Category Archives: parable

Define Profit

by

0


To command and audience is to beg greed to come and destroy innocence. Similar to a healthy and contented man devising ways to end his life.  

Compromise will entertain humanity. Accolades will surely follow. Profit will come visit. And what was intended to be best among man quickly turns sour and destructive. It becomes a hint of truth, not the blazing, holy, Life filled words of God.  


I could earn money arranging words. A great many have. All they have to do is throw water on the fire. But what I write is freely given. None of it comes from me. And it is wise to fan the flames, not water them down.  


It would be like a salesman who is sent by a strong merchant to sell wares along the road, and as the people stop and purchase, the salesman puts the profit in his own pocket. When he returns to the one who sent him what reward will he turn over?


The merchant has been generous. He has sold beautiful, expensive, rare, lasting, and precious things to an unworthy and impoverished rabble. How could the salesmen be so greedy? How could the salesman be so stupid? What possible use is he to those he was sent to help? And how will the salesman be received by the one who sent him.  


No. I am of the unworthy and impoverished rabble. Let me receive the things that belong to me. Let me work with my hands, as the example of the Apostle Paul shows us.  


The last thought this:


When I offer the pure things of my Master, the impoverished rabble will pass me by. Even this is profit to my Master. What then, is the payment for the things he offers so freely? And how grotesque to receive money and praise for such work done?


THINK ETERNITY!

The Chicken 

by

0


Chickens are rather brainless. They’re scared of everything and hold nothing as more important than their belly. They’re not at all inquisitive, and they’re perfectly fine with that. They hate water unless they’re thirsty. They would rather bathe in dirt. The best they ever hope for is to find a hole in the fence; mindless of the fox.  

Take a good long look at their usefulness. From a selfish and fruitless life to the frying pan.  


You can’t possibly think I’m talking about 🐔.  

Compulaion

by

0


I am an ox in an open field. The yoke upon my neck is made from things I have never seen.  

It was placed there in the night without my consent or desire.  

I am compelled by joy to pull.  


The smell of success is in the air.  

It is the harvest soon to come.  

It is the smell of grass and trees.  

It is the dirt beneath my hooves.  

So I pull with joyous vigor!


The strength of my bones is beyond words to say.  

It is more than an Ox should have.  

For there is no whip to urge me on.  

There is no carrot before my face.  

It is the sound of his voice that drives me forward.  


Lovely,

Soft,

Tender,

More sure of his way than the hardest of steel.  

“Pull”,

He whispers. 

AND PULL I WILL!

The Plead is Challenged 

by

0


Desire lay soft upon the sea.  
Desiring life for you and me.  

Joy abundant thrashes about;

Celebrating what’s come to be.  


The joy dispels as the predators come.  

Each back to his business,

To where he is from.  


Still Desire continues unpraised.  


Praise to the fins.  

Praise to the gills.  

Praise to the waves,

Which for now run still.  


Desire desires to hold and protect.  

But hark to the fishes,

“We consider guile best”.  


Down to the bottom,

Scattered about,

Perplexed, disassembled,

They answer the shout.  


The whisper forgotten.  

Their joy turned to gloom.  

“Better living with trouble 

Than to turn to the groom.”

Love is Life

by

0


Two roads diverged, in a vast wilderness. From the womb they went separate directions. Unknown to her, the mother gave birth to a broken heart.  

One was full of love and nurturing, and never ceased to be straight. As soon as it could stagger, the other road turned a crooked difference away.  


Mama and her son.  


From time to time the roads would intersect. But the traveler wore a knapsack full of deviance. Worn and tattered as it was, he had no intention of laying it down.  


When he would come near, mama would speak with every resource she had. “I love you. Come home and love me.”


Sometimes he would stay. But he never could love his mother. Eventually he would go back on his crooked path. Eventually the flood of tears would come to mama.  


Again and again and again and again, sorrow broke her heart.  


The mother died alone. A few decades later, the son also died. Estranged in life, estranged in death, estranged from each other for eternity.  


The horror of this story dragged on for 40 years. And the horror of the story is forever written in stone.  


How many billions of times must this story be written!

……………………………


The point of the story may be hidden from most who read it. If you understood it before now you are one of the very few.  


Nothing can change the will of a man to love. No words, no deeds, no pleading, no promises, no rewards, nothing. If a man will not love willingly he will not love at all.  


And if anyone had told the man, “You should go home and love your mother”, he would’ve been filled with indigence. Isn’t pride lord over deviant hearts?


Isn’t this the plight of our God? So willing to embrace ALL humanity. So deeply craving to be loved, so that he can give Life. But in almost everyone, he is considered a last resort. He’s just a place of warmth, security, familiarity, food, clothing, and trinkets.  


He promises eternal peace to those who love him. But like the man who could not love his mother, greed for the things she would leave him when she died is not the same as love while she was living.  


There are no words I can say. There is no deed I can do. There is nothing outside of a person that can change the will of anyone to love God. We either love him or we don’t. And if we don’t we never will.  


No promise of reward, no threat of destruction, no encouragement from our brothers, nothing. Salvation to glory forever rest in the will of every person. God is willing, are we?


And by this I am struck with amazement, even in myself.  


“Many are called but few are chosen.”

River of Life

by

0



Find yourself a comfortable place beside a flowing stream. Listen to the myriad of sounds the water makes. Now let your mind marvel that a singular component of water can sing such a song of variety.   


Water is silent until it encounters and obstacle. The sound you hear is the water speaking of its encounter.  
Sit quietly in your chair and listen to the sound of the Holy Spirit. He is a river of truth. Just like the stream, he makes sounds when he encounters creation. Answer for yourself, what causes the greatest noises from the Holy Spirit?