The Twelve Hour Year: 9 O’clock AM

It’s the third hour…already 9 a.m.  It’s early still, the mist is only now lifting from the surface of the path I walk upon, the sun peeking over the mountains and warming this sometimes chilled body.  The crisp morning air in my lungs gives me strength for the next stretch…and then it will be High Noon.

He’s calling to me…“And the foundation of the thresholds shook at the voice of Him who called…”

I feel a reorganization; a subtle slowdown, if only to wait on Him to show me what’s next.  Meanwhile, as my soul rests the world whizzes by me in notes, school papers, broken pencils, chalk dust, salty ocean winds, sticky fingers and blue, blue everywhere.  He is all I’ve got.  Everything I might have is because He has brought it to me, made room for me, or shared it with me.  My Friend, how you have my heart…

I have seen many wonderful things these past few hours but the price has not been cheap.  Only in losing my life do I find His…even if only for the moment.  The sun is up on this clear day and it looks to be a beautiful one at that.  There is much to do in preparation of the coming hours…not the least of which is to pray.  Pray. Pray.

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