Living Father takes theirs in gentle touch, laying soft sheet on tired back for a night of gentle swimming in dream filled visions of wisdom from Jesus. Falling into a sleep of comforted cradling the tired Prophet envelopes into the Arms of a Father as His Spirit takes tired heart gently to the waiting cotton blankets. Many blankets all at hands touch away.

“Put in a kitchen and bathroom, so our guests can have all they need to stay without the need to leave!” Kings of old, rich in splendor, adorned with comforts beyond belief or count, still had to call for glass of fresh water, venture far to separate places for bathing and needs. God has created all the luxuries to be at the fingertips of these guest. Spaces eloquent in flow, wrapping natural design around the simple functionality of a perfect Creator. So subtle is their Martha-like function, nowhere does it inhibit the atmosphere dwelling within the heart of the chamber. A cool glass within reach, so does the heart know of Kingly care, when it is so freely given.

“We will adorn it with all sorts of pictures and hand carved signs, all will know who is King here!” As the Man of God dances his eye across the canvas of the wall’s of the Upper Room, a symphony of flowing tones wrap melody around the most peaceful reserves of the eye, taking in the full beauty in her flowing sandy blonde locks as they playfully drop touches of picture and word within the depths of his grateful memory. No detail is lost in the grandeur of the sacrifice laid upon the alter, only the very first fruits, an unblemished lamb can be offered. So pure is the offering, so good in the sight of a Father.

“The entire inner chamber will be an alter unto Jesus, encircling in harmony around the middle.” As an inner sanctuary for the Arc of The Covenant, so the inner chamber was designed and unfolded, blending only a most reverent and Holy anticipation from the souls that venture within. A sense of purity blazes within and without, from the light that pours gentle waters forth, encircling and bathing all who come to rest within, in the sweet forgiveness and cleansing of Jesus’s blood. His gentle touch but the breath needed for tired backs, and weary minds to find rest.

“It will be set off from the main house, with it’s own outside entrance, as to grant privacy, but also an almost secret entrance for those who wish to come into the main house, a hidden door to come into the house when wished!” For when the Man of God comes by and goes, unhindered and without pressure of a need or responsibility to have conversations, as he seeks God in his time of solace. He will be given this gift and in share, granted the ability to give back to the Father as given, and gift, become one. So peaceful harbor is such a welcome sight from the raging storms waiting outside.

“And finally, we will put a chair, a rocking chair, in the corner, at the head of the room, facing the heart, Jesus’s chair, where He will be invited to sit.” One will, with out a moment of apprehension, or doubt, feel the gentle arms of the Creator of this Universe, as He wraps tender arms around the lonely, tired traveller, His warm firm embrace lifting tired spirit up out of rough seas, holding gently up, on waters, where sore feet find life’s love anew. Spirits become enlarged, faith erupts as volcanic pressures, that formed this very universe, explode from hidden keeps. Men become generals, women find heart, rulers become servants, and slaves become kings. Wisdom is deposited without limit or guilt, callings are heard, the tormented find refuge, the Lion and the Lamb blend into one.

A Shunammite Woman looks up at what she has made with hand and heart, knowing what she has produced, in no way, was for her benefit, but as a gift unto the Father. Little did she know, it was her life, that would be impacted from that moment on, all, and anything, that is to be significant, in that life, from that moment forward, would be as a consequence of this one act of mercy. Mercy she would show, and a Father would now rain down on her.

The Man of God stops by, waiting quietly outside, perhaps but a moments rest as he is passing by on his journey. No intentions to stay, a but moments glimpse into a window of yet another heart along the long path, he has been place upon. But then the Patriarch comes and bids him in. Broad inviting smile and gentle tone, brings tired traveller into the home, given rest and offering refreshment, a cup is handed from one to another, always in remembrance of a greater passing. Bread is broken, smiles and words exchange, as people grow in and among themselves.

Bonds are formed, with friends anew, a lonely traveller, and a person who received but a nudge of inspiration from the Holy Spirit, ever to be part of each others life, each others story, even unto the ends of time.

The Upper Room
By Peter Colla

“Dear Lord Jesus, let I also, if only in my heart, prepare a room, an Upper Room, for when the Man of God comes by. Let me offer it up unto You as a Holy and Perfect Sacrifice, a Sacrifice of First Fruits, an Unblemished Lamb. Then Lord give me the wisdom to recognize him when he or she walks by.”

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