Saw a programme during the night on Trinity Boradcasting, about how we are supposed to use our talents. It kind of set me back. Here, where it's too late to make a difference, I can't say that I did. (The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is where.)
In the end it's all ephemeral,
the stuff I try to write.
not part of the eternal
not fit for Heaven's sight.
I reach for something vital,
my reach is far too short;
I cannot claim the title
of grace, so, thus, abort
pretensions to a grandeur
assumptions of a place
of discourse with the Saviour
when I can't see His face.
Abandon, now, the author's bleat
and quiet, now, the fool's conceit.
(Postscript - added Friday, February 1, 2019)
All the above is true, but it's also so very, very wrong. There's a ind of grace in looking honestly at one's failings, but that grace is only valid when one views them in the light of success, of having done one's best.
It's all about chiaroscuro, the visual interplay where life is defined by light and shadow. Shadow alone is ultimately meaningless, and light alone is, to our eyes, incomprehensible.
And when we get to Heaven
the shadows fall away
and God our eyes will leaven
to partake Eternal Day.
Music from Johnny Mathis, with I'm Coming Home.
Thanks to Carol Ashby, Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart is back on Kindle, and will be available in paperback soon.
Friends are everything. I couldn't have done it.