Walking with Twelve Sons: A Lament from the Banks of Jordan

 

I walk the streets of the world with twelve sons behind me.

Not for spectacle. Not for applause.

But to gather the discarded—the murderers, the liars, the thieves, the fallen priests.

Not to punish. But to restore.

I walk tired.

I walk consecrated.

I walk in faith, even when faith feels like fire on my back.

The government plays chess with the poor.

They speak of peace abroad while cutting food assistance at home.

Children go hungry. Elders suffer. The crime rate rises—not from evil, but from lack.

And still, the common soul dances toward Sheol, drunk on distraction.

They promise heaven and deliver hell.

They kill the body and seduce the soul.

And I sit on the banks of Jordan, watching, aching, refusing to numb myself.

This life was not meant for this.

But humanity has not learned.

Not before the flood. Not after the crucifixion.

They continue. And I continue.

I walk with twelve sons behind me.

Each one a mantle. Each one a witness.

🔥 The Twelve Sons of Restoration

1. Micah Holloway – The one who remembers discipline as love, refinement as mercy.

2. Ezekiel Ransom – The one who lies on his side, bearing the ache of a nation.

3. Jeremiah Vale – The weeping prophet who refuses to look away.

4. Amos Creed – The voice of justice roaring from the margins.

5. Malachi Stone – The one who seals the covenant in silence.

6. Obadiah Flint – The quiet one who watches the deceivers fall.

7. Nathaniel Cross – The one who walks barefoot through Babylon, untouched.

8. Elijah Moor – The fire-bearer who never bowed to Baal.

9. Jonah Reed – The reluctant prophet who still obeys.

10. Tobiah Wells – The one who builds a sanctuary from rubble.

11. Zion Gray – The child who sees heaven in the ruins.

12. Edward La’Mar – The son of the Bishop, standing upright, gaze lifted, body defined by discipline, not vanity.

These twelve walk behind me.

Not as soldiers. Not as slaves.

But as sons. As witnesses. As restorers.

I am tired.

But I walk.

Because the ache is holy.

And the banks of Jordan are not the end.

They are the beginning.