The Changing Power

With his belly full of whiskey, he is brass, brazen and tough, cursing his antagonist with words, vulgar and rough. His displeasure is qualified, as under his breath he swore, words from a tangled life, his mother never heard before. Poor, reckless and rude; untaught and alone, a cold heart and instincts are all he could call his own. With tears in his eyes and fog that numbs the brain, too caught up in his anger to ever embrace the shame. Yet, he thinks back to another life, in a dream that come and goes, back to a little white house and fields of cotton rows. Smoke rising from the chimney, his mother standing at the door. She lifts a hand to shade her eyes, his dog asleep on the floor. There on the wall, a wooden peg, where his daddy’s coat had hung, takes him back through past years and a time when he was young. His eyes peering through tears, and too much pain to tell faltering on the dreadful brink, down on his knees he fell. A man proud but untamed yet, strength in an aging heart, found solitude out of deep despair when the Saving Power he sought. The changes made in a man’s life, built out of a mean estate, brought into the arms of Christ, because his heart was great