Let me begin by wishing everyone a very merry Christmas. And since it is Christmas, how can I not write something about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Throughout His life Jesus gave many examples of how we are to live. He taught us love, forgiveness, redemption and ultimate sacrifice. But there is a lesson he taught us even at birth that we don't talk a great deal about. Humility. The Son of God, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, and here he was, born in a barn, wrapped in strips of cloth, surrounded by farm animals. He was the epitome of humility at birth, and at death. So as we move forward, as we try to be more like Him and less like us, remember in all things to be humble.
Often I find myself thinking about life and all the little lessons we learn or ignore until we are forced to learn. I thought about how we are all family, whether by blood, friendship, or mere acquaintance. In some form or fashion we are all connected. We all serve a purpose in God's plan. Even those that refuse to accept Him, serve in His purpose. The people who come into your life, whether long term or just momentarily, serve a purpose. The coworker you can't seem to make yourself like. The neighbor that makes you want to slap the devil out of him, or her. The rude cashiers, maniac drivers and everyone else that annoy you to no end. They all serve a purpose in your life. So the next time one of these people crosses your path, remind yourself that they are just serving a purpose. Nothing comes into your life by chance. All things are purposed by Him. "But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also." Matthew 5:39. Humility.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Prodigal Son
There are times in my life when I feel so close to Christ it's as if I can reach out and touch Him. It is an incredible feeling when you feel His presence. Conversely, there are times in my life when I allow the carnal man in me to take control. Then, I feel so far from Him that I actually feel lost. I go through much of my day feeling empty. Feeling like I am just going through the motions in every aspect of my life.
In the midst of all of my mess, in the midst of all of my sins, before I am too far gone, I can somehow hear His voice. I can feel my spirit fill with joy. Softly and without condemnation, He calls me. He forgives me. He reminds me how much He suffered for me, not to fill me with guilt, but to let me know that after all He did to reconcile me, He would never give up on me. He would never stop loving me. And if He had to, He would go to the cross all over again. For me..... For me..... For me. Seems as if during these times, He pours out more of His love. "Love covers a multitude of sins." His love covers all of my sins. Sometimes I too wonder, "Who am I, Lord, that thou art mindful of me"? Who am I that I have found favor in You?
Luke 15:11-32 (King James Version) 11And he said, A certain man had two sons: 12And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living.13And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living.14And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want.15And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine.16And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him.17And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!18I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee,19And am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.20And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.21And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.22But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet:23And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry:24For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.25Now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing.26And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant.27And he said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound.28And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and intreated him.29And he answering said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment: and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends:30But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf.31And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine.32It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
I Love To Write
I love to write
Could write all day.
Would keep on writing
When there's nothing to say.
My mind is a racetrack
With thoughts zooming by
Too fast to capture,
But I try.....and try.
There goes another thought.
Where's my paper and pen?
I start to write,
But it's too late by then.
It'll come back.
Play the waiting game.
Okay there it is.
Hmmm, it's not the same.
Aaah forget it
I'll write something else instead
Is there a tape recorder
I can put in my head?
Cause I can't keep up
No, it's not fair
I reach out to grab one
It's no longer there
I could sit here chasing thoughts
Well into the night
There's no point to this poem
I just love to write.
A Burden Lifted
Ten years ago my father went into the hospital for what was to be a routine bypass procedure. He had been in there for about a week leading up to the procedure. This time of year my workload increases tremendously. I was not able to make it up to the hospital to see him. I made it a point to get there as quickly as possible on the day of his surgery. I arrived at the hospital around 7 that evening thinking I would be able to spend some time with him. He was still in surgery. Complications. Very nervous. He should have been out of surgery hours ago. The doctor came in and explained to us that there were some complications, but he pulled through just fine. I went in to see him and was stunned. I could barely recognize him. His face was so swollen. He was still under anesthesia, or so we thought. He would be in this state for weeks, only opening his eyes once or twice just long enough for my mother to say a few words to him.
I remember sitting with him one evening, praying to God to make everything alright. At some point I could hear the voice of God telling me that my father would be okay. I knew it was God because with it came an incredible sense of peace. I felt so much relief. Another week or so, organs had begun to fail. Despite the sadness I felt trying to creep in, I held on to the promise that God had made to me. My thoughts about my father were still child like. My father was invincible. The thought of him ever dying was just not possible. Besides, I still had God's word that all would be okay.
January 8, 2001, God had called my father home. My entire world had come crashing in. I had never felt so much pain in my entire life. This could not be happening. I had God's word. He would not go back on His word. HE COULD NOT GO BACK ON HIS WORD!!!!! Maybe it wasn't God that I had heard. Maybe it was just me not wanting to accept what was the inevitable. I questioned God. Why? Being caught up in the emotion, I did not pay attention to what God had told me. He never told me that my father would live. He told me that he would be okay. The apostle Paul said in 2Corinthians 5, 6Therefore we are always confident, knowing that, whilst we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord: 7(For we walk by faith, not by sight:)8We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord. So, in fact, my father was better than okay. He was with the Lord. Yet while the spiritual man in me had come to accept this, the natural man wouldn't. Soon my hurt had turned to guilt. I thought about not going to see my father while he was in the hospital waiting for the surgery. I thought about not being able to tell him all the things that I had never taken the time to tell him. I felt I had let him down. When he needed me to be there for him the most, I was not there. I was consumed by guilt, overwhelmed by sorrow. My heart ached like nothing I had ever known.
I kept my feelings of guilt to myself.
January, 2003, I had hurt my back on the job. The doctor thought that I would not be able to go back to doing my job. While going through treatment, I had to face the possibility of having to find some other line of work. Not now. I had too much time invested. Too old to start over. What was I going to do? Can't worry about it now. I figured I would cross that bridge when I got to it. In the midst of this, my mother had been admitted into the hospital. She was having heart trouble. For the next five months she would be there. The bad back turned out to be a blessing. I was able to spend more time with my mother during those five months than I had spent with her over the previous five years. There were so many things that my mom would share with me. Despite the circumstances, I enjoyed being there with her. Some times I would go and just watch her sleep. Some times I would go and she would watch me sleep. During all of these heart to heart talks with her, I could never tell her about the guilt I was still feeling. Somehow, deep down inside, I knew my mother would not live much longer. Based on conversations we had before she had fallen ill, I knew she did not want to live. She missed my father too much. She was tired. Tired of living. Tired of seeing so much death.
Even though I knew what I knew, I was at peace with it. I just wanted to spend as much time with my mom as I could. Although I had not told her of the guilt I felt about my dad, I think she could sense it. Shortly before she passed, she told me how much my father loved me and how he was so proud of me. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted. I was free from my burden, though self imposed. My father knew how much I loved him. My mother knew how much I loved her. I miss them both, still. But knowing that my parents were both proud of me overshadows the sadness. The child in me rejoices. There is nothing that a child wants more than the approval of has parents. The man in me continues to strive to be the kind of man that would make them proud.
I remember sitting with him one evening, praying to God to make everything alright. At some point I could hear the voice of God telling me that my father would be okay. I knew it was God because with it came an incredible sense of peace. I felt so much relief. Another week or so, organs had begun to fail. Despite the sadness I felt trying to creep in, I held on to the promise that God had made to me. My thoughts about my father were still child like. My father was invincible. The thought of him ever dying was just not possible. Besides, I still had God's word that all would be okay.
January 8, 2001, God had called my father home. My entire world had come crashing in. I had never felt so much pain in my entire life. This could not be happening. I had God's word. He would not go back on His word. HE COULD NOT GO BACK ON HIS WORD!!!!! Maybe it wasn't God that I had heard. Maybe it was just me not wanting to accept what was the inevitable. I questioned God. Why? Being caught up in the emotion, I did not pay attention to what God had told me. He never told me that my father would live. He told me that he would be okay. The apostle Paul said in 2Corinthians 5, 6Therefore we are always confident, knowing that, whilst we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord: 7(For we walk by faith, not by sight:)8We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord. So, in fact, my father was better than okay. He was with the Lord. Yet while the spiritual man in me had come to accept this, the natural man wouldn't. Soon my hurt had turned to guilt. I thought about not going to see my father while he was in the hospital waiting for the surgery. I thought about not being able to tell him all the things that I had never taken the time to tell him. I felt I had let him down. When he needed me to be there for him the most, I was not there. I was consumed by guilt, overwhelmed by sorrow. My heart ached like nothing I had ever known.
I kept my feelings of guilt to myself.
January, 2003, I had hurt my back on the job. The doctor thought that I would not be able to go back to doing my job. While going through treatment, I had to face the possibility of having to find some other line of work. Not now. I had too much time invested. Too old to start over. What was I going to do? Can't worry about it now. I figured I would cross that bridge when I got to it. In the midst of this, my mother had been admitted into the hospital. She was having heart trouble. For the next five months she would be there. The bad back turned out to be a blessing. I was able to spend more time with my mother during those five months than I had spent with her over the previous five years. There were so many things that my mom would share with me. Despite the circumstances, I enjoyed being there with her. Some times I would go and just watch her sleep. Some times I would go and she would watch me sleep. During all of these heart to heart talks with her, I could never tell her about the guilt I was still feeling. Somehow, deep down inside, I knew my mother would not live much longer. Based on conversations we had before she had fallen ill, I knew she did not want to live. She missed my father too much. She was tired. Tired of living. Tired of seeing so much death.
Even though I knew what I knew, I was at peace with it. I just wanted to spend as much time with my mom as I could. Although I had not told her of the guilt I felt about my dad, I think she could sense it. Shortly before she passed, she told me how much my father loved me and how he was so proud of me. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted. I was free from my burden, though self imposed. My father knew how much I loved him. My mother knew how much I loved her. I miss them both, still. But knowing that my parents were both proud of me overshadows the sadness. The child in me rejoices. There is nothing that a child wants more than the approval of has parents. The man in me continues to strive to be the kind of man that would make them proud.
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