What Do You Rxpect?


The religion of the world worships in a temple.  It lay on the sand of ignorance, but temple was built with two materials. One material is expectations. The other material is assuming.  

Here’s the question. Is the temple made of expectations or is it the foundation? Or is the temple made of assuming and the foundation is expectations?


This is not a “chicken or egg” debate. I am personally very curious about the matter. 


Because if the foundation of world religion is expectations, I simply close my ears. But if the foundation is built on assuming, then I can expect that everything I am will be dragged through the mud of suspicion long before I am excepted on any level.


Don’t think the Christian Church is exempt from this trouble.


P. S.  

Expectations are often written down as rules and regulations.

Assuming is a pure derivative of opinion.

“I Believe”, by Brooks & Dunn


​I was happily listening to Brooks and Dunn sing the song “I Believe”.   I love the story about the old man.  I love the story of how the young man took the news of the old man’s death; “I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh”.
     Then the lyrics come what my soul has had trouble with in the past.  I know the words are coming, and so I overlook them.  But today they disturbed  my peaceful mood.  The singer says, “I can’t quote the words, the chapter or the verse”.
     Here’s the rub:  Well why didn’t you look into it before you wrote the lyrics!
     The world always takes as much of Jesus as it wants to.  It knows what makes money, and what doesn’t.  If he had completed the lyrics to that song with a passion for Jesus, I doubt the song would have sold as much.
     That just rubs my soul!  Because the people who love that song likely agree with him.  And because they sing the lyrics they think they have something.

Enough said I suppose.

The Legend Waits


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.

Sorrow


​Wisdom of “The Pace”

Fills the hearts of most who race.
Measuring their stride:

With wisdom, most preside,
Over all of life’s demands;

With sobriety command,
The weary and the grand

Requirements of the Race. 
For me it is not so.

I dearly wish it were, 

Though.
For what I do is sprinting, resting,

Through the marathon of life.
The finish line.

Where are you now?
That lovely place,

Where my soul will bow.
Please break from your tethers.

Come meet me in the “Now”.
Arise and cease this music;

An errant putrid song,
That seems to be the only noise

Of my strings against the thongs.
Oh, how I strive to limit burden!

Only adding to the weight.
To offer sweetness as desert,

But filling up their plate!
The marks of feet upon the ground

Belong to errant soles, I found.
Old dust, I rose, come cover me.

Oh, “Finish Line” sublime!

Artist Wanted


I want to put a full color decal across the tailgate of my F-150.  The theme would be “think eternity”.

I can’t draw and I don’t have an artistic mind.  So I need some help.

I’m looking for something that is extremely thought-provoking, colorful yet tasteful, and honoring to our God. I might be interested in a line art mural. But I have in mind digital art display.

Please leave a comment here if you can help.

Thanks folks.

To Desolve an Impasse


I am so consumed with the things of God and eternal life for all men that I cannot compete in the expectations of the world.  Likewise, however, the world is consumed with its own expectations so that it cannot compete in the things of God.  Thus an impasse.

Because of the lovely blessings of God I cannot go to the world’s ways.  And because of their perverted definition of the word love, the world cannot come to God’s ways.  God’s love constrains me.  Man’s pride constrains them.

One of the rules of man’s pride is civility.  Because of this rule, they retain me in the social position of my birth.  But they have no regard for my open love for The God who is saving me.  I cannot hold this against anyone, for wasn’t I just like them.  But how shall this impasse the broken?

It needs first to be said that the pride of man will find an end in the grave, while the love of God goes on forever.  But this cannot be an acceptable break in the impasse, while God and myself (Because of his love for me) desires so many to be with us in Paradise.

Jesus told us that many are called but few are chosen.  “But no my Lord, they will surely die.  Truly, can nothing more be done to save their souls from your promised destruction?”  Yet does he not desire willing hearts to love him?  Thus the impasse continues.

Speak, lead, display, love, and groom.  Who knows, perhaps they will see and live.  How many of the Israelites that were released from bondage in Egypt entered into the Promised Land?   Though they saw magnificent sights, heard wondrous thundering sounds, ate of Mana, and enjoyed such marvelous blessings, still they all died apart from the promise.  The impasse holds little hope of rending here.

Yet what other hope is there?  The Living God cannot allow rebellion and pride into eternity.  And no member of The Eternity desires that God should forsake purity.  No, rebelion belongs destroyed.  And pride must be crushed, eternally reduced to nothing.

I surmise that the impasse belongs to Man.  It is man who demands to have his own way honored by the Living God.  Yet it is God who sent his only Son to be murdered for the sake of Man’s salvation.  Yes, the impasse belongs to man.

I love my brother’s of Flesh.  I do not want to see them destroyed.  But the choice is not mine, is it.

Since God in me is contemptible by those who know me, it is given to me to write.  Doesn’t familiarity breed contempt?  “We know where this man is from.  We know what a fool he has been.  How can he now think he knows God better than we?  How does he dare presume to teach us!”  And so pride loves contempt in the presence of familiarity.  (and by their contempt they prove they do not know God)

There is so much to say.  But I confess my writing is somewhat curtailed for the lack of apparent audience, why speak if no one listens.  I imagine that I could well have written twice this blog’s volume of words, if only I had perceived that some benefited.   But don’t statistics defy imagination?  Almost seven years of writing have produced a virtual flat-line statistical range.  Perhaps you can see why I have wondered about the productivity of his words in me.

Please don’t misunderstand me, I am not complaining for a lack of audience.  I simply see a lack of inspiration to increase the pace of this work.  Yet isn’t that lack within me.  And isn’t it then my duty to seek out inspiration from my God?

By his grace I will find the strength to write.  For haven’t I determined here that there is no other means to break the impasse?

There is an article I was allowed to write two or three years ago called “The Craftsman”.  No, I haven’t forgotten it’s premise.  It is impossible to forget something that is with you everyday.