Help me Lord,
to forbear
your chastening,
knowing my place is to listen,
to work out those
rough spots of
rebelliousness
and pride.
So soon after forgiveness
I run headlong into
a new misadventure or error,
all the while taking credit
for my redeemed character.
When You hold a mirror before me, Lord,
with the other hand give me strength
to really see what it reflects,
and not color it unduly
with my own interpretation.
These lessons are best learned
sooner…
This memory could really go along with yesterday’s post, and is probably a familiar one to most of you, those moments when the power goes out.
I have a vivid memory of riding home from the little store. The little store was just that, little. It was a very small gas station with a tiny grocery store attached to a home. I suppose at one time there were many more “little stores” in the United States. Corner grocery stores. Actually, we live down the street from my in-laws, and on their block there was once a little store, too. Their dog would ask to go by himself to get a treat there. They would open their front door and he would go to the store by himself, collect a small Tootsie Roll from the proprietor, gobble it up, and go back home.
Okay, back to the ride home. It’s funny that I would make much of the ride. It only amounted to a few blocks. A few blocks in a small town, I might add. The wind reminded me of the wind Dorothy experiences on her way back into her house, before she gets the bump on her head, falls back into her bed and flies off to Oz. As I tacked my faux Sting Ray bike into the wind, already bits of debris, such as asphalt roofing, were slapping across the road. Shortly after I got home, the power went out. The next day, something like half the barns in our county were down, at least all the barns that were were due to go down, if you know what I mean. The point of my story, though, was not the little store, or even the storm. It was more the quiet after the power went out. Candles, food heated on the Franklin Stove, board games, no TV, talking. A good memory created when a minor inconvenience became a night of reliving a simpler time.
Something my maternal grandfather said once made an impression on me. I’m not even sure why it impressed me at the time. I’m going to guess I was somewhere in my tweens, though I could have been younger. He said young people have to be constantly entertained, or something to that effect. I suppose I could have shrugged it off as one of those statements “old people” make. You know, like, “When I was a child, I had three rocks to play with; and I was lucky, the kid down the street only had two!” But over the years I’ve given what he said some consideration. Why is it that we have to be busy doing something all of the time? I think we all know people who have to spend almost every waking moment involved in some activity: video games, TV, etc. If we say we’re Christians, how much time does God get? Does He get dibs on our day? Does he get the leftovers? In the long run, in our search for entertainment, are we settling for a second rate life?
God, why do I seem
always to be dancing
away from the dream.
The dream of a relationship
with you
that’s more than an extra
15 or 20 minutes
when I can fit You in.
The world tries to sell
me a life that’s
more “As seen on TV”
than
hand crafted.
And as usual,
I get what I pay for.
Help me to give less of me to that,
and more of me to You.
I don’t believe You
ever intended our lives to be
filled with drudgery.
I just think we’ve been suckered into
buying what life is not.
Show us what life is, God.
Show me.
Membership has its privileges,
so the advert. said. But its so easy to forget
the grace given by the one who bled
should be foremost in our hearts,
and not just in our heads.
I
wander
if nomads are peaceful?
Or do they defy
their name?
Is their life cycle
the typical boom or bust type
as new frontiers they tame?
Do they consider a home not a thing to be sought,
or do they carry it with?
Although certainly roots could be entangling,
I’ve difficulty believing it bliss.
Perhaps the bug has not sought me.
I’ve never felt its bite.
For now with my family
I much prefer home
to the nomad’s wandering life.
© Joel Tipple
merciful
tree of life grafted
forever
© Joel Tipple
The Writer:
Like a fat bird on a skinny branch, the story idea held a tenuous grasp on my mind. One big bounce, a winged maelstrom, and it was gone. “Think think think.” I tapped my forehead three times in beat with the word. “What was that about? Oh! I remember…”
The Story:
Mary woke suddenly to three loud knocks on her apartment door.
“Coming!” Her lips felt puffy as the words were squeezed out of her toothpaste-tube-mouth. She swung her legs over the side of the bed into what she thought were her slippers, shuffled to the door, and opened it to Jessica, whose eyes darted between Mary’s face and feet. “Are those comfortable?” Jessica asked, a note of concern in her voice. “Oh,’ Mary said, “I’ve got his shoes.” Jessica chuckled, and as out of it as Mary was, she got the joke. “No, smarty pants. Not ‘issues,’ HIS shoes.” Jessica smiled and shook her head slowly. “Sweetie, you’ve got both. Let’s get you dressed and we’ll go get some coffee.”
To be continued
© Joel Tipple
Writing out your thoughts
can make them stand up;
letters possessed of value
or ideas that need to be mucked.
Sometimes those notions
flitting through your nogin late at night,
are best allowed to continue their flit,
traveling where they might.
Just let em go land on
some other hapless scribe
recording for posterity what another writer might.
There are innumerable combinations
of letters and symbols
for humanity’s communications,
so there may never be an end.
But fashion forward or fashion not
from writers’ minds they’ll continue to rend.
© Joel Tipple
1) “Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me. 2) “In My Father’s house are many dwelling places; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you. 3) “If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also. John 14:1-3 (NASB)
My dad has been in an assisted living facility for some time now. When the house that he raised us in sold, it was difficult for him. After all, he and my mother had it built in 1968, and I know he figured it would be the last place he lived in. He also didn’t plan on my mother passing away before he did. Both of these circumstances were, and continue to be, hard for him to deal with. Like most of us, I guess, he doesn’t know how long he’ll live, and the idea of being alone, or not having a home to call his own, is unsettling. Uncertainty seems to be part and parcel of life on earth. So what is certain? What about our forever home? Jesus tells us to trust Him. He has prepared a place for us with Him for eternity. Though we’re given some clues, we don’t exactly know what it will be like. I am certain, though, that it will be more wonderful than our most vivid imaginings.
Absent from this earth,
together with the Lord,
Our concepts seem so small.
Stories about clouds and harps
aren’t so helpful at all.
Misconceptions about doing nothing
do exactly that much to excite.
An eternal worship service?
What of those who can’t sing?
Oh, I know, those limitations are misplaced.
Besides, are music critics redeemed?
If you’ve been in love,
and who hasn’t?
Multiply that by one thousand.
I’m guessing it’s that massive.
© Joel Tipple
(NASB) – New American Standard NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE Copyright (C) 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977,1995 by THE LOCKMAN FOUNDATION A Corporation Not for Profit LA HABRA, CA All Rights Reserved http://www.lockman.org
Write here, Joel. 
