Time

Two days ago, Saturday, July 14th, 2012, my daughter's father-in-law was killed in an accident at his home. My son-in-law (and one of my best friends) was only inches from his father when it happened.

These guys were closer than most fathers and sons I know; and both knew of the others thoughts and feelings about the relationship.

As you might imagine, this has caused me to think and reflect deeply.
 The raw and unrefined thoughts that come out of this experience are these:
 Do make time - for the things and people that are important.
Do take time - do what needs to be done, and say what needs to be said.
Don't waste time - you never know when it will run out.

Prose

Below is the first piece of prose I have written...attempting to spark the thought that there just might be a God behind the scenes of our present reality. The people with whom we are connecting do not hold to a high view of Scripture; therefore, I am always looking for a solid philosophical starting point to begin discussions.
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Did Romeo and Juliet know that they were characters in a story conceived in the mind and imagination of someone other than themselves?

And did Sam and Frodo understand that the Shire, and Mordor, and all of Middle Earth were the creation of an author that stood outside the timeline of their actual saga?

Has there ever been a story written in which those within the narrative possessed a consciousness of the one weaving the tale, or had an awareness of the author's intent?

And what about us? It was Shakespeare who said, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."

Could it be that our reality is nothing nothing more and nothing less than a mysteriously hidden playwright's drama unfolding one scene at a time?

And how would we know.....unless - the author invaded his own story,
writing himself into his own production,
revealing himself in the time and space of the plot.

But how strange would that be,
and what would it look like,
and who would believe it?

The Holy Scriptures; the Gospel of John; chapter one - The eternal God became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, the glory of the only begotten of the Father, filled with grace and truth. He was in the world, and though the world was made by him, it did not recognize him. He came to his own, and they did not receive him. But to those who did receive him, who believed on his name, to them gave he power to be called the children of God.

The first poem I ever wrote

Sherri and I had been going to an Open Mic night in our neighborhood for several months, making friends and building relationships with those who regularly attended and performed. I think that it would be safe to say that the vast majority do not share my faith in Christ, and are in fact hostile to their understanding of the Bible and of organized religion. However, the warmth and receptivity of the audience was very engaging, and I found myself desiring to share my life and my heart with them in some creative way.

So, not being able to sing, dance or play an instrument, I turned to the only thing I have some skill with: words. I thought if I could put my "worldview" into poetic form, I could share it from the stage. Below is the first poem that I wrote and performed.

The best time of day I find to be,
the early morning hours, when it's just me,

in the quiet, in the stillness all alone
to imagine the future that is my own.

To imagine the future that just may be
though what a day holds no one can see.

But still I have hope
that I as I devote

myself to this day
I will be able to say

That one more piece of the puzzle meant to be
my life's purpose and destiny

will find its way onto the table,
so that I might be able

to say that my life and my time
here has fallen more in line

with what was his imagination
in the early morning hours of creation.

A Poem called "Stories"

I see my life as a story,
a story whose prologue has been written long ago
by those whose stories came before my story,
whose stories came together to create the setting and compose the introduction to my story.

I see my life as a story,
a story whose chapters are being written now
in connection with those whose stories are unfolding at the same time as my story,
whose stories in which I, in turn, see my story as a chapter.

I see my life as a story,
a story whose epilogue will be written someday
by those whose stories will come after my story,
whose stories in which my story will play a part in their prologue.

I see all lives as stories,
stories being written under the watchful eye of a common editor
who continues to create and compile the grand story that encompasses all stories,
the ultimate story that will take mankind across the line from time into eternity,
the epic story that can only rightly be called, his-story.

If Dr. Suess was one of the 12 disciples

I have often wondered what would have happened if Dr. Suess was one of the 12 disciples. I am quite sure that he would have submitted a Gospel account, at least with his version of the stories and parable that Jesus told.

So, below is my rendition of the Prodigal Son as retold by Dr. Suess:
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Now this is the story of a father with two sons,
both boys seemed grown, but the younger one

possessed little understanding of being a man,
and less of a knowledge of life's overall plan.

So early one morning for the road he came dressed,
and standing before his father he made this request:

"Just give me what's mine of this family's treasure,
for my heart has grown bored here and I'm off to find pleasure

in the world beyond the boundaries of this family's land,
I'm off to find life in whatever's at hand."

So divide the family inheritance is what the father had done
and into the hands of this, his youngest son

was placed a large portion of all the father had won
through his days of toil and labor, under the son.

Soon his journey took the boy to a far distant land,
where before he could stop it the whirlwind began;

food, fame and friends, wine women and song
were there for the asking but only as long

as the money was flowing to cover the bill,
when his pockets ran empty the room quickly grew still.

Soon a famine developed that swept over the land
and with a local pig farmer he hired on as a hand.

In the midst of the squalor his mind began turning
to thoughts of his father and the lessons he was learning.

"My father's servants back home live so much better than this,
oh, what I would not give for his embrace and his kiss.

But it's too late for me for I have squandered his wealth,"
said the young son with great grief, said the young son to himself.

"It was my father's good graces that allowed me to roll
through life's pains and life's struggles, how did I not know?

But I can rise now and return to where I came from
and ask for forgiveness for what I have done,

understanding I've forfeited my rights as a son,
but of the number of his servants, perhaps I could be one."

As he crested the last hill on the long journey home,
what unfolded next he could have never known,

for his father came running with tears in his eyes,
and the younger son's heart was overwhelmed by surprise.

"My son,
I have been watching and waiting with hope in my heart
that one day you'd return and make a fresh start."

"But father,
I've sinned against heaven and I want you to know
that of all that you gave me I have nothing to show;

I no longer deserve to be considered your son,
just call me a servant and all will be done."

The father called instead to his servants with joy,
"Bring a ring and a robe, and some shoes for my boy.

Call a party together so that all may know,
that my son who was lost and who had decided to go

has returned in repentance to where he belonged
and I receive him with gladness, it was for him my heart longed."

Now when the sounds of celebration drifted into the fields
where the older son toiled attempting to yield

a great crop for his father to make his heart proud,
his ears heard the music and the sounds of the crowd.

Now when he came near to the house he asked of a slave,
"Exactly what has happened here to cause my father to rave?"

"It's your brother, he's returned from the far distant land,
and your father's rejoicing for his youngest son is in hand."

Now the older son became angry at the words that he heard
and his spirit grew bitter from what he had learned.

So when his father approached and invited him in,
the older son asked, "When have I not been

by your side day and night as your most faithful son?
Yet when that fool returns I see a party's begun."

"My son,
All I have has been yours from the first day until now,
but with all that has happened I must ask you how

could we not celebrate your brother's return,
when on this day I have finally learned

that my son who was dead is alive again,
so with all my heart I say 'Let the party begin.'"

I have been writing some poetry.... what do you think?

At the close of my life
when the curtain falls,
when the lights go dim
and eternity calls...
my name,

what will I claim?
and on what will I stand,
knowing deep inside
there will be a demand...
to answer,

for the time I have spent
going around the sun,
for the people I've met
as I've done this run...
called life,

can I trust that I'm right
believing that I am good,
thinking I have done
all that I should...
for others,

and can I hope that it covers
the deep sense of shame,
for all of my sin
and for all of the pain...
I've caused?

so, I choose to trust
in a Gospel of grace,
in the work of Christ's cross,
and in a smile on the face...
of Jesus.

They Did Not Believe

At the conclusion of Mark's Gospel (chapter 16), it is recorded that Mary and the disciples to whom Jesus appeared on the road to Emmaus reported to the apostles that Jesus was alive and had appeared to them; yet, they did not believe it.

Then Jesus appears, rebuking them for not believing the report of those who had experienced his resurrection, and proceeds to instruct the disciples to go out and preach the Gospel to the world -- apparently expecting people to believe that which they did not believe upon first hearing it.

How could they expect that anyone would accept their witness when they had not accepted the report that came to them? Likewise, how can I expect anyone to believe my witness to the lordship of Jesus as confirmed by his resurrection if even those who walked with Jesus did not believe until they saw him in the flesh?

I wonder what the coming of the Spirit, and the subsequent ministry of the Spirit as described by Jesus, has to do with this issue of people accepting the witness concerning Jesus? Could it be that this portion of the Gospel record is given to reveal that the coming and ministry of the Spirit is the critical element in the establishing of the Kingdom of God?

Was it the lack of the anointing/presence of the Spirit of God on those reporting the truth or the lack of the activity of the Spirit on those hearing the witness that was the deciding factor? Or was it both?

I imagine that the Spirit's involvement on both sides is crucial. I also imagine that this should shape my prayer and intercession for those to whom I am communicating the Gospel.