Daily Archives: March 27, 2014

Stocking the shelves

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“Go out there and stock the shelves.  People are buying stuff and we gotta know what it is so we can replace it!”  The wild eyed store manager was beside himself.  He barked his order to his only employee and the little guy scurried off.

The store manager was busily  pouring over marketing programs when the little dude returned.  “Sir, I looked through everything and found nothing missing.  Everything on the shelves is messed up!  They, like, rummage through it but they take nothing!”  Slowly it dawned on the little guy that’s his job may be in jeopardy.

It seemed like it took a long time for the manager’s eyes to come up out of his work.  When they met eye to eye, the little employee couldn’t understand what kind of message his boss’ eyes were telling him.  Fear, astonishment, peace, and even a hint of joy, all gathered in those tiny pupils.

The managers lips opened like he was going to say something.  But they just drifted back together.  He let his eyes drift back to the papers.

“What are we going to do sir?”  The little guy heard his voice crack.  A tear formed at the edge of the managers eye.  But when he looked up the little employee saw a big smile.  “He’s finally gone mad”, the little buddy thought to himself.

The managers lips opened finally.  But then they would slam shut.  This went on for a little while in rapid succession.  The little guy stepped back a couple of paces from the desk.

“We’re gonna sell selling!”  The words came out rather loud.  “Sounds good sir.  Um, just what does that mean?”  “We’re not going to charge the people.  They don’t buy anything anyway.  Instead will charge the producer for advertising his product.”

“All we have to do is keep track of how many people come and go.  You take notes of what kind of people they are and what they go look through.  I know this is useful to the producer.  Just keep straightening the shelves.”

So it is with my blog.  I don’t sell anything.  Its all free to come and peruse.  What is here is valuable to the One who provides.  He determines what to display.  And the hearts of men are tested.  I just keep restacking the piles of paper

By His Grace

Personally

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Personally I would rather die
with my hands upon the wheel
of the ship where God has placed me
than some pleasure here to steal.

Let old bones embrace me
while his course I hold so tight.
May his Holy will entice me
As I work with all my might.

Let others put away the things
that brought them now delight.
For I would rather perish
In a storm of Holy Light.

By His Grace

The island

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In the pitch like darkness of the deep ocean a rumbling of silt and sand occurred.  The slime of refuse gave way to molten rock.  Without approval, a mountain began to grow in the darkness.

The place had been desolate and quiet.  Though it had been a place of gathering for refuse, peacefulness and quiet had attended upon it. But now violence erupted where once there was nothing but filth.  The lord was pleased to cause a new place to grow.  And in his pleasure he spoke growth and life.

Lava forced upward the plate of rock that had once been the bottom of the ocean.  Months of great pressure and violence pushed the plate of rock toward the top of the sea.  Light began to touch the surface of the rock and it cringed at the new world it was being forced to inhabit.  Convulsions shook the plate and the edges curled around its new support.  “I am to perish!  Surely I am dying!”

“What are you doing Oh Lord Great God?  Did I not serve you well in the place where I was?  What is my sin that you should rip me from my rest?”  But the plate heard no reply.

Soon the sound of waves crashing at the edge stirred the plate into near panic.  How deeply it desired to return to its former place.  “This is no place of peace!  It is a place of torture!  What have I done to deserve this horrific uprooting?  Was I not content and faithful to support what the world no longer needed?”  Again, there was no sound from the Living God.  Only the frightening roar of water at the shore.  The tumult threatened to rip the rock apart.

In the years of a rock, very little time passed before the silt upon it top begin to produce.  Shrubs and rough grass filtered in to begin the final transformation.  Seeds had appeared by virtue of the birds who came to visit.  All the while the little island was frightened to see his surface so abused.

As the Island got use to its new place it began to see the beauty of the violence.  The Sun would rise and set, warming the rock in a new place called day.  The moon would bathe him in glorious shimmers; not at all like the darkness he had known.  And the sound of the waves often put him into peaceful sleep.  The wind of God shaped him into smooth and various form.  And the storms which came and went were a wonderous delight of activity.

One day, still a great mystery to the island, an animal set foot on his soil.  With great interest he watched this one.  It was not at all like the others who had come to visit.  Nor was it like those who had been a part of his previous world.  For the first time since his peaceful slumber of filth, the island felt pure joy.

“I like this one Lord.”  The island was heard to say.  “He tickles and scratches at my surface.  And now I am pleased for what you have done.  The pain and memory is receding and now there is joy.”

Centuries passed, and the island was a happy place of thriving life for a multitude of creatures.  What he had been before, he no longer desired to remember.  Joy filled his days and his new place produced great fruit for the Sovereign God who had caused him to be.

“Give thanks to the Lord and be faithful for He is good.  His mercy endures forever!  Be faithful and joy filled.  Give thanks and praise to God.”   The island had come to sing a new song.  “Do not be discouraged at the tumult which now attends your days.  For soon you will be thankful for the violent uprooting.”

By His Grace

O’ Worker of Death

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By His mercy we are sent.  We are from the wicked.  He dresses us and sends us back.  Even while we serve, he dresses us all the more.  We are no longer from the wicked.  We are now sent from God.

All men are just like me.  Arms, legs, eyes, mouth, head, body, fingers, desires, dislikes, and frailty are the sum of our freshly days.   And they are startled faces touch my heart.

Pity strikes me.  I see the difference because God has shown it to me.  But I dare not let my pitiful eyes close up the word I have been sent to speak.  Where is love to let them die without warning?

This is why they are urged me to be quiet.  “You are just like us why do you speak so harshly?”  With their fleshly eyes they cannot see that I have been sent.  But my soul knows the truth.

Get behind me, you worker of death!  You have only man in mind.  You are my slave you are not my confidant.  You are my body, my sinful nature, and you have nothing to say.

I will have pity on man.  I will speak the words I am sent to say.  With this I love them, that I tell them the truth.

By His Grace