The Whole Point Of Hope

I have projects that I'm very unlikely to live to complete.

They're long-term, physically gruelling, and looking at where I am, where cancer is...well, it's not going to happen. Walking up three steps from the porch to the front door is a challenge...and he wants to build an aeroplane...and fly it.

Yeah, well.

But I'll keep going. Not so much in the hope that maybe God will heal me, maybe maybe maybe...but more in the hope that I can be a man about all this, and not simply yield to fate.

There's more to life than palliative care, more than a drugged descent into degradation.

Not because 'maybe'.

Because definitely.

I can die facing forward.

Die like a man.

 The point of hope is not denial,

I hope you understand.

Its purpose is to wear a smile,

and dying, play the man

with a bright and cheerful face,

with work of sternest discipline,

for it is thus that our Lord's grace

empowers us to win

the laurels becoming golden crown

when we pass through Heaven's gate,

and though it tempts to wear a frown

in facing Earthly fate,

just think ahead, and look to see

the future of your victory.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is ACCUMULATE.

I'd like to gather up God's grace,

accumulate it, all in bags

so that it would not share its space

with my virtues, filthy rags,

but that's just not how this thing works,

God's big thing is healing hurt,

and He spends His Love on jerks

like me, who wallow in the dirt

like pigs so happy in the pen 

(no, they do not want a bat Andh!),

but this is now and that was then

and this will be my epitaph:

Clean me up, God, as You could,

but let me still smell my old mud.

And if anyone read my comment on the Five Minute Friday link for this week, here's a picture of Barb's Flying V tenor ukulele, in progress.

Golden crown and ICE CREAM, says Sylvia.

But no mud.

Psalm 4 - Silently Calling To God ((Tell His Story)

 For the director of music,  with stringed instruments.

A psalm of David.

1 Answer me when I call to you,

    my righteous God.

Give me relief from my distress;

    have mercy on me and hear my prayer.

2 How long will you people turn my glory into shame?

    How long will you love delusions and seek false gods?

3 Know that the Lord has set apart his faithful servant for himself;

    the Lord hears when I call to him.

4 Tremble and do not sin;

    when you are on your beds,

    search your hearts and be silent.

5 Offer the sacrifices of the righteous

    and trust in the Lord.

6 Many, Lord, are asking, “Who will bring us prosperity?”

    Let the light of your face shine on us.

7 Fill my heart with joy

    when their grain and new wine abound.

8 In peace I will lie down and sleep,

    for you alone, Lord,

    make me dwell in safety.

There's a story about two priests who were at seminary together, Fathers Ryan and O'Rourke.

Father O'Rourke spent almost all his free time in prayer, beseeching God for wisdom and discernment. He served for years as a parish priest, but always asked God for a way ahead, to rise in the church hierarchy.

Father Ryan did the obligatory prayers, but enjoyed a game of golf, a drink, and the fellowship of his parishioners. He became a monsignor, then a bishop, then an archbishop, and was finally elected to the College of Cardinals.

Father O'Rourke felt a bit put off.

"God, I have spent literally years on my knees, asking ceaselessly for Your favour. And yet...Father Ryan has risen far past where I can now go. Why, God? Why him, and not me?"

And God answered, " Because Ryan wasn't always bugging Me!"

For some reason, Psalm 4 reminds me of the song 'Flowers', by Samantha Ebert.

Sylvia likes quiet meditative prayer.

With ice cream.

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Not Sure I Can Keep This Up

 

Had a fall over the last weekend, landed on the eraser end of a pencil and drove it into my temple, a depressed skull fracture but not bad enough for trephine.

Still, it could have been worse. I could have landed on the sharpened point, driven it further in, and Barb would have had a neat picture for Facebook.

It's very hard to write. I hope that passes, but if not, well, it'll be adios.

Que será, será,

whatever will be, will be

it could be fine, or blah,

so I guess we'll see.

There might be another chance,

or maybe it's time to go

with tears and a backwards glance,

I guess soon we'll know.

But if I have to go away

and leave all this in the past,

please let me right now say

that I've had a blast

and count myself richer than any king;

I would not change a thing.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is PERCEPTION.

Perception is a fleeting thing,

not substantive at all,

and to it circumstance may bring

harsh changes, from a fall,

and now my world's an altered place

that spins at a mad tilt,

and I must offer myself grace

and see myself rebuilt 

in body, mind, immortal soul,

to find a way ahead,

a road on which I may be whole 

and live in hope, not dread,

for the closing of one door 

may open many, many more.

That took more than five minutes. Words are hard to catch, fractious squirrels dashing through the shadowed thickets of my mind.

Sylvia prescribes ice cream. Eat enough, and I'll be fine.

Psalm 3 - Leaning Into God (Tell His Story)

1  Lord, how are they increased that trouble me! many are they that rise up against me.

2 Many there be which say of my soul, There is no help for him in God. Selah.

3 But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head.

4 I cried unto the Lord with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill. Selah.

5 I laid me down and slept; I awaked; for the Lord sustained me.

6 I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people, that have set themselves against me round about.

7 Arise, O Lord; save me, O my God: for thou hast smitten all mine enemies upon the cheek bone; thou hast broken the teeth of the ungodly.

8 Salvation belongeth unto the Lord: thy blessing is upon thy people. Selah.

King David had a really dysfunctional family he wrote Psalm 3 when forced to flee from Jerusalem to escape Absalom...his son.

But he recognized that God was his REAL family, and leaned into God's strength for his needs and rescue.

How are you doing that today?

The original meaning of the word 'selah' is unknown; it's taken to be a musical break in rhythm, or, here, a pause for meditation.

  Sylvia feels beset when she doesn't have ice cream, but God always provides.

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So God Sent An Ant

 An ant carried a popcorn piece 

('twas much bigger than he),

and as I watched I got release 

from what had troubled me,

the thought that aspirations 

had now outstripped my strength,

that these miscalculations 

could not endure at length.

But the ant went out the door 

to cross the vasty yard,

telling me I could do more

although it might be hard

while singing that old glad refrain

that nourished High Hopes in my brain.

And, of course, the song, courtesy Frank Sinatra.

Sylvia has high hopes for more ice cream.

Psalm 2 : Don't P*** Off God And His Boy (Tell His Story)

 

1 Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing?

2 The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the LORD, and against his anointed, saying,

3 Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us.

4 He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh: the Lord shall have them in derision.

5 Then shall he speak unto them in his wrath, and vex them in his sore displeasure.

6 Yet have I set my king upon my holy hill of Zion.

7 I will declare the decree: the LORD hath said unto me, Thou art my Son; this day have I begotten thee.

8 Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession.

9 Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou

 shalt dash them in pieces like a potter's vessel.

10 Be wise now therefore, O ye kings: be

11 Serve the LORD with fear, and rejoice with trembling.

12 Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all they that put their trust in

 him.

This Psalm isn't very subtle. Human bigshots are wanting to cut ties to God, and God's just laughing, because He knows what's coming (and have you ever thought that a laughing God could be scarier than a wrathful one?).

God has a Son, and the Boy is going to judge. He's not coming to give a pass, or relate to the scoffers...and there's no jury of peers.

HE is judge, jury, and executioner.

And once He's done with the kings and presidents and prine ministers, He'll turn His attention to those who seek to rule their own souls.

People like us.

Sylvia, being a dog, has already surrendered her heart and soul for ice cream, which, she is sure, comes from the Lord.

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King Of The Yellow Brick Road

 Man, it's gotten brutal,

this Symphony Of Pain,

and though it might seem futile,

I'd do it all again 

to grow past that old carnal man

into what today is me,

though what, exactly, I now am

is just a great bright mystery,

but the puzzle has an answer 

that I don't need to know,

as arm in arm with my friend cancer

down the road I go

skipping over yellow bricks,

once the reigning King Of Pricks.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is PERHAPS.

Perhaps I shall not die today,

or perhaps I will.

Perhaps cancer will have its way,

perhaps I'll be here still 

to endure until the sun

rests behind the hills;

not up to me, but to the One

Who in His Heaven wills

the parsing of our every hour

to form that which is best.

I am not angry, bitter, sour

that I must face this test,

but stand contented in the trust 

that I serve a God who's just.

Sylvia says I stopped being a prick when I learned to share ice cream. 

Psalm 1: It's Not The Company You Keep (Tell His Story)

 1 Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.

2 But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night.

3 And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.

4 The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away.

5 Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous.

6 For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish.

This is a little surprising on a quick read, because, after all, didn't Jesus spend time with some of the worst sinners around? We're supposed to be like Christ, but hey, here's the Psalmist telling us to not walk with the ungodly, stand with sinners, or sit with the scornful.

Well, not quite. Look how it's phrased.

We shouldn't walk in the counsel of the ungodly...in other words, don't let them read the map to you.

Don't stand in the way of sinners really means don't be 'like' them. Don't imitate them, even if they're cool.

And since hospitality is defined by the dude sitting at the head of the table, so too is scorn. Taking that seat defines you.

So as long as you're grounded in The Word, you don't have to flee the sinners (you are one too, of course, but you don't... I hope... happily wallow in that role) or the unrighteous. You can be a lens of Grace for them.

Of course, if you feel tempted to their sins, to their mockery...then, yeah, run.

Fast.

Sylvia will run interference for you. She's only tempted by ice cream.

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Freedom!

Soft pretzel time for Peanut.

Freedom is a brand-new home,

with my human near.

No longer do I have to roam

the streets in pain and fear.

Freedom is my spacious crate

in which I get my food

which is always really great

(those French Fries sure are good!).

Freedom is my doggy friends

with whom I chase and run,

a play-date that just never ends,

and every day is full of fun

since arrival at this awesome place

to which now's added PEANUT GRACE!

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is TRANSFORM.

I sure am not Optimus Prime;

I'm really more like Bumblebee,

but I transformed on God's owndime

into another, better me.

Last week life was on repeat,

cancer this and cancer that

to a lugubrious beat

that left living really flat,

and so Bull took me by the horns,

twisted my head to look away

from my boring crown of thorns

into a new and brighter day,

and I bet that God's joy is full

that He has just been nicknamed 'Bull'.

Sylvia approves, but still won't share her ice cream.

 

Really Tired (Tell His Story)

 

Guys, I am really tired, don't know what to say. Please link up, and maybe I can offer more next week?

Meanwhile, here's a quote from Gilda Radner.

"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next."

Have to confess that I edited the quote by leaving off the last words, "Delicious ambiguity." To me, it's not delicious. It's just life.

Sylvia says hi.

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