T'was the Night Before Jesus was Born

T’was the night before Jesus was born and all across the globe—
There was not a cure for sin, nor healing for the soul.
In the temples and the synagogues the law was loudly screamed;
Yet the mind was still contaminated, the heart remained unclean.

T’was the night before Jesus’ birth, no need for Christmas Day;
For we had no Savior to call on, nor the capability to pray.
Our sacrifice we couldn’t offer, our vessels clad with stain.
There was no stealing away to the altar or pleading in THAT name.

T’was the night before Jesus was born and not a man had came,
Who’d walk holy in this present world and from all evil refrain.
Harsh judgments were enforced, by judges full of scam—
Imputing all our guilt and trespasses onto a sacrificial lamb.

T’was the night before Jesus came, yet his birth had been foretold—
By those who lived years before Him: the wise prophets of old.
Exclaiming that He’d come to give remission from our sins,
To the weary he’d give rest, forgiving them again and again.

T’was the night before Jesus came, yet the world knew Him not.
They would laugh at his message; His identity they’d mock.
And of His miracles to come, they would display fury and rage—
Choosing rather to acknowledge the sanctity of the Sabbath day.

T’was the night before Jesus came; yet we lived without justification.
Unworthy to stand in the presence of a King: lacking sanctification.
Sin was temporarily covered, but could never be remiss.
Until Christ went to Calvary, after Judas’s perpetrating kiss.

T’was the night before Jesus came, yet the infant already knew.
He’d give his life on a rugged cross, to extend new life to you.
That little, precious Jesus boy, would be born in a manger—
Surrounded by wildlife, animals and other distant strangers.

Now that JESUS has arrived and returned, we celebrate His birth.
We marvel in His wondrous acts, performed while here on earth.
And in the midst of our celebrating, we’re preparing for His return.
Choosing rather to REIGN WITH HIM, than in hell for eternity to burn.

Reaction: The Open Windows of Consciousness

It’s not often we are given the luxury of foreseeing adversity that is to come. In addition to being caught of off guard, the unknown and the unexpected can leave us with an array of emotions to decipher, an ego to salvage and a heart to shield. Yesterday, I observed an exchange between a man (John) and a woman (Jane), and as the situation escalated—instead of searching for resolve, John immediately began to survey his surroundings to see who had observed the confrontation. Being one who observes three times more than I speak, I was perplexed over why John worried so much about who saw the exchange. It then became apparent to me that when how we look becomes our premier area of concern, it’s unlikely that resolution or reconciliation will be attained. John’s reaction gave me a panoramic view of how he really felt—no matter how hard he tried to circumvent others from seeing the exchange. Then the revelation hit me: our reactions open the windows of our consciousness to be put on public display.

Furthermore, repetitious reactions can transform our consciousness from being a window into an all-out open exhibit for everyone to gallivant over. This prevents progressivism from being extracted during personal struggle. Yes, we have a human constitution to be honest. We even have an honest constitution to be human; however, that does not entitle us to convey the most concentrated emotions of our heart during every reaction. That being said, we must learn to embrace intense situations from a non-reactive standpoint. If I react in a way that only preserves my ego, what then happens to my heart and my conscience? Moreover, if I seek to preserve my heart, what then happens to my ego? This seems perplexing, but I must admit, I’d much rather nurse a broken ego than a severed conscious.

The purpose of this entry is merely to consider how we gauge the reaction process. A survey of various reactions can be a great reference point as to where self-introspection and change is needed. I’m fervently supportive of being transparent, but I’m adamantly against familiarity to the point where people can know verbatim how you will react in EVERY situation. No one individual should have THAT much access to your conscience. If personal growth is going to occur, we must be willing to address and eventually control our reactive processes. One thing remains certain: adversity will come to our doorsteps, but we have the power to change the way we conduct ourselves in the midst thereof. Long story short: don’t let ‘em see you sweat. ;-) Abundant blessings and well wishes to you all during this holiday season!

The Unapparent Offense

For awhile, my mind has been surrounding all the things (relationships, friendships, covenants) which have been broken due to things I've said either behind someone's back or to their face. Sometimes, we forget to calculate how powerful words are. This is merely a reflection of damage I have done. When you know better, you do better; and with this momento now on my desktop, the excuses to run off at the mouth or now next to none. I pray this blesses you.

Love and Blessings,
Jay

The Unapparent Offense
by J.R. Scott for Rasilliant Enterprises (c) 2011

Reception lackluster.
A simple “hi” they can barely muster.
It’s been years since you’ve spoken—
Communication apparently broken.

You rejoice to see them, yet they reserve,
To engage in a reunion definitely deserved.
What reason could surround this insecurity?
Barely willing to even acknowledge me…

Skimming through words at nearly the speed of light.
Not seeing the seeds of discord silently set aflight.
A few dangerous echoes, from these lips did resound.
And a covenant relationship was barraged to the ground.

Words often flow like a Polynesian spring,
but what they (do) infer can often bring…
A separation of heart like no man has seen—
next to nothing can, for this offense redeem.

Your presence on their memory now eerily stains,
though they never took time to sit and explain.
Those hurtful, poisonous words of apparent disdain—
that in silence they chose to inwardly contain.

Your many good deeds now overshadowed,
by something your baggy tongue carelessly tattled.
Carelessly negating to select prudent words to say,
an innocent soul has now lost their way.

The Iridescence of Ugliness

There are invaluable treasures to be acquired out of ugly situations, yet we avoid them at all cost. We seek to be seen from angles that show us as having it together, possessing all the answers, and flossing our expertise on an array of subjects. We focus on presenting seemingly impenetrable exteriors, yet hosting the most hollow, void places inwardly. The potency of ugliness and the potential therein reside in the fact that ugly situations freely shine a mirror on internal surfaces that we dare not show others. Exposure, embarrassment, and sheer humiliation are three things that if we could, I'm sure we'd all live without. However, what's on the flip side of these pride parasites? What if it took an embarassing situation to draw the most concentrated form of kindness out of you? Would it be worth it? I'm learning that we can possess a degree of iridescence throughout an ugly ordeal. Meaning, you could be looking mired and mangled to one person, while reflecting a luminous pallet of bright colors to another. What's the variant here? Perception and sadly, the usual lack of it. Nine out of ten people who are watching you during persecution are misperceiving why you are there. Many will assume that you're there because of frivilous choices you made in your life. Others will attribute your fate to you reaping karma that you've sewn. Then there's the truth. The very fact that God is either working a virtue into you and/or prying an undesireable element out of you could be the sole reason of you being in that trial. Within these last two years, I've endured storms that have taught me more about myself than I've ever EVER deemed possible OR wanted to see. These series of what some would deem "ugly events" only happened because God allowed them to...I've tasted first-hand the powerful lesson that beauty remains so, even in ugliness. Strength remains in tact (if not stronger) during the most draining series of events. And while some are looking at you in judgement and false perception, inwardly something is radiating from inside of you that has the capability to inspire, to motivate, and to change lives. And THIS phenomenon is in no way, shape, or form ugly. Regardless to what condition (color) people may see you as, you're the smallest budge from appearing to be the most radiant complexion of humanity. So despise NOT the ugliness of these precarious situations we go through, but manipulate them to reflect a shadow of translucence that only a true creation of divinity could manage. Shine the light on the pathway of someone else.

Choices and the Power Therein...(An Audible Reflection)

Either we are wedged between two of them, reaping the backlash of one of them, or basking in the delectable essence of a series of the right ones. I'm talking about choices. The ability to choose is something that all humanity must partake in. I'm sure we'd all like to think we are always making the right ones, but that is simply not the case. However, as of late, I've been finding much solace in the fact that tomorrow offers us a new platform of choices. We can choose to use our tomorrows as trampolines to catapault us into the current of momentum, or we can continue to dwell on the failure of bad choices of yesterday we may have made. When I look at the orchestration of God's creation, I am in awe of one thing: God left man with the power of choice. Dogs had to bark, chickens had to cluck, snakes had to hiss, and the billows were left to roll, but man had the power to choose. He could etch his persona into the very earth that God had given him dominion over or he could choose to wisk around the love of his life (Eve) for hours on hand aside streams of crystal-clear creeks while the fields went untended. Adam even went as far as negating the status of life by choosing to partake of the forbidden fruit tree. There is, however, a morsel of reflection to consider here. Even though Adam and Eve surely sinned against God through disobedience, they were able to handle the consequences of their choice. Though they were sentenced to (eventual) death, they still handled it. Though childbirth would greatly pain Eve, she handled it. Then, something occured to me, perhaps it is meant for us to make SOME bad choices. If character is going to transcend into spheres of greatness, it should be expected that some resistance must take place. However, too many times I've allowed one bad choice to diffuse into a multitude of pity-driven, rash choices. This is the frivilous maze our devour seeks to consume us with. My views and stances continue to evolve along with my experiences. Now, I don't seek to achieve a 100% threshold in every decision-making proposition I am faced with, BUT I will ONLY make choices that I am able to bear the consequence of. If I find that I can't handle the fallout from the choice I may potentially make, then I'll simply choose another path. A wise man told me once, to count up ALL the costs and sometimes we have to do exactly that. Sometimes, you must allow yourself to be freed from the curse of staying the same only because making a choice seems more painful. Plan wisely, pray fervently, and expect the GREAT! God Bless you all!

That Darn "D" Word

No matter what the reason, I will never celebrate divorce. And while I will relent to the fact that some marriages do need to be dissolved, had intuition and insight been allowed to trump sheer lust, a marriage and subsequently, a divorce just may not have occured. Tonight, I was shocked to see that former Governor Schwarzenegger and his wife Maria Shriver were separating. I found it especially unfortunate given that they had just reached their 25-year milestone. It would be very easy and quite typical to criticize marriages ending in dissolution, but I’m the type of person who would rather find a solution than fault. As appealing as marriage and its benefits appear to be, I can say that I am just now reaching the maturity level where I would be able to earnestly commit to the eternal decision of marriage. Years ago my Godmother admonished me to be specific in what traits and/or characteristics I would pursue in a wife. I immediately began to turn my mind to the things which gratified my superficial taste buds. This body type, this level of education, this length of hair, etc frivolously sat in the high-priority seats where crucial elements such as longsuffering, intelligent, and/or spiritual-minded should have been seated. As she shared with me where my thinking and logic was wrong, I began to realize one of the main elements I truly desire is someone intelligent enough to wrap their entire mind, soul, and spirit around the word commitment. It becomes a dubious task to consider the prospect of marriage when statistics state that one of every two marriages will be dissolved…
I then turn my mind to my own parents who are embarking on 35 years of being together. How have they endured so long? They have definitely had their share of hard times, financial and other issues which threatened the very foundation of which their union was built; however, their commitment to each other has been unwavering. I’ve watched peers carelessly jump into marriages—even with warning against doing so. And just as soon as they are married, it seems they are divorced. Where is the fight for love? Are cycles of revolving marriages a result of seeing what someone else has and haphazardly orchestrating a union without carefully putting together all the pieces of the puzzle? Why is it that we feel marriage will change spouses? There are just so many questions which resonate in my mind about how individuals can so easily let their vow before God be severed without even a fight. I guess I will continue to seek the right answers, but I will always and forever hate that “D” word…

Dissipating Debris (RIP to Mister Fan)

After falling asleep at 4:00am, it was to be expected that an unwanted 8:30am wake-up call irritated me to heinous extremes.  In addition to my 2-year old nephew beckoning “geddup Cheson,” something was just not right.  My power cord must’ve been failing, because my fan was mysteriously off.  In four fluid steps, I had both escorted my nephew out the door and moved the fan to another outlet.  Moments later, I lay there on my back staring at the ceiling.  Something was still not right.  The fan was not working.  I manipulated the chord as I did with my old laptop cord which housed a gigantic short.  It was broken.  Back staring at the sky, I inwardly longed for some type of noise to silence my thoughts.  Nothing.  Silence.  More silence.  Then came the tears.  I wasn’t in pain nor was I distraught over the fan being broken—there was another on in the basement.  It was more symbolic then that.  For over 12 years, this fan has been the background music drowning out my loudest prayers, my hugest breakdowns, and an array of other activities that took place in my personal sanctuary.  The messes of life often created by my own hand can no longer be blown away.  It is an easy task to hide emotions, pain, and other ambiguous feelings when you have a covenant with a fan which promises to dissipate all evidence by the following morning.  Now, I’m extra vulnerable because not only is there nothing to cancel out the noise, I can no longer do away with evidence from the night before. I reckon that Mister Fan grew weary of being my personal scapegoat.  Rest in Peace, sir…You’ve been good to me!  #nowplaying “I Wish It Would Rain” by the Temptations.