If you are end-time man, end-time woman, sick
in the groin, half-Jewish on your mother’s side,
then this life of chloracne and checking accounts
is only a fable of ganglia. Believe not the fine-tuned
numbers of aerodynamics nor the poultice warmed
by nursing hands (Proverbs 3:5,6). Read the Bible
daily: Hebrews, Philippians. In abnegation, testify:
I was bored in my limited office space; Christ came
to me when my mind was nadir. The membrane
between good news and bad is the thin skin of Jesus
dissolving in your mouth. Tell God what you
are doing. Sabotage secular railroads with a crowbar
of faith in your Savior’s arms. Share no bread
for its calories. And know that a sharp rebuke
of a pauper disqualifies no one from grace
(Ephesians 2:8,9). Think carefully. Reject
the covenant of Oslo. Memorize John of Patmos.
When midnight falls to every time zone, each day
lasts a thousand years (Peter 3:8). Ask Barnabas,
the global positioner of Apostle Paul who, after
the Resurrection, held the Savior’s mail for him,
the junk of bad-faith prayers and epistles offering
to balance the four spinning tires of Heaven
in the drag race to salvation. Be warned. None
may eschew the serpentine queue of the Holy Land
without a spiritual credit report. The Lord, we know,
is everywhere, like Pax Romanus but with more shipping
lanes. The Lord is savvy. The Lord is legal, with limited
liability (I John 5:14,15). This pocket testament is His
business plan. Copies available: five dollars per hundred.