When “Impossible” Arrives


The Lord will move a mountain for the one who is ever thirsty.  

Though he is in the desert of deprivation, God will bring the streams of heaven to encompass his encampment.  


Every day the man’s feet took him where he did not want to go, until the man thought he had no choice.  


Every day the man cried out for help.  


—–


The Lord has heard his prayer.  


With the strength of his great sacrifice, the mountain is moved to the man.  


“This far you shall come and no more. See, I have set a restraining upon you; as a man will halter horse, so I have blessed you with restraint.”


Victory comes when the man least expects.  


Only let him continue to call for help.  


Let him prove his desire to betray his own flesh.  


Even as his flesh betrayed him.  


God will move when the wisdom of heaven allows.  


When his strength has arrived, all is well.  


Now he worships like the 10th leper.  


The impossible has come like warm clothing in the winter.  


Believe and live.  

Storm


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.

Juxtaposition


How I find my soul longing, from time to time, for the place where the following is not:

The torrent of vulgarities, Lies, hatred, violence, wickedness in all its various forms, Godless gods worshipped by empty Souls, the flood of Sorrow we own from the day we are born, the Hopeless fear of loneliness, the endless oppression of weakness, the constant and frantic gathering for those things we should not have, the ceaseless grappling for knowledge, etc.

In the place I am desiring, all that is good thrives and grows.  In the place I am presently living, everything that is good is referred to as a shame.   The diligent receive vulgar labels.  The unrighteous are heralded as icons of maturity.

I long for a rain of righteous words.  I search for a field of beings whose pure smiles are full of endless Joy.  Here we pay dearly for a simple friendly embrace.  But in this place I have heard of, friendship never ceases.

Here they love you as long as you are profitable.  But love in the place of my heart has no measure or monetary value.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn to months, months turn into years and  years turn to decades; where the lack of Love begins to wear down the mind.

Let hatred die, as surely it must.  Let the despising isolation fade Into Oblivion.  Let the race for pride fall in mid gait. 

Come Lord Jesus!

Talk About My Dog


People ask me what kind of dog I have in the truck.  I tell them it’s a hairy dog that sheds.  But how I would love to tell them what I’m really thinking.

“Why do you ask me what kind of dog it is?  I think it’s visually obvious.  It’s a dog with a hairy body.  That’s what kind of dog it is.”

What they want to do is strike up a conversation with the owner of the dog.  Got it.  But why can’t we talk about things that really matter?

I’m not into social competition.  BECAUSE: No matter what I say, someone’s bound to judge me.  If I do drugs, the druggies love me, but the straight folks despise me.  If I’m a straight dude the druggies hate me.

If I say something vile, the vile will love me.  If I keep my mouth separate for pure words, the vile despise me.  And often times before I open my mouth I am hated simply because I exist.

The question about the dog has to do with competition.  If the dog is of “special” breed then the conversation is noteworthy and admirable.  But if its just a hairy dog that sheds, there is no value to the conversation at all.  The speaker goes away empty-handed and disillusioned.  The people aren’t interested in me.  They’re searching for noteworthy information.

This is true with everything that man has or doesn’t have.  This is why I am not into social competition, and I sincerely prefer to speak of heaven and the Holy Son of the Living God.  But no one asks me, “What kind of God do you worship”.

The funny thing is, apparently no one but me even thinks about this.  Really, is it funny?

Worthless Parents


Sin is born of chaos and ignorance.  Chaos is the careless mother who dropped her child on the way.  And ignorance is the worthless father who does as he pleases regardless the needs of his children.

Every man is born of these.  But Christ offers adoption into a Holy, righteous, faithful, loving, and eternal family.  Within this family there is opportunity to learn what is true.  Within this family there is forgiveness and grace to accomplish Life.

Are you tired of your sick and worthless old mother?  Are you weary of wondering where your father is?

Chaos and ignorance have nothing to offer anyone.  They simply produce and abandon.  But if you want salvation from worthlessness, cry out to the Living God in the name of Christ Jesus.

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