From ancient times things not yet done

...these things you carry are borne

as burdens on weary beasts.  Isaiah 46:1

Here the prophet Isaiah is speaking of the gods that the Babylonians carried with them into captivity.  They stoop, they bow down together, they cannot save they cannot save.  And while I do not so much lavish gold and weigh out silver from the purse to craft a god, there are other places where I place my hope.   

Certainly one cannot hope that the political systems in America, nor of the world at large, will bring justice and truth.  If it’s not one thing it is another, choked with corruption to protect and maintain the powerful.  Justice and right are but trinkets to be manipulated by the powers that be.  

Not the church.  The church is full of broken sinners just as myself.  Strangled by complacency and the engrained patterns.

Not in common decency, in promises made and civil discourse.  Surely that is not too much to ask.  Indeed.  Life is not fair.  

Not in stuff.  That’s for darn tootin’.  My little Mac’s warranty expires in three weeks, and I am sure that it is not far to follow.  Tom’s Shoes, most noble of brands, never responded to my email bewailing the hole after just three weeks of wear.  And my Service Now light is flashing every time the Rabbit hops even though I just serviced it a week ago.  

Not even in my beloved family, extended over the miles and beyond the limits of DNA.  Defined more by how quickly they will jump out of bed at two in the morning to answer a phone call than by actual blood ties.  But as my momma knows, Things Fall Apart.  Pots of gold evaporate.  And of course the broken sinner thing again. 

Which segues into especially not myself.  I am not trustworthy.  My followership is fraught with timidity that bespeaks poorly of what do I really believe and the sort of wavering walk that is not wisdom from above.  Wisdom so clearly described in this most simple of translations: pure, friendly, gentle, sensible, kind, helpful, genuine, and sincere. And my little clay pot that I carry it all in is cracking: the memory is fading, the knees are creaking, the eye is twitching.  Not so very dependable.

Therefore.  Therefore I must remember and stand firm, recall it to mind.  Me the transgressor.  

I am God, and there is no other;

I am God, and there is none like me,

declaring the end from the beginning

and from ancient times things not yet done,

saying, “My counsel shall stand,

and I will accomplish all my purpose,”

even to your old age I am He,

and to gray hairs I will carry you.

I have made, and I will bear;

I will carry and will save.