They won’t shut up!

They won’t shut up! They can’t keep quiet!


All day long they pour forth speech. The rocks…


the trees…



the oceans.


“God! God made us! God is Holy! You better worship Him!”

A constant monologue of His Righteousness.


The rocks say “He is Hope!”

The mountains cry out “He is Strong!”


The sea proclaims “His love is deep!”

Ever louder their shouts resound, bouncing from equator to equator, shaking the earth to its gaseous core. A resounding symphony, cacophony, child’s cry, from the creation to the creator.

And how could I not respond?


“Yes!” I cry out “Yes! You are my hope oh God, my confidence from my youth! My mouth shall tell of your righteousness and salvation all day long! I shall declare that YOU. ARE. GOD. “

And so my voice joins the eternal echo, the song of the ages. Will you join as well?

(Reflections on Psalm 71 and 19)



Thinking on this poem today. I’m going to memorize it. Inspiring, no?


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son! 

Rudyard Kipling