Tag: Jesus

Heaven’s Seasons

What if as frequently as you fed others

In Heaven, God would cook for you?

 

What if, the greatest you gave on earth

God would give to you?

 

What if every time you accompanied the prisoner

God, in heaven, would enter into your home?

 

What if, for every person you bestowed kindness

God would show a kindness to you?

 

What if heaven followed your life’s seasons,

And those seasons you “slipped,”

God would be elsewhere?

 

What if whenever the homeless found comfort in your house

God would give you room and board in his very mansion?

 

What if every good deed on earth

In heaven, God did equal the deed for you?

 

What if heaven has seasons

And for every kindness bestowed

On another human being

God bestowed an even greater kindness.

In our seasons, God gave us according to our seasons?

 

Like spring, winter and fall,—

Summer seasons,

The wet seasons,

Would be the seasons we gave to the homeless

Fed the widows,

The orphans

And showed kindness?

 

What if the least we could offer was lip service?

What if the least of kindness

Was “Sharing” the gospel?

What if the greatest was showing the gospel?

What if God didn’t want us to argue about whether He existed

But rather showed He existed

With our goodness here on earth?

 

What if this is what Christ meant by saying,

“Store up your treasure in heaven.”

 

What if every shekel you gave to the poor

Were worth a talent of gold in Christ’s kingdom?

What if, being very poor,

That same shekel were worth ten talents of gold?

What if, being the widow

Who put in her mite,

You received a thousand talents of gold,

And two thousand talents of copper?

And with this God would spend to build you a mansion?

 

What if by giving tents to the homeless

God would provide in your mansion

An entire corridor?

What if by giving a book,

You received a library?

What if by giving time

You received time with the Father himself?

Whose stew is better than even the heavenly food?

 

What if God’s greater servants

Would be your reward,

For living life with luke-warm kindness?

You would be approached by them

Much like one is approached by a Count

Instead of a Prince

Or a Marquis instead of a King?

What if there are some

Who spent an entire lifetime being good

Believing in Christ’s grace

And Grace Salvation

But did very little?

For those internal acts

God might send a Duke

Or a Viscount

Or a Baron.

 

But, those acts of kindness

The great feats which we accomplished

To help the poor, the homeless

The downtrodden,

What if Christ the King Himself

In the Flesh God gave Him

Or the very Father Himself

Came to your home

Each season at its season

For eternity, and for that season

He came?

 

Perhaps, this is a good way of looking at Works.

A Dream

There were two walls

Which opposed one another.

One was made of corn.

The other was made of mud.

The bodies of the slain in war

Were the straw that bound the mortar

Of the two walls.

 

The multitudes slain were like that of

A multitude, that of thirty-eight thousand, thousand;

And the other wall was more than this

Whose skulls shewn through the mortar.

Evil was on both sides, and neither side had righteousness.

 

Now is a time for talk, and not for war.

Write a Brainstorm

Write a brainstorm

Let the novel sit for two years…

It sits, hidden in the book collection

Of hand written journals.

A pet project here,

A pet project there,

Maybe a modern novel will be written by my fingers.

 

Idolatry… I hope this art isn’t idolatry.

I love writing…

I love it.

The pride of authorship

The joy of seeing myself grow.

Seeing the pangs of youth

Burgeon to the strength of mind in adulthood.

The communist rants

Turn into Burkean homilies.

For my less informed reader…

The one who doesn’t know what Burkean means…

There’s an old saying.

If you are not a liberal in youth,

You have no heart.

If you’re not a conservative in adulthood,

You have not yet grown up.

 

How the tea kettles I’ve talked about

Those torpid tea kettles

In the meaningful nonsense poems

Burgeon to strange worlds

And fantasies.

Yet, there sits my novel in a dozen pages…

 

The professional writer

Their obvious fault is that they prescribe too many rules.

The amateur writer,

Their obvious fault is that they follow too many rules.

How many spelling errors are there in my writing?

I don’t know…

How many comas misplaced?

I don’t know.

How many “Their”s mistaken for “They’re.”

I don’t know.

How many “Then”s

For “Than”.

I don’t know.

 

Sadness creeps into my bones

Because I don’t know how or what to write.

My self editing is sallow.

My work ethic failing.

Because I see either success or failure

Do not produce the results I want.

I don’t know what would satisfy me…

 

I eat, but am unsatisfied.

Just like Micah’s curse.

I wonder what reason I am cursed…

I look at my entire life and I find there

The fact that I have committed much wrongdoing.

The same amount as most radical feminists.

My sin is theirs,

But their sin everyone covers up.

Mine… it keeps me poor

Hated, unprotected,

Reliant on everyone else around me.

 

If I had the answer

I would find it.

It’s amazing to me how everyone just revels in sin

And seems happy and blessed.

I wait on God to judge them…

But He doesn’t.

The happiest on earth

I’ve found,

Are usually the most vile.

It’s why I’m a Christian.

 

They make a diligent search for sin

And it’s always found in me…

How that stings my breast to say it.

I cannot escape it.

What I would like…

Truthfully,

Is one woman to make love to my whole life

That I can trust with my very life.

This hobby, I would hope to eat from.

But I don’t want fame or fortune.

I can’t work,

Because Fairyland is real to me…

It’s always there in my mind as I sweep

Or mop, or stack crates.

This talent, I need to eat from it.

But I cannot. Some arcane force

Will not let me.

Call it a king, call it a queen

Call it FBI

Call it Satan…

I will call it what it is.

I don’t want to be famous.

 

What a stupid profession to get entangled in

If I didn’t want money or fame…

Self defeated, I will always self defeat.

Because I don’t want everyone talking about me.

I don’t want my laundry aired to the whole world

And made public, what I know is public

But at least now I don’t have to hear about it.

So… Athena, as it is,

Thinks he’s harming me by keeping me poor.

Really, he is just gobbling up the portion

That I know, in this day and age,

Would eat me up.

 

Satan… my bloggers,

Can be a kindness on a Christian.

He can take the world,

When you don’t want it.

He can gobble up fortunes,

When those fortunes would incur great wrath.

He can keep you poor,

When riches would steal your soul.

Jude’s greatest wisdom was this,

To not revile angelic majesties.

The reason why, is that Satan

Is there for our benefit, Christians.

How we don’t want to admit it,

But the rod is there for our bruises,

And the bruises are there for our growth.

We grow, and become great through our stripes.

Satan is not there to hurt you, Christians.

He is a roaring lion in the street…

He does wish to devour every one of us.

But Satan is called upon whom he is called.

It is God who unleashes the lion on your life.

And for that, he might gobble up your fortunes,

He might frustrate you with banal dreams…

He might even hold the very thing you want…

But know, a man who gets everything he wants

Is usually the same man who destroys himself.

 

Yes… someone prevents me from getting published.

Yes, it frustrates me.

Yes, a part of it is myself.

But yes, a part of it is a deal with the devil…

Not mine, but the LORD’s

Who made a bargain with Satan

In Job. Not so Satan could destroy Job.

No. Simply because Job needed to be abased

For self righteousness.

Did Job sin?

Righteousness is not a sin.

But if Job’s own right arm would bear him,

Let Job smite God’s enemies.

But he couldn’t.

 

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Brother

Spider-man…

I’m Sony’s.

He’s Columbia’s.

 

I was Twenty-one

He was Thirty.

 

It all became crap

In 2008.

 

He sewed his suit.

I sewed mine, too.

 

He’s Albert Einstein.

I’m Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

 

You all know him.

None of you know me.

 

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The Ten Commandments, Written For Butch Too Understand

Tablet I

 

I. Thou shalt love Jesus with everything you have and own, and have no other God.

II. Thou shalt not put any thing before your service to Jesus.

III. Thou shalt not use God’s name falsely, in order to deceive, nor use it in anger.

IV. Thou shalt rest in Jesus alone to save you, and shall not oppress your hireling by making them work on the Sabbaths, nor defraud them of any of their rights.

V. Thou shalt obey your father and your mother, so it will be well with your soul, and you will prosper.

 

Tablet II

VI. Thou shalt not kill,— or even be angry with your brother to slander him nor defraud him in any way.

VII. Thou shalt not commit adultery, or even look at any woman with lust, for your intent is to shame her, and therefore commit a filthy act.

VIII. Thou shalt not desire what is clearly not yours.

IX. Thou shalt not even steal a worthless thing from your neighbor or friend, yes, even your brother and especially not your father or mother.

X. Thou shalt not lie in order to put yourself at an advantage or your enemy at a disadvantage. You must surely tell the truth.

*. Love your fellow neighbor the same way as you surely love yourself in all things.

 

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God Gave Me the Lyrics to this Song, I Dictated it While Listening

 

Yea, we in Christ we live for, poor:—

The silver thread on Darkened doom—

With closing eyes and resting head

I hold and see His coming soon.

 

Upon my pillow

Safely’n hand

A thousand pictures fill my head.

I cannot sleep; my mind’s aflight,

And yet I receive Made-of-Flesh.

 

There are noises,

Sweet or not,—

Afright it shall

Flee tonight

When Christ our anchor.—

On to sleep,

And counts of joy deep,

If Sacrosanct our song.

 

What dreams they

Chart, North dark and deep

All flying Prince and soaring live;

As Christ the Lamb died to sin

As Christ the Lamb died to sin

As Christ the Lamb died (to) to sin.

 

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep Sheep.

Sleep.

Sleep Sweet.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

A Hypocrite and a Righteous Man

There was a hypocrite

Who, seeing that he had done much wrong

Said, “The LORD shall not exact from me

“This evil deed. I have murdered,

“Slandered my brother,

“I have stolen from him,

“And I have committed adultery

“Under every oak.

“LORD, I see I am justified by Your blessing

“Knowing I have sinned, You will not exact it from me.

“For, so I have committed offences,

“My grain offering shall be sufficient for the payment;—

“The fruit of my drink offerings and oblations poured into the ground.

“Yes, LORD You shall not visit me for this.

“Rather, when the bugle gets called

“I will enter into my heavenly abode.”

 

There was a righteous man

Seeing he had done much wrong

Who said, “LORD, I had defiled myself

“In the way. I have lain with two virgins

“Who were not my wife

“And I have defiled the covenant

“With the woman I was betrothed to.

“I had also done violence,

“And had lied for gain.

“I had spoken ill against You

“In my heart, and I had cursed my neighbor

“And I had falsely accused the innocent.

“LORD, I know certainly Your wrath

“Shall abide on me, until the day

“That these abominations are loosed from me,

“For how else, LORD, am I to be made clean?”