Category Archives: parable

The Fabric of War

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​A man sits pleasantly 

In his overstuffed chair.  

Happily he stares out the window,

At the peaceful world out there.
I see it too.

Like all the rest of you.

But I also see something more.

I see the fabric of War.
The tapestry of nature;

Love, Hope, Faith, sure.

But I see through to the other side,

Those things to which those three are blind.
Engaged against a cunning foe,

Who employs the joyful and much more.

He sits and lurks among the leaves,

Watching, waiting, peace to deceive.
Be at peace old man and be there till,

Your Sun goes down and your body lay still.

You’ve escaped the blood you’ve escaped the Valor,

But what will you say when your skin is clay pallor?
White hot seduction screams contentiously by;

Tracers cutting air, in a bloodthirsty line.

Till one of them strikes through my vulnerable thigh.

Then angry, YES, am I!
Who is to blame?

It’s not you, it’s not me.

It’s the fabric of War!

Why, old man,

Can’t you see?
The time of repose is not in this life.

This is the place of blood, death and strife.

I’d rather be wounded, approved and endure;

Living strong in “The Faith of HE who is Sure
But do rest and enjoy the picture you see,

Whether stillness of beauty, or the warring disease.

Do not let your soul be caught shaken my friends.

But fight, oh do fight, to the promised strong End!

The Legend Waits

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You’ve seen it in the movies, how someone is running away from a crumbling building.  For the sake of theatrics, they always manage to miss the last piece by inches.
Isn’t life like that?  What we build always seems to fall apart.  But by some fortunate circumstances, we are always inches ahead of the last falling peace.  The noise, the dust, the sparks that fly,  they are always behind us, or just brushing our shoulders.
But just as curiously, there is collateral damage.  Many are caught in the wake of catastrophe from our mistakes and mishaps.  And we, ourselves, are victims from the work of countless hordes of fools.  Death is the place where we emerge from the smoke and dust.
I wrote a poem called “Sorrow”.  The poem is the offspring of this realization.  With all sincerity, I desire that death should come.  Let it come and put an end to this catastrophic event called “My life”.  
I don’t desire death because I’m lazy.  I desire death because of Jesus.  (The very same reason I’m still living.)  I desire death that there may finally be peace in the place where all I could bring was horror.  I desire death that his work may find completion.
How precious then are these words he has led, inspired or incited me to write.  Though they cause upheaval, it is for the better of every soul.  And as I have written before, as long as I live here these words remain concealed.
They are concealed because of the pride of Man.  As long as he can attribute an errant human to these words, he will not find them nor seek them out.  But take away the man and the legacy sprouts wings.  “He was ten feet tall.  He was the epitome of muscle and brain.  His heart was forever in the right place.  He was a saint among us!”
How wrong they will be.  But how useful is their error.  May God be glorified in Jesus His, Holy and Righteous Son for the sake of what He has done in this fool.

Loyalty Supreme!

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For reasons only known in heaven, God began a creation.  He spun with Invisible thread, creating something from absolutely nothing.

A Blackness was born in The Kingdom of Light.  He speckled the Blackness with fiery balls.  Appearing from nothing were little places of special interest.  They were darkened little globes that we’re not like the fires at all.

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Imagine, if you can, the wonder of the angels as they did the bidding of their Father.  And their wonder kept expanding.  The work went on for a very long time. 

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Every item in the darkness was placed precisely where The Father said to put it.  Joy and wonderment filled all Heaven as the creation took shape before their very eyes.  It was an intricate dance of tiny objects, all floating in the blackness.  A precise ballet of love.  Every item spun precisely around another.

Then, amazement upon amazement, God spoke a word unheard before.  “Let us create Man in our image”.  Adam, he was called.  The meaning of the word is “First Blood”.

In his hands, The Holy Word of God began the work of The Father.  A handful of dust took shape.  An unspeakable perfect work of art lay on the ground.  “Let the Breath of Life enter.”  The man’s breath began.  His eyes opened.  And from a perspective only capable in this creature of dust, he saw his surroundings for the first time.

Love and joy filled the servants of God as they were Witnesses to this amazing Work.  Unquestioning, innocent obedience bore the fruit the Living God intended.  And now they would watch that same obedience flow through the blood of this creation.

Blood!  The first of its kind.  Never before was there a creature with such exquisite limitation.  How unspeakably beautiful was the work of The Father.  What great tender care was given to their new brother.

But press forward in time with me.  Witness the history of decay.  See the frustrated Beauty become ragged edged and hideously vile.  Read the history of man in the Bible and weep.

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Look at the horror which we have become.  Not only have we murdered the love of God, we joyfully toss him in the cesspool of unbelief.  And the people despise anyone who speaks His Holy Name.

Dare to tell me that God has no right to destroy his enemies of this filthy place! 

But this is not the end of the story, for amazement fills the servants of God still.  As by that same innocent obedience, they reach into the Blackness of sin and create a people of light. 

For now, the tiny lights glow in the Darkness.  But the day will surely come when the darkness will be swallowed up by the place from which it was created.  That which is abhorrent to man will rule with Christ for eternity. 

Something from nothing became blackness.  But something from Blackness will become dazzling, bright and brilliant Lights of Life.

Join in the building celebration; the Symphony of redemption is a beautiful song, being played by those who love Him.  And the Beautiful song is played against the backdrop of hisses, boos jeers, wailings, screams, and violent intent.  Make all the noise you want, you hideous creatures of hatred.  Your silence is moving toward you now.

I will love the God who made me!  I will adore the one who fashioned me from nothing!  Stand with me or not, what difference can it possibly make?

By His Grace.

Unnecessary Slaughter

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The Army brought an impressive and massive array of weapons to the war front.  When they had set them in place, their enemy cowered in awe.

Seeing that they had achieved a ceasefire by their display of superiority, the Army dug deep trenches and gathered themselves within them.  There they pleasured themselves with conversation and delights that they had brought with them.  Less than an eighth of a mile from death, they celebrated, relaxed, enjoyed each other’s company, and fell asleep at nightfall.

During the night the enemy sent out spies out along the front.  The spies took note that the threat was not real.  When they returned and told their commander what they had found.  Then, all hell broke loose against their enemy.

The night was lit up to the eye and ear.  Explosions made the night sky look like daylight.  And the sounds of terror could be heard an eighth of a mile away.  When the dawn broke over the battlefield, all that was left of that impressive array were smoldering heaps of wreckage.

Is this what modern Christianity has done?  Have they brought the massive power of the Living God in Christ to the war of this world, only to huddled in their expensive palaces?  While they should advance without fear, they throw a garden party!  While they should be wielding the Eternal words of God, boldly and defiant against the lies of this place, they enjoy each other’s useless dribble of Chit Chat.

Yes it makes me irate!

Judge for yourselves what is right.

Storm

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I sat in a darkened corner of the bar.  All alone and stupefied by the things I’ve seen.  Nursing my fourth drink, my mind was nearing numbness.   Ah, that familiar and welcome place.

My eyes were obliviously staring toward the front door.  The door opened and the shadow of a ragged man filled its frame.  “Ah, something to watch”, I thought to myself.

He walked straight to my table, and just stood there.  It takes a little longer for a fuzzy brain to process information.  Eventually I stop staring.  The blurry figure took focus.  Since he appeared to be in no hurry, and nowhere to go, I let a moment pass before I offered him a chair.  With lazy movements he sat down.  So the tone was set, an easy-going lazy, easy conversation.

He put his arms on the table, not taking his eyes from mine.  With an Indescribably steady voice he said, “What are you doing here”.  I told him I was drinking to numb the pain of life.

“Do you know why it hurts?”  Kind of a curious question.  It made me reach a little deeper than the surface.  I told him no.  “I really don’t have the slightest clue.”  But he didn’t offer anything more.  No answers, no reflections, no Nothin.  So we sat there in silence for a few minutes.

I was the one to break the silence.  “It’s like I live in a hurricane.  Everything I do, everything I am, everything I say, gets blown away and tore to pieces.  And I can’t seem to find shelter.  So I come in here to numb the pain of being tossed against the wall.”

He looked down thoughtfully.  It didn’t look like he had anything to say.  It seemed he was just waiting for my mind to listen to his words.  Like getting used to silence just before the Big Bang.  He started speaking before his eyes began to rise.

“Life is a storm from birth to death.  Most people prefer the depths of a cave.  But there are some who dare to wander about.  These are better fed.  These are far stronger and more able.  Frankly, these are more useful.”

He had set the tone so, again, I followed what he did.  I lowered my head and watched the top of the table stay still.  I thought about what he said.  I thought about how odd it was that he opened the door and came to my table to say these things.  I thought about the storm of my life.  Then I thought about my weakness; how he came to me in my cave.

“If this is the storm that comes into my cave to batter me against the wall, what is it like outside?”  I was sincerely curious about these strong people.

He didn’t pause this time.  “Outside is death.  What is it like inside?”  It seems like my answer came from somebody I didn’t know.  But I was sure it was my own lips that said this, “It’s useless, it’s mundane, it’s tedious, it’s insane.  In short and in truth, it’s a slow painful death.  But somehow it seems equitable, to be distant from the rest.”  (A poem?  Really!)

Now the conversation took a bit of a faster pace.  Without the slightest hesitation he shot back, “Do you want to work?”  I really don’t know how, but I understood what he meant.  My stomach convulsed and made me say, “Yes”.  (Alright, I thought, we’re having a conversation, and I’m really weirdly involved.)  “Then go outside and die with me.”

I know my eyes got wide.  I could feel it in my soul.  Could this man be the answer?  There wasn’t a shred of apology in his voice.

“No one has ever stayed with me.  How do I know you won’t take me outside and abandoned me in a worse place than this?”  His reply shut my mouth.  “Because I said so, and I cannot lie.”

Why should I believe him?  But look how strong my want-to is.  I looked down and thought again.  What’s the difference?  Die in here or die out there, what’s the difference?  Then I knew what to say.  Then I knew what to do.  I didn’t say anything.  I simply got up and put my coat on.  Within a few moments we were silhouetted against those in the cave.  We left.

I’m writing this, aren’t I.  Yes I’m still alive.  I have weathered the most magnificent storm my mind could possibly imagine.  He has never left me.  He has guided every step I took.  He has healed my wounds.  He has taught me how to fight.  He has encouraged me to take risks that men in their caves don’t even know exist.  And there ain’t no way I’m going back!

By the way.  His name is Jesus.

Our Personal Altar

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I wrote this in 2012.  By his Grace, my wanderings have brought me back to the spectacular.   May The souls of my brothers find cool water here.

Picture borrowed from http://www.westhighlandbaptistchurch.com/
Jesus, my God and King.  I stop here to lay a white stone on the top of my altar of life.  As a child I started this altar with little balls of mud I rolled in my hands as I encountered the truth of Your Holy ways.  Each little ball  represented a firm truth that was only perceived, not yet learned to live out in my ways.  But each one gave you Glory for Your perfect teachings.

Next came the smooth little pebbles I found on the edge of the River of Life which you took me to go see from time to time.  You let me drink from the edge as was wise according to Your endless wisdom.  Then you drove me back to where You found me to have advanced.  In this You watched to see what I would do with what You had given.

Then You drove me to the edges of that vast desert of life among men.  Walking out a half day’s journey, I received what you offered to prove my heart.  Dryness, loneliness, stark reality appeared before me as a living image of the relationships between man and man, and God and man.  Jagged rocks began to be placed on this altar of Glory to You.

You gave me strength I did have.  You gave the strength of Sampson from time to time.  And I placed immense boulders on the altar as You brought me to them in “The Way”.  You did not let me go around them.  Rather You bid me pick them up and stack them for Your Glory.  Amazement and worship filled me as each bolder of trouble was removed and placed on this Holy testimony to Your eternal love.

And now I reach in my pocket and pull out a smooth white stone.  With loving fingers I place it atop the great and growing pile of worship to You.  Through prayer I let it go to see where it will rest.  Little noises come to my ears as it finds its way to rest amid this pile of testimony.  And I watch it disappear into the pile.  As it became Yours, it now is hidden from sight.  Only You know where it now lay.  And all the more is Your Glory.  For You will testify that it has been laid within the altar which can never be torn down.

Glory is Yours!  For You see what we cannot.  Even the understanding You give us finds its place in our heart.  We perceive where You placed it.  Yet, even as we perceive it the understanding disappears into the man You are causing us to become.  Only You know where it lay.  And on the day You cause us to appear before You, You will expose each response to what You have done.  All Glory is Yours.  And this will be so forever.

These words are Yours.  They come from a servant You have blessed with life.  I testify to man.  But You see the testimony that even Your servant cannot perceive.  Thus all Glory is Yours Forever; and that to the Glory of Your Father who Lives in unapproachable light!  You, Jesus, Son of the Most High God, are worthy of every possible good word.  May all who call on Your Holy Name do so with a trembling soul.  For You are given Immense Beauty from the God of all things.  You are worthy!  And Your worth is stamped with the approval of the Father of Life.  Amen!