I am a jumble of broken parts that know nothing of each other.

Antiphon: We Will Meet Again, The Wolves, The Fire, And I.


I am a jumble of broken parts that know nothing of each other.

It is as if a farmer opened his seed bin and found;
An acorn,
Seventeen rusty machine screws of unmatched sizes, some covered in tar,
Three quarters of an inch of bailing wire,
Half of a stale cookie,
Four ants,
And a dead mouse.

Or maybe it is as if a householder planted squash in the garden;
and watched the plants sprout, and grow and put forth leaves,
and blossom, and begin to set fruit;
only to come out one day and find them all blackened and shriveled with a blight.

Or maybe it is like a merchant who plotted a trading route;
And built a ship and set out;
And travelled for leagues and leagues,
Only to look through the glass and find his destination laid waste.
And planned a new route, a new destination,
And travelled to within sight of shore,
Only to be driven off by pirates.
But being unwearied and unbowed, he plotted yet another course
To a new destination, and sailed strange waters,
Only to be halted by impassible reefs and inhospitable masses of land.

So I sit with the fragments of the lives I have lived,
And wonder what to do, and where to go;
And I remember not long ago,
When these mismatched parts,
Somehow lined up and made a perfect and remarkable machine.

A plan of goodness;
A pathway to a new place;
The seeds of a new life.

And today
With my water running low
And my sails ragged
And my options limited;
I pray for inspiration to God;
Who knows how these broken, jumbled parts
Are remarkable, and
Can made to work together
Once again

-LE

I like this.

Perhaps related: A worn courderoy kind of life

Hold On

The land is grey
and cold winds blow
the rain spots down
mixed in with snow

The reeds sigh in
the the wind so cold
their roots hold tight
to mud and mold

The grass and reeds
are bleached light dun
by wind and rain
and distant sun

Around their roots
the mud lies black
around the ponds
ice-water, black

The ponds seem dead
abandoned, left
-of mammals, bugs and fish
bereft

The eagle eye
sees more below
within the depths
a greenish glow

Life perseveres
and will return
and send up shoots
and uncoil fern

Hold on through one more storm
and then
wild life will arise
again

Pray For Your God

What do we do when we bless the Lord?
In times of need, when times are hard?
What do we do when we bless the Lord?

Why does the Lord need us to pray?
Where is the Lord when we suffer today?
Why does the Lord need us to pray?

Bless the Lord and for God Pray;
That God would share with us this day.
Pray in the dark when all seems Ill;
And life seems vile and warmth seems chill.

The Creator made you; With God be;
Through life and death your God will see;
Pray for your God, your life and soul;
Pray that you grow and become whole.

Have faith and wait and God will come;
And over time, God’s will be done.

Struggling With Matthew 5

Why should we feed the wolves,
When our sheep go hungry?

How can we abandon our houses to criminals,
And live in the street, when the wintry winds blow?

Why should we forfeit our shoes to those already shod,
And walk the stony ground with bare feet?

Why do you ask us to do so, Lord?

Why should we labor and struggle to enrich the evil,
When we have not two coins to press together?

Why must we give our time and talent to Satan,
And keep nothing but our souls for the family of God?

Should we hold back nothing from the grifter,
The thief, the con artist?

Why do you ask us to do so, Lord?

(Strugging with Matthew 5)

After 2 Timothy 2, Reprise

This is a re-run of After 2 Timothy 2 (with some formatting changes), which text is speaking to me today.

Remember Jesus in your sufferings,
and if you are chained,
remember that the word of God cannot be chained.

Endure for the sake of the world,
that the world may also obtain salvation,
for if we die with Jesus,
we will rise with Christ,
and if we endure we will also reign with him.

Jesus cannot save us while we deny him,
but he remains faithful to us,
seeking us and consoling us when we despair.

Even in our denial,
in our guilt and sin,
Jesus must remain faithful to us,
because he cannot deny himself,
and there is great hope in that.

Jesus is our redeemer,
and seeks our redemption,
so seek to return to and keep true to Jesus,
even as he keeps true to you.

Peace,
LE

Some minor blog changes - you will notice the 'Zeitgeist' of tags is now alphabetical - much more useful. Some blogs that ceased to inspire me have been removed, and I have re-resurrected my rotating 'taglines' at the top.

It's big to me...

I am pushed to the cliff
Where I now stand
What's over the edge?
Rocks or Water? Or is it Sand?

I am pushed quite near the edge
I worry I will fall
And the vain things of my life will end
Many, if not all.

And God is with me as I push back
And as I squirm and twist
But can I count on God to help?
Or is my God just mist?

Oh sure my soul will be intact
I suppose that’s great
But a little help here as I squirm?
God won’t cooperate.

Shall I fall, and say that this
Is all God’s will and fine
And will I lose the little bits
I hold on to and call ‘mine’?

Help me Lord,
Show me the way,
It is not fun
To squirm this way.

LE

The Voices We Will Not Hear

Alternate Title: 'We Are The Friends'

They are wrong.
They are so very wrong.
We can't hear their voice.

They call out to us - they say:
Isn't this injustice?
Isn't this torture?
Isn't this slavery?

But we can't hear.
We talk louder.
We talk about other things.
We talk about their failings;
We talk about their sin;
We talk about their error.

They sit in their ash-pits,
Covered with sin,
Covered with death,
Covered with sores,
Maligning righteousness,
Indicting the good we do,
Trying to pull us down with them.

They call out to us - they say:
Is this right?
Is this fair?
Is this justice?

But we won't hear;
Instead we talk about maintaining order,
We talk about helping others,
We talk about sharing,
We talk about becoming involved.

They moan on their death-beds accusingly,
They sigh from their cells,
Their deaths scream out to us,
Maligning righteousness,
Indicting good,
Trying to pull down God.

They call out to us - they say:
Would you want this?
Would you choose this?
Would you live this?

But we refuse to hear,
Instead we talk about precedent,
Instead we talk about independence,
Instead we talk about the needs of others,
We shift away so that they don't contaminate us.

They shuffle in their shackles frighteningly,
Occasionally they catch our eyes uncomfortably,
They abusively mention their lost children,
They truculently bring up their lost freedom,
Trying to make us feel sorry for what they deserved,
Trying to shift the argument,
Trying to unseat justice.

They call out to us - they say;
Would you do this to your friend?
Would you do this to a servant?
Do you still keep slaves?

But we won't hear;
We make up stories about them that might be true,
We talk about the rights of others,
We talk about how they cannot be trusted,

They are wrong.
They are so very wrong.
We can not hear their voice.