Time

you’ve got to hand it to time
to the second hand
big hand
or little

time out

a moment to ponder

if it’s the quickest
why do we call it the second hand
and not the first?
why is the minute hand the longest
when the hour hand has the biggest job to do?

such a vital subject with so much to say and do
there’s never quite enough of it to hold on to
it cries out from our wrist and table wall and oven clock
it even manages to talk
tick tock tick tock tick tock

we try to
save it
borrow it
loan it
pass it
bank it
and still
we go over it
we hold meetings
to consider it
and still
manage
to waste
it
it never goes to sleep
we can’t hold it tight enough to keep
our grave stones mark it
between our beginning
and our end
but weren’t we once a gleam
in our parents’ eyes?
was it then?
such an artificial construct
the little brother
to eternity

let’s wind this up

we’ll take this up
later
when
we
have
more…

How are your weeds?

In a previous post I noted that I love seeing things grow. Even though I’m not a terribly proficient gardener, I’ve never lost that childlike fascination with seeing a freshly tilled and planted garden bed develop. Even though the final product is my favorite part of the process, I enjoy all of it: the blank slate, the first shoots coming through the earth, the mature plant with whatever colors God has imbued it with.

Something every gardener knows, of course, is that no matter what you’re growing, you’re going to have to contend with weeds. Now, there are weeds and there are weeds. In fact, there are plants we grow on purpose that a lot of people would consider weeds. Sometimes we let particular weeds proliferate if we happen to like them. Weeds generally don’t ask permission to enter our gardens, they just rush right in, with barely a nod to the guy at the door checking his list. Sometimes, when a plant is in its early stages, I’m not sure if I should pull it or if it might be something I put there on purpose. Sooner or later, I’m able to make a more informed decision. Some weeds are easy to get rid of, as long as you don’t let them get out of hand. Other weeds have especially deep roots and resist removal with tremendous determination. If I didn’t dislike them so much, I might admire their tenacity. The real difficulty for the gardener here is that if left unchecked and unweeded, our garden will eventually succumb to whatever chooses to fill the empty space in between the flowers. Then, because they are the bullies of the yard, the weeds will take over the whole plot. Nature really does abhor a vacuum.

Christian lives illustrate the weed principal well, as with one of Jesus’ teaching stories, “The Parable of the Weeds.” Matthew 13:24-30
24 Jesus told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. 25 But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. 26 When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared.
27 “The owner’s servants came to him and said, ‘Sir, didn’t you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?’
28 “‘An enemy did this,’ he replied.
“The servants asked him, ‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’
29 “‘No,’ he answered, ‘because while you are pulling the weeds, you may uproot the wheat with them. 30 Let both grow together until the harvest. At that time I will tell the harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into my barn.’”

I believe one of the challenges every Christian must face daily is identifying the weeds in their lives. It isn’t an easy struggle, but one every believer must endure.

Lord, you know where my weeds are.
You know where the flowers are, the vegetables and fruit.
You know when I’m tending to lies,
you know when I’m watering truth.
Help me see with your eyes, Father,
so the harvest will be worthy.
Let your will be my will
as I continue on this journey.

Love Note to my Pickup

This note is for the men
(and women)
who secretly love their truck.
It ain’t a Jerry Springer or Oprah kinda love.
No, it’s a love that’s pure and natural as America’s great outdoors
and I get all misty when I consider it and glance above.

Because

A truck will carry
two who marry
a bed fulla stuff
for their first place
an xtra cab for their lab
a gun and ammo
for the game-animal race

vittles from the store
in case you miss that boar
a bale of hay
for the day
you have a field full of critters
who want to eat it…

a raccoon in a cage
who thought your garbage all the rage

a fridge full of food
invite your folks
don’t be rude

a bed of sand
for the land
your children play in

a bunch of flowers
for her bower
tea and crumpets
for the muppets
if they stop over

all the stuff to build a house
for all the other stuff
and your spouse
a play set for the kiddies
you grow in the back yard

stuff to take to the dump
or extra stuff to store
more stuff where that stuff was
again
from the
store

a barrel of oil
to change your own
a big antennae
when you can’t use your phone

4-wheel-drive
to get to the top
just scratchin’ the surface
I know it’s a lot

In conclusion…
a truck is a serious relationship
not one for the player
or insincere
just keep her gassed and serviced
and be civil
you don’t really have to call her
dear

Anthem

Though I never said out loud I didn’t trust Him,
There have been nights my faith was tested
till it could break.
And though I’d seen the sun win out
over early clouds,
time and time again
I still found myself
overwhelmed by the rain.

But Jesus here we are
and it’s morning,
I step outside and from above you shine.
While it was dark, the rain poured down,
wind and cold all around,
my selective memory failed me one more time.
Cause time and time again you have answered,
not once have you failed to take me in,
from the cross you felt more
than I will ever feel,
your life blood flowed and covered all my sin.

And I raise my hands to you Lord in thanksgiving,
my words of tribute are my offering.
Please accept this song of praise,
for by your death and life I am amazed.
Our hope was born through your suffering.

The Blame for my Hair

I fault the mirror for my hair.
I’m blaming the messenger for that mop up there.
The style I recall wasn’t messy at all,
but arranged with adroitness and care.

How could this villain reflect
a style clearly not well met?
It looks like my cat half cleaned my pate
and now that I’m saddled with this dubious fate,
I might as well retreat to bed.

Ferry Me Over

Though I can’t see the bank on the other side,
ferry me over, Lord, ferry me over.
As you’ve done it before, you will provide.
Ferry me over this river.

Ferry me over this river, Lord, when all I want to do is drown,
when the burdens of this life start to take me under
and hope is nowhere to be found.
Help me take stock of your promises
I know they’re in your word to be used
I’m holding in my hand a ticket, Father.
I know you won’t refuse
to ferry me over, ferry me over.

I’ve brought nothing for the journey, Lord.
See here my empty hands.
I can’t rely on my own strength
to get me to the promised land.
Anything you see in this mind and this body,
God you know I want you to have.
But please first ferry me over this wind swept river,
When I get there please help me stand. Please ferry me.

Ferry me over this river, Lord, when all I want to do is drown,
when the burdens of this life start to take me under
and hope is nowhere to be found.
Help me take stock of your promises,
I know they’re in your word to be used.
I’m holding in my hand a ticket, Father.
I know you won’t refuse
to ferry me over, ferry me over, carry me over, take me over,
ferry me over.

Jesus in my skin

Imagine what would it be like
if for one day Jesus posed as me?
What if the man that Jesus was
woke up in my skin?
Sitting down at my desk,
noting my schedule,
I wonder if He’d let it be
or see things to change…

Like
who He’d see and what He’d buy,
what He’d clean or leave alone,
where He’d drive, how fast He’d go,
what He’d think
of the guy
going slow…

Halfway through the day,
holding my notebook,
would He pause to have a cup
and just assess?
Would He go straight ahead
with my appointments?
Or would He lay down for a nap,
some needed rest.

Then I wonder how He’d finish my day…
Would the world’s experience of me
be different that day?

Would they see the same kind of eyes?
Would they feel the same way
when I stopped and said hello?
Would Jesus walking
using my feet
seem very
different?

Nearing the end of the day,
feeling my body is weary,
would Jesus
be more patient
with people I know
than I would?

Would He sit down and and write
some suggestions for me?
For instance:
Play with the dog more?
Talk with people more and less at them?
Stop and smell the flowers and pick one for my wife?
Would He submit that I need more time to read,
or maybe go to bed sooner,
and get up earlier too.

I have to wonder
what it would be like…
A day with Jesus
in my skin.

Thank you Max Lucado, for the inspiration.

Dancing in Heaven

In heaven we all can dance.
Limits disappear in a flash.
Those of us not fashion forward
all of a sudden have dash.

The people whose legs don’t work,
or with two lefts instead of one
find their hearts directing moves
that only in their dreams they’ve done.

In heaven I don’t believe
we’ll spend much time playing harp,
instead we’ll spend it doing,
not just waiting for something to start.

So if in your best dreams you’re dancing,
heaven has a floor for you,
and God has the best choreographers
to help those dreams come true.

You Are

beauty you are
vision
no respecter of time

clever you are
insight
a deeper place in mind

considerate you are
selfless
lifted out of your own skin

loving you are
amorous
emoting joy within