Let's Make A Deal

 We want something for something,

a deal whose outcome we can see,

but in this want we dare to fling

aside the gift, obtained for free,

held out to us in nail-scarred Hand,

held out to us with trembling Smile,

and still we cannot understand 

that there's no agenda, guile,

or any condition that is hidden,

a bondage to which we need submit,

obligation to we are bidden

except to give our heart to it,

the Love our Saviour wants to give,

and an eternal life to live.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is PRESERVE.

We think we can preserve our dreams

in the aspic of our labout,

and it truly often seems

that God looks on our work with favour,

and self-assurance comes thereby,

pride in our exalted state,

and we see no reason why

we should not leap from good to great,

but we see blessing where there's chance,

and in good luck see His approval

when He would rather circumstance 

would guide us to the quick removal

of the haughty beam that's in our eye

ere it comes our time to die.

Four minutes thirty and a bit. Slow, but I made it!

Sylvia likes free stuff, especially if it's ice cream.

A Bit Of Humour (Tell His Story)

 

It's been a really rough week. I need a laugh. How about you?

How did Jesus keep track of His Apostles and disciples?

He used an evangel-list.

After Jesus renamed Simon, did He hum the theme from 'Rocky' whenever Peter entered the room?

What are Jesus' favourite karate moves?

Lamb chops.

When Jesus cleansed the temple, did the merchants and moneychangers get Lambinated?

Sylvia's groaning. But I had fun.

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My Wife The Build-A-Bear

 My wife has so many skills,

juggles crises with great care

soothing church and workplace ills...

Barbara is a Build-A-Bear!

She updates software in her mind,

then passes fixes to IT.

To troubled colleagues she is kind,

good example for the world to see.

She segues to another role

so seamlessly, with a bright smile 

to keep all functional and whole 

in grace and love and peace and style,

and when at last her day is done,

she's everything to everyone.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is YOUTH.

Forever young is what I'll be,

no point in any other choice.

Pull up a chair and you will see

it in my dancing feet and voice,

'cause growing up is just a bummer,

encroaching on adulting turf.

For me it's always endless summer,

on the beachy road to surf

at Rincon and at Malibu,

point break up at Coal Oil Point,

and if I run into you,

I'll offer up a Maui joint

so we can stay high, young, and strong,

and live our lives all summer long.

Three minutes, and that flowed. Scary.

But, for the record, I don't smoke weed. Never did. The smell makes me puke.

She's certainly everything to Sylvia. And me.

Render Unto Caesar (Tell His Story)

 When I think about rendering unto Caesar that which is Caesar's, I usually think, painfully, of taxes.

But there's another instance in which we owe Caesar something.

Our vote.

If I enjoy the fruits of the society in which I live, like, say, paved roads, I am participating.

And the price for participation is, well... participation.

Guess that's why they call it a civic duty.

We are, after all, privileged to have a say when so many don't, and that confers a larger responsibility, to make one's vote count.

Don't waste it on a candidate who simply can't win. A symbolic vote is actually a vote for one's own pride, the I Know Better voice.

Maybe the candidates are all crooks and crackpots, but you've got to believe that one of them may be less awful than the other.

If you can't see that, educate yourself more deeply.

And maybe next go-round, you can run for office yourself.

Sylvia's not old enough to vote, and glad of it.

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Meanings

 

It's hard to focus on reading these days, and even harder to watch a movie. I wondered why...is my brain, in some way, going? (Some would say it's long since gone, but, well...uh, maybe.)

A possible answer is this, that I have at last stopped trying to find meaning and purpose in the things I do. I just do them, as carefully and well as I can, and let them go. It leaves an emptiness that is at the same time full and vibrant.

It's not a zin and yang thing. It's not even a thing. It is, and in being, is not.

No, I did not eat a Zen monk for breakfast. Now, stop that!

I'm not sure why I'm trying to describe this, give form to the most insubstantial ephemera. Perhaps it's to say that if you know someone who is hopelessly sick, and that person seems to be drifting away, it's not necessarily a cause for concern, a sign of indifference or an acceptance of defeat.

It may simply be an unburdening.

When meaning has no meaning,

and the future has no face,

it's funny, sometimes, seeming

that I am lost in space,

drifting down the halls of time

with nothing left to do 

except post the occasional rhyme,

and soon that will be through.

But there is nothing sad in this,

no sense of some great tragedy,

and in the messages I miss

there is a boon for me,

that my soul, now made so light,

will transcend the fall of night.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is HISTORY.

To some it might be mystery,

that somehow I had lost the toss

and have no use for history,

but really, that is not a loss,

for the past is anchor fouled

in the coral, a tropic gaol

that by nature is be-troweled

by cement that halts the fullest sail.

Best to run before the wind,

skating past the rocks and shoals,

eyes ahead, though we have sinned,

perhaps, in all our chosen goals,

but on we run free anyway 

to meet the sea, and the new day.

Four minutes thirty. Had a few words that didn't mesh.

Sylvia would eat a Zen monk, if he were made of ice cream.

Dare To Compare? (Tell His Story)

 

 

One of the reasons I'm really glad the Olympics are over is that the temptation to comparison is gone.

So many ads showing The Good Life, do much fawning over athletes and celebrities...my life felt kinda grubby in comparison, very much thrift store (where we do find some pretty cool stuff).

The worse the cancer gets, the easier it is to put comparison aside, though 

 That's something, I guess, but when you feel yourself drifting away from the human race, it may not be a good thing.

What about you? How do you get past the societal pressure for comparison?

Sylvia doesn't have a problem. She figures everyone compares themselves to her, and comes up short.

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Hospitals In Heaven

The angels came, and it was kinda like that scene from Ghost, where Patrick Swayze gets carried up to Heaven by a lot of twinkly lights.

Only in real life it was brighter and warmer and wilder, a tsunami of Love.

And neither Demi Moore nor Whoopi Goldberg were there.

But Tashka' was.

And now there are some pretty beat-up angels in Heaven. Tashka' will be glad to sign their casts.

 

Today seemed like the days before,

short on breath and long on pain,

and then there opened up a door,

and down to me the angels came,

lifting me in love and light

away from all that lay beneath,

but Shepherd Tashka' chose to fight 

with booming voice and snapping teeth,

wading in, giant awoken,

not about to let me go,

and the uplift then was broken 

and it was thus mine to know 

that while God may make His plans,

down here I am in Tashka's hands.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is USUALLY.

Usually you get a dog,

and he is an amiable sort,

wandering 'round in canine fog 

without a new thing to report,

but Tashka' comes from older blood,

a Turkish Shepherd bred to guard,

and he does just what he should 

even when the doing's hard.

He keeps his watch on me at night 

so Belle the Wolf can get some sleep,

and if God comes he's gonna fight 

because it is his job to keep

me safe and sound 'neath his command,

regardless of what God has planned.

Three minutes thirty or so.

The only fitting musical tribute is Autumn Rain covering AC/DC's Thunderstruck 

The video is awesome!

Sylvia likes having muscle around.