It is now almost 3 AM and sleep has long since flown from my weary tear emptied eyes.

I thought to go to Tampa this year but decided against it. There is no longer any hope. Lusting for the harlots wine, they will party together each with their own party not realizing that their unholy, unsanctified partying is just about over and there will soon be no more party. In their madness, they will gorge themselves with yet one more resolution, yet one more cup of insanity hastening the judgments of a holy but furious God.

Sleep on my bretheren, but it does look like you could have tarried with Him in prayer for one hour. It would have appeared that communion of saints would have been a better choice than yet another scarlet ride on the beast out of the sea.