“Life is a journey”, such has been said by some in times belonging to the more or less distant past. A continual path they say; this dusty road of life.
Through the relentless progression of history and lives lived there has coursed a constant stream of humanity across the undulating sands of this our existence. Wars have been waged, peace has been garnered, wounds have been inflicted, and healing has been ministered, for nations yes, but for individuals more. Men wish for purpose, while some find more than any could hope for. They desire hope, while some discover the essence thereof. They long for love, while some live its very definition. Ages pass as many hazard a guess at this mysterious idea… the “purpose of life”.
A baby is born, parents rejoice in the pure newness of existence… rich possibility in a new life; bright promises for a new future; consciousness of a cause greater than their own subsistence. A baby grows to a child, a family watches his growth; fosters his development; dreams of his future. Why? When the slate of life is clean, before any pages of the book are written, before the first stanza of this poem is composed… the cause exists… every human knows it. Why?
If life is a journey, where is the destination? If existence is a road, where is its end? If thought is a ferry, where lays the shore? If time is a foretaste, what is to come?
There exists a sacred sort of hope, a blessed sort of expectancy, a beautiful sort of contentment… reflected as a shadow in all who live, born in the heart of all who find the source.
The landscape has changed, the topography evolving with time, the old cast has gone on, the players in this great game constantly being replaced. The circumstances are shifting, much is different; nothing remains untouched. Yet there remains a marvelous order, a beautiful continuum, an everlasting testament, a constant display, a repeated newness, a genuine support… “Grace for today and bright hope for tomorrow… Great is thy faithfulness”.
Tis a grand sort of poetry.
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