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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I Remaining Steadfast Warm In the Struggle’s Snow Storm Looking out up above the snowy ground into a branched tree with spiny snow sprinkled leaves, there it was: a small reddish colored leaf; its dangling stem hanging from a small bent-down branch. As I sat there staring, my mind began imaging this leaf into a Calvary cross that gradually imaged into a hued hanging body. In awe, looking down onto the snowy ground, the revelation of the allegorical vision revealed its juxtaposed lesson: crucifixion and lynching trees— (Jesus and Simon of Cyrene) Indeed, from the first snatching of our ancestors from the womb of Mother Africa, to the snowy days of these treacherous times, we have known that our God is the God of the oppressed who gave us the life of his Son that we ever may know that he will always struggle with us on our freedom sojourn. Therefore, let us be ever mindful that in the mattering of our black lives, no matter what the weathering may be, we must make it plain that we will wholeheartedly remain on the battlefield of the Lord—struggling with his grace unto death—in the resurrection and holy renewal of our sacred liberation. Thus, let us be not dismayed in the present rainy, snowing, and freezing political discontent; rather let’s be forever mindful that like the settling of waters of Noah, the halting and melting is coming and that our present political disparities and black power outings will have their resurrection and today’s winter Babylon will soon meet its sated fate. II Hanging With The Tree Of Life As I looked out into the frigid air, once again my eyes focused on the palisade of trees quietly standing perpendicular to the frozen ground. There are some trees that are totally leafless; their frozen trunks and naked branches reflecting silhouettes of giant arboreal skeletons piercing the sky with waiting resurrection poses. Then there are others with spiny ice-laden leaves and frozen cones hanging from bending branches burdened with heavy ice cycles. Yet, their statuesque trunks—in stoic dignity—continue to arch skyward. My eyes filled with this silent still scene, caused my mind to struggle once more with keloid memories of lynching scenes; but my faith’s spirit turned my focus onto God’s tree of life and the fruit of the vine that hung from its sacred branch. Alas, the teasing chill that had come over my soul like cold snow has become the victim of the burning bush of warming hope—igniting renewed faith in the coming dissolution of the present winter’s pandemic discontent of political, economical, social, medical and climatic discord we now struggle—with God’s strength and refuge. So, blessed be these teaching trees I’ve been symbolically hanging out with; for they have graciously reminded me that indeed, we live and walk by faith, not by sight.
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