What the Very Old Man Said….
I sat in the gathering as the very old man spoke.
He had a slow and calm way about his words,
words that seemed to be labored over for many days or even years prior.
These words bore the weight of one generation bowing to, rather pleading with the next, or even seeing two generations deep into the future…
yet feeling a well-understood and earned sorrow for what they saw as they landed on only a few open ears.
I remember feeling that there should have been more my young age who would have come to heed these airtight, wing-ed words.
This great, snowy-haired man spoke of truth.
The kind of truth nearly forgotten.
The kind of truth that has no plural.
He spoke of fundamentals as a mighty anchor that keeps us from drifting out to sea.
His cantor was smooth and a bit weathered,
But very, very perfectly paced.
He made intercession for us with his wisdom;
He fought the good and noble fight right out in front of us,
Swinging an almost ancient and battle-tested sword that had no doubt been in his family for centuries.
That thing was beautiful!
That thing was masterfully forged.
It was double-edged, piercing…
And oh, it gleamed like the morning sunrise, blasting beams liberally onto us all.
And, as I listened, my heart grew stronger,
the fight in me rose up.
Iron and gold girded me like a metal cloak.
My mind then turned to spears and tears, a war waging longer than me or the very old man could ever fathom…
I then grew at once both softer and harder in heart and resilience respectively.
This ode to the very old man finds it’s way through me as I hear with my good, God-given ears and listen and take to heart and apply the pure, silver-tongued truth this man spoke of.
I applaud his obedience.
I rally at the call to arms.
And realize that the entirety of his message was breathed straight from the throne of the King.