When Apostle David Kelly and I (and our wives, his Janis and my Ruthanne) visited Ireland in 2018, by assignment of the Holy Spirit, we wandered about upon the land like frolicking lambs touching pastured plains, climbing hillocks of hope, and staring out at the seascapes roiling with aggressive waves.
To put our feet where our ancestors once walked was a heightening experience, and history seeped into us through our treading feet to touch our souls, warming our hearts.
“Here lies mystery,” my heart pounded with the cadence of Christians once pained by preparation, “and the mystery remains hidden, preserved and reserved for a faithful generation.”
Exported Preparation by Pain Pioneers
Scotch-Irish and Irish by name and nature, David and I find like-souled sympathy in those that pioneer – whether they be of Ireland’s pathos or no. We feel the kindred spirit of the pioneers who are prepared by pain, and we know the pathos that presses into battle like the beserkers of William Wallace fame.
Ireland is passion land for pioneers prepared by pain. Ireland exported pioneers, planted remnants in the Americas, and produced a harvest of weathered warriors warring against mysteries and mammoths of misery.
Passion pioneers are often plodders. They put one footstep in front of the other with the patience of Providence riding upon their shoulders. They are not the only ones, but they are some of the ones, and the preparation of pain molds them more than the promise of permission – that is, they are moved by what they must do or die more than what might reward their faithfulness at the end.
Pathos is not all painful, but the painfulness of pathos tests the deepest places of a man. Pathos is passion, and passion is painfully tested. If pain shuts a man down, he lacks the passion for pursuing the ultimate or highest of purpose standing upon his horizon with beacons beckoning him to touch the flaming lamps of mystery.
The Sounds of Pregnancy Planted by Pathos
To give birth in pain is a known commodity of experience as ancient as Eden. To get pregnant in pain is the pioneer’s daily dose of reality. It hurts to pursue with passion what alludes a man prepared by pain.
Such was Abraham, the pioneer of trust.
And, Ireland has that father of nations assignment within her, jealous as a lover challenged by a score of usurpers, and tormented by a passion for mystery yet unrevealed.
Like Abraham, Ireland awakens to disappointment. The promise is present every breath she takes. The panderous cycles of time remind her repeatedly that pregnant with pain is not the same as pregnant with promise.
You see, “pregnant with pain” means you know the promise, but you do not feel the movement of the promise in the womb of your soul. “Pregnant with promise” says everything about you shifts with anticipation for a scheduled birthing of promise.
It is one thing to know you will be pregnant with promise someday even though the factories are shut down and the house of hope shuttered against the panderous cycles of disappointment.
It is another thing to feel the baby move! It is another thing to enjoy the changes that come when the promise comes with a due date.
The angel said to Sarah, “I will surely return to you at this time next year, and Sarah will have a son.”
Sarah sounds like Ireland answering no one in particular at this announcement, a sound rises up from within her as ancient as the whispered wind ruffling the door of the tent where she hides, “When I am too worn out, and my master is too old to participate, shall I then have this pleasure?”
Ireland is like Sarah, a deep longing awaiting her most excellent days of delight, pleasured by a resurrection of what seems lost forever, a day of kicking in the womb, a time of suckling on the breasts, and season of youth for the aged.
A place prepared by pain to pursue the purposes of God.
