Sharing Gum – by emj

~Sharing Gum~

When you were young
you lived as you do now,
Apparently prosaic moments
Formed first-glance nonsense
That comes to you (at any rate) as pivotal in time.
Kindergarten is replete with these
Like the day she smiled
as she handed you some gum
on a bus ride long enough
to practice bubble blowing.
She is an expert eager to explain,
but your failed attempts motivate
a change in lesson plans,
and whistling ability becomes
another notch that nudges you
to a personality
answering the questions never asked.
Kindergarten is full of those too.
But I was not alone
in the debt I owed this girl
when you were whistling the song
that made me cry.
It seems there is no limit
to the radiated change
the universe enacts
when we share gum.

-A poem by emj

I am Home – a poem by Andrew Scheps

(written on the night of 4/11/13)

The shock of the journey that lies before me is great;
Knowing the danger, the trial, the fear.
Do I move?  Do I act?  Do I fight?  Do I try?
Or is it better to simply stay here?

I will try.  I can at least do that,
Though I don’t know if I’ll make it tonight,
Home is the better place to be.
So I will try.  I’ll move.  I’ll act.  I’ll fight.

The snow is harsh. It tears through the sky and it assimilates the ground in a layer several inches deep.
The ice on my windshield is thick. I force it off; scraping away little by little until the snow is the only thing blinding my vision.
I am finally ready to cast off, and set my sail in the winter storm.
Say a prayer for me Sam.
I’m off and away; clinging to the tracks of those who have come before me.
The road climbs. It falls. It climbs. It turns. And now there is only one forerunner to follow.
But suddenly I remember truth. Oh truth, how welcome your sweet taste is to my mouth.
A smile. Oh yes, now I know. Now I know I’ll be home. The God of the storm is my Father.
A smile and fear, as I make my way there, and now no tracks are left here to guide.
I have made it to the port, but one hill stands yet to climb – the wind still falling, the snow still biting, and a giddy spring in my step.
I see the house and the light at the top of the mountain, and I jump up the hill in my soaking socks.

I’m welcomed by the light, by the warmth, by the rest;
Miles from where I once stood.
I am home.  Yes, I am home.
I am home.  And life is good.

The shock of the journey that lies before me is great
Knowing the danger, the trial, the fear.
Do I move?  Do I act?  Do I fight?  Do I try?
Or is it better to simply stay here?

I will try.  I can at least do that,
Though I don’t know if I’ll make it tonight,
Home is the better place to be.
So I will try.  I’ll move.  I’ll act.  I’ll fight.

I’ll fight in the truth, and I’ll sail through His storm.
Say a prayer for me Sam.
With a smile and fear I will travel to the end of my road,
Welcomed by the I AM;

Welcomed by the light, by the warmth, by the rest;
Miles from where I once stood.
I am home.  Yes, I am home.
I am home.  And Life is good.

Earth Sinking Back to Earth Again – Augustine’s Confession

In the first book of Augustine’s Confessions, he reflects on the sins of his past youth.  God has given him great insight into places in our humanity that we rarely observe, let alone grasp.  In one section he meditates on how his sin affected his studies in reading.

“I was compelled to learn about the wanderings of a certain Aeneas, oblivious of my own wanderings, and to weep for Dido dead, who slew herself for love. And all this while I bore with dry eyes my own wretched self – dying to thee, O God, my life in the midst of these things.

…what can be more wretched than the wretch who has no pity upon himself, who sheds tears over Dido, dead for the love of Aeneas, but who sheds no tears for his own death in not loving Thee, O God, light of my heart, and bread of the inner mouth of my soul, O power that links together my mind with my inmost thoughts?

For my own condition I shed no tears, though I wept for Dido, who ‘sought death at the sword’s point,’ while I myself was seeking the lowest rung of Thy creation, having forsaken Thee; earth sinking back to earth again. “

Augustine was referring to The Aeneid – an epic written by the Roman poet Virgil in about 19 B.C. – but these words are no less prevalent today.  In a time when hundreds of new stories are brought before us in every medium (music, movies, etc.…), in addition to the countless works that our history gives to us, we are more than ever liable to simply intake this “entertainment” without expression, feeling, or realization of our own reality.

The next time you get the privilege of observing a fictional story, make sure that you do not leave unchanged.  Everything that we do should be opening our eyes a little wider to the unfathomable glories of God and his great grace to us.  There is no escape from 1Corithians 10:31, “…whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.”

God, let us not sink back to earth again, but lift our eyes toward heaven and our hands toward you: our only savior – our only satisfier.

The Innkeeper

“The Innkeeper” -A poem written and read by John Piper.

This story is poignant and somber. It shines the news of the blinding gospel into the valley of death. -The poetry of John Piper is simply amazing.

Let this strike your heart this Christmas season.

Postman on Orwell and Huxley

THE INK SLINGER

I used to think Orwell and Huxley were saying the same thing. Dystopian worlds, oppression of the masses, big bad government, the whole schtick. To my mind, they couldn’t be that different. (This was before I actually studied it for myself, you know.)

In the forward to his classic book Amusing Ourselves to Death, Neil Postman explains why Orwell and Huxley were not saying the same thing:

What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of…

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Open Heart – a poem by Andrew Scheps

(Painting by Laurie Pace)

****

When you read what has been read,
do you hear what has been said?
the thoughts
desires
fears
and plans
in oils and canvas, or paper and crayons.
The artist’s heart is open,
not with symbols for the eye to find
but with arrows shot from soul to mind;
the thoughts
desires
fears
and plans.
Do not raise your shield or dodge the shaft,
rather, let it pierce you with its craft,
strike your nerve, and tingle every joint;
no matter how dull or sharp its point.
The thoughts
desires
fears
and plans
are communicated to the one
who’s willing to watch his own blood run
The artist’s heart is open
whither speaking with a scream or with a wink.
So think
desire
fear
and plan
when writing what will soon be read
and saying what will have been said.

“Anthem for Doomed Youth” -by Wilfred Owen; read by Sean Bean

In remembrance of all those who experienced war first-hand…

Remember, remember, the Fifth of November…

“Remember, remember, the Fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot. I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason should ever be forgot…”

Acting on one’s beliefs and “perspectives” is a powerful thing.  There is a line between thinking and doing – between the communication of ideas and the execution of ideas – and when Guy Fawkes stepped on that line in 1605, this all to easily forgotten truth was forever remembered.

.

Here is the entire Poem. (taken from potw.org)

The Fifth of November

 Remember, remember!
The fifth of November,
The Gunpowder treason and plot;
I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!
Guy Fawkes and his companions
Did the scheme contrive,
To blow the King and Parliament
All up alive.
Threescore barrels, laid below,
To prove old England’s overthrow.
But, by God’s providence, him they catch,
With a dark lantern, lighting a match!
A stick and a stake
For King James’s sake!
If you won’t give me one,
I’ll take two,
The better for me,
And the worse for you.
A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope,
A penn’orth of cheese to choke him,
A pint of beer to wash it down,
And a jolly good fire to burn him.
Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring!
Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King!
Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!

Read Aloud

I came across some good thoughts on reading while going through Haddon Robinson’s “Biblical Preaching.”

“Read Aloud. Reading aloud does two things for you. First, your vocabulary will increase. As youngster, we learned to speak by listening and imitating long before we could read or write. Reading aloud recreates that experience. Second, as you read aloud a style better than your own, new patterns of speech and creative wording will be etched on your mind. You will develop a feel for picture-making language. Read to your spouse and children so that you’ll be forced to interpret what you read. Read novels, plays, sermons and especially the Bible. The King James Version presents God’s truth in Shakespearean grandeur, and the New International Version puts it into more up-to-date dress. Both have impressive style.”

What Makes You Unique

Here is some interesting thought provocation by Cristian Mihai. I think he shows some excellent insight here.