The Year Ahead

From what I have seen on social media, it's Goodbye, 2021, And Good Riddance.

So sad, for there WAS good in the year to which agendas blinded so many...and so many others felt powerless against a rising tide of hate, lies, and pride.

But the thing is, we're not irrelevant. We can set an example, and although we may never see it's effect in this world, we can know that we're being faithful to God in our every ordinary moments.

That's both enough, and required.

 We curse the year that's left behind

and fear what lies ahead,

and thus we wander, oh, so blind

to grace that we ain't dead,

for here we still have hope to alter

all of that which pricks, besieges,

if we let not courage falter

in temptation to what eases

grave concern and itching fear

that we might just be reduced

in the misty coming year,

and in this may be seduced

to the thought that what we bring

won't amount to anything.

Let's just have some musical fun with Yellow Submarine.

Sylvia puts intolerance and anger FAR below ice cream.

 

The Sunny Side Of Life

Cancer ate my breakfast,
and I've got a hunch

that 'fore ending of this test

it's gonna eat my lunch,

but nonetheless I'm in a place

some think I can't afford,

grateful for the love and grace

I'm getting from the Lord.

Sure, dude I am ailing,

and I can't hardly talk,

and my legs are failing

when I try to walk

but my faith gives me the chance,

before my God, to sing and dance.

Here's my favourite Christmas carol, Better Days, from the Goo Goo Dolls.

Sylvia's up for singing and dancing, but first things first.

Ice cream!

 

Belle And The Gemenids

I love meteor showers, and so, I think, would Service Dog Belle (who looks exactly like a seventy-pound German Shepherd puppy), if they didn't happen IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, DAD!

Thus, the Gemenids, in the wee hours of December 14.

 "The Gemenids are in the sky,

it's 4am, Belle, let's go see!"

The dog gave me the evil eye

and said, "Dad, are you KIDDING me?

Just to the porch if you insist,

we'll wait for one, and no more, please,

for, dear Dad, if you resist

I'm going to have to bite your knees."

And so we saw a meteor

trace bright in the empyrean,

then I was pushed back through the door

(Belle don't say what she don't mean).

"Let's get Mom, Belle, yeah, what say?"

"Do you, Dad, want to die today?"

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is ANNOUNCE. Ok, let's see...

Tell the world about His birth,

about His death and rising,

announce the Gospel to the Earth,

though some may be despising

your faith and all the joy withal,

claim it's a false construction,

and force your back up to the wall

and plan on your destruction.

But silence is not fitting here,

not even in the grimmest hour;

sing your praises strong and clear,

and know you need not cower

because the Lord for Whom you fight

brings dawn that ends the pagan night.

Five minutes on the nose. But whose nose?

Music from Oliver, with Good Morning Starshine. If you miss the Sixties, they're baaaack.

Sylvia prefers ice cream by day to shooting stars by night (but she and I once DID see a daytime meteor!).

 

Some Day You De Windshield, Some Day You De Bug

A sad week, with Megan The Tank (a huge Aussie) slipping away. As I write this, with her next to me, and her canine friends next to her (she's not in pain), I think back to other, brighter days, and the dichotomy of life.

Yeah, some days you live the dream,

and some days you need a hug.

Some days you're the windscreen,

and some days you're the bug.

Some days you will run the table,

Vegas king or queen,

and some days you are just not able,

and Greyhound is your limousine.

Some days Fortune's daughters

will bless you with their smiles,

and some days in dark waters

hide hungry crocodiles,

but every day you walk this Earth

God's with you as He was from birth.

The quote 'some day you de windshield, some day you de bug' comes from Johnson Beharry, a Grenadian soldier in the British Army who won the Victoria Cross in al-Amarah, Iraq, in 2004, extricating the Warrior armoured personnel carrier that he drove from an ambush, thus saving the crew... after being shot in the head. Against the odds, Beharry survived.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is BEHOLD. Don't like to hold bees, but OK.

Behold the birthing of the Christ

in a stable dark and drear,

Heaven's palace sacrificed

so that Almighty might come near

the people wallowing in sin,

turning from the holy path,

and the only way to win

was to give the world a bath

of innocent and spotless blood,

a ransom paid without regret,

while angels' tears the world did flood

that the murder might beget

another chance for fallen Man

to escape the frying pan.

LESS than five minutes, and whaddya expect? Shakespeare?

Sylvia's sad, too, but still enjoys her ice cream. There may be a lesson there.

 Music from The Sandpipers, with 'Come Saturday Morning'.

Of Wives And Nicknames

Cancer's bad, and the best antidote is humour...in this case, thinking up nicknames for my dear wife.

 I shall now sing a hosanna

to celebrate my marriage luck,

for I am wed to Hambone Hannah,

Reigning Queen Of The Taco Truck.

She's faithful, kind, and gentle,

and cuts the fire-logs;

her faith is fundamental,

and she shares tacos with the dogs,

for they are her chosen fare

(she eats them by the bag),

and when you see her you will stare

for they do not make her figure sag,

so as a nickname, this one's fitter

than her previous, which was Critter.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is EXPECTATION.

I know what I now must face,

a fell dark expectation,

but I live in a state of grace,

and my heart holds elation

arising not from deep within,

but coming from above,

from the God who is my kin

and when push comes to shove

will be there to take my side

when life just gets too hard,

and I'll confront what will betide

with my Bodyguard

who at my final earthly breath

will take me home, defeating death.

Between five and six minutes. But better finished than not.

Music from Wall Of Voodoo, with 'Mexican Radio'.

Sylvia would rather have ice cream than tacos.

 

Not In Shame

On this Thanksgiving Day, I'm grateful for the end of pride.

I've had several bad falls lately, causing concussions, and now, while walking the dogs, I wear a hard hat. It looks dorky, but believe me, TBI is dorkier still.

If the poem seems familiar, it's because I wrote it as a comment for last week's Five Minute Friday home page, with the prompt HIDE.

It does say all I need to say.

Infirmity is something that

I would prefer to hide,

but now I wear a hard hat

when I walk outside.

My cancer'd leg will let me down,

so I won't be fussing;

even though I look the clown,

it's better than concussion,

and so I'd like to say to you

that there's no need for shame

in doing what you have to do,

just treat it as a game,

and go on with your head held high,

and bid your prickly pride goodbye.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is NOURISH. Alrighty then.

Each little congregation

is in a constant lurch,

so go ye, take your station,

and nourish your small church.

Take up a chosen ministry,

or go where you are sent

to serve, on Earth, Eternity,

and live the sacrament

of being hands and heart of Christ,

of spreading the good news;

some see it as sacrifice,

but you won't sing the blues,

for you'll see God's smiling face

when you're cheerful in your place.

Five minutes, plus a few seconds.

Music from Brewer and Shipley, with One Toke Over The Line.

Sylvia doesn't care if I look dorky. First things first, like ice cream.

 

In Praise Of Cows

We have cows. Not our own, mind; our home is on the open range, and cows regularly drift through to munch on the sage, and on the desert willow that Barb is trying to keep alive.

They play with the dogs, and will sometimes peer in through the windows.

And last winter, I slipped on a patch of ice, and couldn't get up. A cow ambled over to offer a horn, and pulled me to my feet.

I like cows.

I wandered, lonely as a cow

far from the madding herd,

banished, for I would not bow

to that which they preferred.

They got themselves in such a state

when I forswore my cud,

and chose, instead to liberate

the rancher's case of Bud.

What followed, to them, was more crass

in what was now evoked,

my saying, 'staid of eating grass

that it should perforce be smoked,

but my case was truly torn

by my tooting my own horn.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is HIDE. Ok.

Cancer came and done for me,

there ain't no place to hide,

and it is no mystery

that it's kicking my backside.

The metastasis that's in my leg's

now clear unto the eye,

and it's tempting, yeah, to wail and beg,

"Lord, please don't let me die!"

But death has got to come to all,

and that's the Gospel truth.

Maybe Eve done tripped the Fall,

but that ain't no excuse

for whinin' like a hungry pup

when it's time to cowboy up.

Five minutes flat. Yee-ha.

For music, here's 'Deep In The Heart Of Texas'. Yeah, I'm in New Mexico. Close enough.

Sylvia appreciates cows, for they are the source of ice cream.