A horn calls the mighty, and it is sounded from the bosom of the Father, a horn to war, bellowed from the gut to the throat and through the lips of our God and Creator. It is a sound that reverberates in my bones, my heart of hearts, deeper than any other - a call to be great, to be stronger than strength would have us be, to be the might of men that they may follow me. Against what enemy so great, a foe so lethal must I be girded? An enemy that manipulates lives and wills and storms and weathers to fight the will of the Father and the saints? And through battle grounds of our lives, we see the feeble, we see the humble, the lowly dying, so that we may lift up that which is decaying and free that which is encaged. So that the lion may roar, so that the birds may sing, so that the noon day sun may shine, the trees give breath, the women give birth, the waters give life. For without the might of the body of a king, girded upon horse and with sword and shield, neither the sun nor the moon may tarry long, but decay as we do, as men who die in a heap of dust, the sun may burst and the moon may fall apart. So fight, fight today, see your enemy in the eyes of the devil, see him in the eyes of all that comes before you, mankind, and the Father’s will for earth.