The King

My attitude makes all the difference in whether or not I look to the hills, or whether I look to the depths.

My attitude can infect all of those around me.

If you know what my favorite holiday song is, you also know that I don't like it sung like other people sing it. I sing it slow and deep, like a dirge. I can just imagine a family during the exile burying their patriarch, a faithful man who longed for their sundering from their homeland to end. But more than that, he knew his Wandering to be at an end, for he had met the King. And the song was sung at his funeral, a song of joy and surrender, a song of anticipation and hope, a song of acknowledgment that some was yet to come.

Come to ransom us.