A Stripling Warrior

Today is a Sunday–not unlike many other Sundays, filled with a lovely haze of relaxation prior to the start of a new work-week. Although my Sunday flows on smooth waters, without much change or torrent, today there are some who’s Sunday seeks the brightest change of all.

And so it is today, that my brother might be set upon new waters in an ocean so vast and vibrant. An ocean that fills the mind and body with endless priority, seeking space and organization. There is no coincidence drawn between the ordering of importance–sails must be set, anchors raised, and with with a watchman’s eye, the hull of this spiritual guide will slice through icy waters.

Choppy waters will splinter the frame, cracking this energized shield that protects from the sinking depths below. Waves of doubt and indiscipline will pour over the gunwale, washing priority and principle around the deck of this inspiring ship. The mess will strive to stress, break, cut, and demolish–a mutiny of hope.

All is never lost–for in this moment of darkest rebellion, a sliver of aspiration resides, burning with intent. To patch the boat with second thought will undoubtedly leave these sea monsters to resurface. But a present mind, determined to discover resolution, sees limitless journeys in the schooner, endless reinforcements to the structure–born to be free on the wind.

This outstanding vessel, now given life through spiritual charge, races out over the water, outset on healing an ailing world. The craft is strong, the tools are sharp. Only one matter remains as fuel to reach the golden shores of a new land. Forgotten by many who have set out before, a vital instrument to the virtue of adventure. To endure to the end.

I know my brother–he is a fighter, an explorer, a pathfinder, a solider, a stripling warrior–he’s family. Under command of his new ship, there are few who won’t hear of his brilliant expeditions. There are few who won’t sing praise of his grace. Through his example, there are countless who will find light eradicating darkness from the recesses of their lives.

As the sun rises and sets with each day, I know this to be true. Not because I see it with my eyes, or even feel it in my heart. I know this because I know my family. We are kin, we are cut of the same cloth, and that fabric is strong. Sturdy like knotted rope, cinched to steel cleats, hoisting the sacred colors of our ship high into the salty-sea air.

What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
A pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home

Verse from “Into the West” – Song by Annie Lennox and Howard Shore

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