The Insane Farmer


There was a man who inherited a beautiful Farm.  It was situated on an open plain, high above the valley.  His acreage was mixed with a large open meadow and a forest of trees.  The house on the property was exceedingly well-built and perfectly proportioned for the life of one man.

When he went into the house to claim his inheritance, he found it in pristine order.  It was furnished with everything he might need.  On the dining room table was a note that had been left for the new owner.  The note read as follows:

You will find this place perfectly suited to you.  I have lived my life here as will you; isolated yet healthy.  Troubled, yet busy.  Farming is no easy business.  But you will grow to appreciate the gift.

You will find a good bag of seeds in the pantry.  Plow and plant a good crop, as seems best to you.  The ground is very fertile.  The crop you raise will produce a good profit for your labor.  You will also find a sled, a saw, and an axe in the barn. 

I leave you with only two stipulations.  Give of the overflow of your crop to the people in the valley below.  And as you find yourself able and willing, produce plenty of firewood.  The overflow of wood you are to bear on the sled to the people in the valley below also.

Otherwise you are more than welcome to live the rest of your life in this beautiful place I have prepared from my successor.”

The soul of the man was overjoyed to do the things required of him.  And in his first year he found the land rich and the trees prime for harvest.  The work was, indeed difficult.  But the joy of harvest overcame the sweat, blood, and frustrations.  After delivery of his first gifts to the valley, he sat well satisfied.  Giving of his harvest had made it all worthwhile.

The man was not a good farmer but he was willing to learn.  And the cutting down the trees was difficult at first.  But he was faithful to deliver his abundance of crop and firewood to the people below.

But there is a reason why this man was picked to inherit this beautiful gift.  The previous owner had been looking for just such as he to hand down the property.  The current owner had a bit of an insane bend.

He would work for weeks as a perfectly rational farmer.  Then the sky would be witness to a moment or two of insanity.

On random days, the morning would see him go to the barn.  He would take his well made shovel and head out to the field.  With wild-eyed diligence, he would dig a small trench around a tiny portion of crop.  When the trench had isolated that portion, he would set it on fire.  With his insanity satiated from his odd work, he would go back to the house with his head hung low.

Throughout the night perplexity would overcome him with sorrow.  No mater how he reasoned, he could not explain his lack of wisdom.  And as the next morning came, the sky would be witness to him as he sat on his front porch trying to understand.

At first such moments in the morning were filled with sorrow and tears.  But as the years passed, the sky would see him wrestle, in truth, to accept what he could not change.

He was a man mixed with faithful endurance and ridiculous insanity.  Thus the reason for his isolation.  Who in the valley would understand?  Yet by his beautiful inheritance, he gave them what he could.

How many of us are like this man?  Though we know to do good, we find ourselves doing evil.  And how do we find ourselves able to explain this insanity?

Perhaps there are many who can overcome this circus of failure.  But for the majority, overcoming does not appear.

But take note of the man’s response to his own incredible weakness.  He was faithful to deliver the expectation.  And he did not flinch to provide.  While sanity ruled his days, he worked from sun up to sun down.  Determination remained to fulfill his charge.  And who can say?  Perhaps his sane determination was in excess; so as to replace what his insanity destroyed.

When you find those moments of sorrow, endure them with what truth lives in your soul.  Then get back to your feet and get back to work.  There are people depending on what faithfulness you are able to sustain.

Do not let your failings disrupt the needs of others.  They too have their own moments of unexplainable insanity.  But by our meager faithfulness, the community of men is sustained.

P. S. This story makes no mention of grace, nor the Gospel.  But the Grace of God, and the Good News of Christ, are the singular reason for every work produced here.

By His Grace

The Crystal Spire


A Mystery from vision:

 

A Crystal Mount rises from below the deep.

Frothing waves; mindless beginnings.

Settled and firm in the bedrock below,

With mighty claws, the Mount remains fixed.

Renowned is the spire which towers above.

As it juts though, it’s jilted by tumult.

Pierced are the clouds, never handled by men.

Obscure is what lay, just “beyond”.

Sparse are the feet which have climbed “within”.

Never, no never, to return; not again.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .Sigh.

. . . . . . . . . . . . ..Amen.

Now the tale turns to oblivion beyond,

To the place no perception of man has witnessed

The spire continues to mount and recede,

Past the grasp of flesh’s fingers for gripping.

Tiny atop, is this vibrant aged spire.

Not one shred of man welcomed to climb.

From somewhere above, to the end of all things,

Only souls defy nature to bind.

The narrow gate’s not wood, stone or lime.

It’s becoming from flesh; death entwined.

 

My Servant 2


(Continuance from the post, “My Servant”)

I had brought my servant before me to give account of himself throughout the night.  As commanded, he sat before me on the floor, working through his papers of accountability.

Come the morning he had endured strong expectations.  I watched him as he prayed.  I listen to his careful words carefully.  I was witness to his dutiful obedience; how hard he strove to obey.

I arose from my throne of self.  Going over to him, I knelt on the floor in front of him.  Putting my hand under his chin, I raised his eyes to mine.

Perceiving this to be the moment of divulging, he opened his mouth to speak.  As he lifted his eyes to heaven, the words of request began to flow.

“It is my fault before You, O’ Living God in Christ.  I have disappointed my master. I have not fulfilled his requirements.  I have allowed to enter what should not be in his house.  I beg you my God Jesus, speak through me your voice.”

We waited but two moments, and then the words came out, “Be satisfied with what you have”.  Neither of us did doubt.

With mutual nod of agreement, we sat together on the floor.  Our Lord had answered faithfully, and cleaned our house once more.

Then we prayed together, my faithful will and I.  “Sovereign God it’s true for ever.  You will catch us, lest we die.”

The Holy Lord is faithful.  Jesus is truly King.  We spoke amen to Polycarp’s testimony: “Eighty and six years he has served me well.  Why should I deny him now?”

Should we live to be a hundred, he is the rightful Lord.  My will and I did worship there.  Casting praise and thanks to him.

By His Grace

My Servant


I could not sleep because of the news.  I did not want to sleep because of the urgency.  A tumult in my house has robbed me of peace.  An occasional plundering of my goods has reached my ears. So I pondered with these questions:

Is the hope of God among men, locked away in some distant future place?  Is it God’s will that we be tossed about my temptation?  Is there no repair for the wayward heart of man?  Truly, must we wait for heaven to do the will of the Living God in Christ Jesus?

These questions come to me as one.  How is it possible that my love for God can lack at all?

And then the singular question branches quickly into a myriad of uncountable answers.

As bountiful are the temptations of this wicked place, each one wickedly stands to give an answer.  But one suspect stands much closer than the temptations of every day and night.

By force of truth, I have called him to give account. 

“You are my servant.  To you all things of mine are given.   You are set, by proclamation of the Most High God, to be in control of the things that are mine.  There is lack in my house!  How can this be so?  Give account of yourself, I demand it!”

The truth of reply is given: “My lord I cannot give answer for the moment.”

What can I say to this?  He has been commanded to appear in truth.  And with truth he has answered me.

“Sit here before me.  You have allowed lack, as I gave you free reign to do the work you are commanded to accomplish.  Now sit here before me, so I can inspect your ways. I will know your diligence.”

Who is this servant who has been given so much?  Who is this servant who is under such heavy rebuke?  What kind of servant can be given the responsibility for the health of my entire house?

With barely audible whisper I will tell you.  It is my will.

By His Grace

The Holy Thief


Dressed in ragged raiment, the beggar stood up to speak.

Upon his face was a beaming smile, like summer breeze against your cheek.

What he spoke amazed the crowd for they counted him as dim.

But as words flowed out the crowd could see blazing light within.
                      ~
“I have approached the Most High God.

I’ve taken what belongs to him.

Not so much as a sinner might do.

But absconding with remedy for sin.

He lays it in an open place outside his holy throne.

Any man may walk up there and take it quickly to his home.

He holds no man accountable for taking these things he owns.

But he lets them come and take what’s his to heal their ragged bones.

Even here you see a sliver of golden life from there

I found it in that open space.  I present it for your ears.

It does not take a hardy thief to take from the Most High God.

It only takes one who truly believes.  I’m really not that odd.

Wisdom is given freely; lacking judgment on the part of God.

Specific for the purpose of life, that his name we all might laud.”
                       ~
With completion of delivery, the loner turned and left.

The crowd was stunned to silence.  He’d delivered more than their best.

What happened next, the jury rests, for only time will tell,

How they will treat this special gold he delivered oh so well.

By His Grace

Shod Feet


I don’t have to work hard to prove how desirable a good pair of shoes can be.  If I were talking to women, there would be no need to say that at all!  What women know about shoes would be useful among any crowd.

(Just between you and me: when it comes to shoes, women seem to have an uncanny knack.  At this point, men usually just bow their head and leave.  There are some things in life that simply say, “Do not touch”.)

But let’s switch gears just a bit.  Let’s go back to the time of Adam.  All that was necessary for the creation of the first shoes, was an encounter with the first thorns.   Simple math: Foot = vulnerable ergo, protect!

Man is designed to require protection for his feet.  All our weight rests on two small pieces of skin.  And these are no ordinary pieces of skin.  They can feel the tiniest pieces of dust on a hardwood floor.  Immeasurably more intense is the feeling of sharp objects.  So we clothe them out of utility.  We clothe them out of desperation. 

But desperation has multiple definitions.  Vanity appears on the scene and destroys everything.  What was originally intended to protect us from pain, became perverted to protect us from the judgment of others.

Soon men noticed how they were regarded by the type of shoes they owned.  Soon, ornate replaced utility.  Soon, shoes carried more than the body.  Soon shoes carried the pride of man.

So it has been, even with the clothing of men.  But shoes receive special prominence.  They have become a reflection of the man’s intent.  They carry him to the place of his desire.  They perform what the man considers valuable. Most often, they are a reflection of his character.

Is he an obscure working man? 

His shoes will show where he has been. 

Is he one who desires fame and profit? 

You will see your own reflection in them.
                ~
There are shoes that scream out “fun”. 

There are shoes that say, “Get-er done”.

Shoes that advertise,
“Look what I own”.

And shoes that say,
“You’d better leave me alone”!
               ~

image

Boots of pride
That kill with neglect. 
As they approach
There is no “howdy”. 
They carry a head
That remains in the clouds;
Aloof from the pain of others.

image

Sandals of humility,
Come to embrace with life.  As they approach,
You are their intent. 
They carry a head
Created to wear
A crown of thorns instead;
Forever mindful
Of the pain of others.
He is Lord, and rightly so!

“How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, ‘Your God reigns!'”  (Isaiah 52: 7)

Jack me down or hold me up. 

I prefer a leader of latter.

Become like him,

Or reside within.

I choose to climb His ladder.

By His Grace