The wind was blowing in the from the east

And the small child pulled her coat up close

As close as she could

Without buttoning the square wooden buttons

You can still stay warm to the same degree

Without buttoning

If you put your mind and strong arms to action

This day would be different

Different than all the others at the park

Her small heart hoped

To be quite honest

She came looking for friends

Of any size, age or color

But always went home empty

She played hard, smiled wide,

Was kind and thoughtful

But the other children thought her odd

She had this strange sense about her

Almost as an aura of things to come

If you were there with her

You would know she was different

But not be able to address it in words

Day after day she came

And it was in the days when she could come

Unaccompanied by an adult

It was a time of safety and trust

The older kids looked out for the younger

And there was never a problem

But who would look out for this little girl?

She was a measure of distance away

Almost as if in another dimension

And oh how she loved to tell stories

The other children would listen as they played

But not look her way

As the story would become interesting

You could see them drift toward her

Still acting uninterested

But their faces told the story

They were captured by her words

Of course, it was all make believe,

Or was it?

Some of it seemed so real, so possible,

So common and still elaborate

And yet, no one sat to listen

A storm came up one day

And the little girl did not come to the park

She did not come the next day or the next

The other children looked for her

Even asked each other her whereabouts

But no one knew where she went

And if she would return

They missed the stories

They missed her wild enthusiasm

They looked and yearned for her words

But it would never be again

Soon, all the children stopped coming to the park

Storm after storm arose and the playground

Was torn asunder in so many ways

It just didn’t seem safe anymore

If you played on the equipment

It was surely at your own risk

Where did the little girl go?

Where her stories were listened to . . .

MW

“You can write a story

You can read a verse

You can sing a song

You can tell your testimony

You can play an instrument

You can hum a melody

But if there is no audience,

There is no reason

Tidy up the ground where you live

Bring all your belongings close

Tell your children and friends

How well you love them

Guard your heart from fear

Look out the window

And pray to the Heavens

For when a child is sent 

With stories to tell

When a child is sent

To reveal the Heart of the Father

When a child is sent

To lead all to safety

And there is no listening ear

No response

No affirmation in the spirit

No bonding of Heaven to earth

Then the stories

They do end . . .

And real life approaches

It approaches well and fully, 

Unencumbered by obstacles

Wild and unrestrained

Able and ready to tell the stories

In the physical realm

In ways which the others

Will need to hear to be kept safe

It could have been a tale

Of completion

It could have been a rendering

Of Salvation

It could have been so many positive things

But the time for story telling is over

The world set afire

By the hearts and minds

Of those not satisfied

Ezekiel 10”

FATHER GOD