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Wednesday, October 30, 2013

CHOCOLATE TEARS

            Down Cobble Way, ye olde shoppe the Chocolate Box nestled twixt Hope Chest Treasures and Gifts By Fig Tree Fox.  The Chocolate Box, famous for scarlet heart containers sealed Chocolate Tears, that once past lips echoed sweet sorrows love lost years.  Every customer tasted such perfect sadness in each chocolate drop, till along cheek fell down sweet teardrop.  O' how that dark velvet cocoa dripped, that waiting in line buyer of tears for tears memory be tripped.  For not one who did eat ever failed to weep; no not one ever dry eyes did keep.

            So many came, so many hungered to know, how could any make chocolate so?  What secret, what enigma sans joy did proprietress Miss Bonnie Foy employ?  So went on this little what known, scattered as leaves by autumn wind blown.

            O' but the how and the why came each lonely, each waiting night, that Miss Bonnie Foy stirred each chocolate delight.  "Why, o' why dear Father above, why can not your poor Christian child find her one true love?  Please dear Lord in the name of your Son, o' dear Jesus bring to me my one and only one."  And from sad blue eyes of Bonnie Foy fell drops of not so secret ingredient... into spiral stir so chocolient.

            Till one faith filled day as store front roses cried the morning dew, in with the cool breeze of autumn a young man blew.  And in last step of steps for chocolate box he stood waiting, till at last his turn of time came at counter where Bonnie Foy stood waiting.  To him Bonnie smiled, but said, "Sorry young gentleman, all my chocolate boxes through the door have ran.  Please come back on the morrow, then you may have your chocolate tears of sorrow."

            But the young man said, "Of chocolate boxes I need none.  Of chocolate tears I need only one."

            Like the deer oer brook lept the heart of Bonnie Foy, anticipating cool fresh drink of joy.  From lower counter she retrieved the tray, and over last one and only chocolate tear did pray.  In her own sweet hand, Bonnie lifted chocolate tear to the lips of the man.  And lo, unlike all else who had eaten and wept of late, this young man did not weep as he ate...

            And so it was, and so it is, that by good gift of faith we pray; and our Creator above stirs chocolate tears to chocolate kisses in His perfect hour of day...

                    ...To our Father may all about in the name of Jesus cry out...  

                                    ...Our Father is faithful to His faithful...

     Bonnie Foy: bonny foy - Scottish for good gift; bonne foi - French for good faith.

"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning." -James 1:17 KJ

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Sunday, October 27, 2013

THE SIEGE OF FORT PANIC (LAKE WOEMEEITCHEE II)

            On the corner of Hope Lane and Faith Way the second live interview with Mayor Bob was not going well.  "Mayor Bob, over here please," KOPE reporter Beau Airr attempted to refocus Bob's attention. Bob promptly plopped down in a pile of autumn leaves and began removing shoes and socks.  "Mayor Bob," Beau persisted, "will you and the folks of Fort Panic comply with government demand to relocate by noon tomorrow?"

            Mayor Bob stood. "Wheeee!" He gleefully squeaked, while shuffling bare feet midst gold and red leaves.

            "At least," Beau side glanced into the camera, half joked, "at least before this interview I didn't eat the fish and kelp salad down at Uncle Kelpy's Cafe."

            Mayor Bob stood still, balanced on one foot, picked up a golden leaf twixt toes and asked, "Well there Beau, have you ever walked barefoot..." Bob wobbled a tad on that one foot, repeated, "Have you ever walked barefoot in autumn leaves... and found childhood?"

            "Never a dull moment with the dull," Beau sighed.  Tried again, "Mayor, the President has declared that the people of Fort Panic are in imminent danger from the volcanic gas belched up by Lake Woemeeitchee and must relocate by noon tomorrow.  What is your response, Mayor Bob?"

            Bob bent over, picked up another leaf, "Oh, a violet one!"

            The face of Beau Airr deepened grim.  He almost seemed concerned when he asked yet again, "Willingly or by force, tomorrow noon the government relocates all of you.  What are you, Mayor Bob, and the precious folks round Lake Woemeeitchee going to do?"

            "Well Beau, what we are going to do is what we always do," Mayor Bob stated matter of factly, then kinda nonchalantly faded out for a while, as if in another world.

            "Which is?" Reporter Beau inquired.  Mayor Bob did not respond.  Beau laid hand on Bob's shoulder to bring him around.  "Which is?" Beau persisted.

            "Which is what we have already done and will continue to do," Bob smiled.

            "Is it a secret, armed resistance, a peaceful sit-in?  That's it, isn't it?  You are going to chain yourselves to trees!"  Beau Airr dogged Mayor Bob for an answer.

            "Well there Beau, me and all the folks round here intend to just keep on praying fer our enemies," Bob finally fessed up, added, "Oh, that and prepare the feast."

            "You are going to what!" Beau looked like he was suffering another Lake Woemeeitchee gas attack.

            "We are praying fer all those sent here to forcibly relocate us.  Praying our LORD above will shower them with grace and forgiveness; not visit destruction upon them, for they are but lost sheep in need of finding," Mayor Bob finally spilled the beans of blessing.

            "Nutty as a squirrel in a walnut factory!" Beau spit out, composed himself, direly warned, "There is only one road in or out of Lake Woemeeitchee and the Feds have it blockaded."

            "One way in only," Mayor Bob agreed, "and that way is Christ Jesus."

            ...The tomorrow of high noon found reporter Beau Airr and news crew in awe of what they saw.  Every man, woman and child of the sparsely populated Lake Woemeeithcee area had gathered on crater rim, looking down that one narrow way in, more a path than a road.  And holding hands, together they stood, singing praises to the LORD...

            Beau Airr breathed into the camera, "Everyone of them!  Nuts as a squirrel in a barrel of peanuts!  What is wrong with these people?"  Beau paused, reflected, "Or maybe what is right with them?"  Beau looked down the road.  The air in his lungs fled out.  A multitude of assault vehicles,  armored transports, bulldozers and black SUV's were lining up in dark convoy at the base of the road up.  The assault was about to begin.

            And even reporter Beau Airr, closed eyes and breathed good prayer, "Dear Jesus, please save these dear sweet people.  Save us all."

            "Fear not, there Beau," Mayor Bob laid hand upon his shoulder, "for those with us are more than those with them."

            And the eyes of Beau Airr opened, and he saw with them, all about the mountain crater rim... horses and chariots of fire...

            And Mayor Bob praised, "Blessed be the name of the LORD..."

            Inspired by the true and infinitely more awesome 2nd Kings 6:1-23 of the Holy Bible.


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Tuesday, October 15, 2013

LAKE WOEMEEITCHEE

            Smack dab in the middle of west Texas desert rests the oasis of Fort Panic along the high in the sky shore of Lake Woemeeitchee.  Inside that volcanic crater ridge, village cabins weave like bird nests amongst fir, pine and maple.  For long ago Mount Sur had blown its top to the heavens to make room for the waters of Lake Woemeeitchee and the down home folks that would settle many moons later...

            Now who would not flock to see such a village as this: an oasis by the name Fort Panic threatened  on all sides by unforgiving desert, resting in the active volcanic crater known as Lake Woemeeitchee?  What else could possibly draw more thrill seekers and scientists like flies than volcanic danger, except perhaps disgustingly stinky danger?  Lake Woemeeitchee irregularly passed gas of volcanic proportions.  A special gas temporarily stunning to fish, but not humans; although the olfactory nerves of Lake Woemeeitchee visitors might gag to disagree.

            Oh, what a riddle of mystery, what an enigma of paradox, what an anomaly of juxtaposition was the catch 22 question vexing the vexed.  From all round the world the curious, the tourist, the scientist, the doomsayer, the reporterous scoopticuss just had to come, to see, to smell, to itch to ask one question: "Why?"

            "Why?" gasped KOPE Channel 3.1 reporter Beau Airr, as the just passed gas of Lake Woemeeitchee wafted by.  "Why," Beau rubbed eyes and nose with freehand, his voice shifted to in-distress nasal twang, "why would any sane person with a nose live in such a 'disaster waiting to happen' place as Fort Panic?  Why would the people, who live here, so stubbornly resist government efforts to relocate them? Why, well who better to answer that question than mayor of Fort Panic, Bob Tomm.  So why, Mayor Bob?  Reporter Beau Airr thrust the microphone into the hand of Mayor Bob. Beau needed both hands to scratch.

            "We won't run, because us Fort Panic natives don't ask why... we do why not.  Well that, and mostly we have just learned not to scratch," Mayor Bob said, then added, "When Lake Woemeeitchee breaks wind, we go out in tha boats and net tha floating fish fer supper."

            "You eat dead gassed fish!" Reporter Beau Airr gagged.

            "Not dead, stunned," Mayor Bob corrected.  "We kill tha fish later when we cut off its head, gut it and scale it.  Takes a real sharp knife.  Oh, and also, before that, while in tha boats netting tha fish, we gather up the edible fresh water kelp that tha gas release knocks loose from the bottom of Lake Woemeeitchee."

            Reporter Beau Airr fell to all fours and wretched.

            Like a moose of night caught in headlights, Mayor Bob for a moment stared into the still rolling cameras, didn't know what else to say, but, "I see Beau had the fish and kelp salad down at Uncle Kelpy's Cafe.  So... so... its like as we Fort Panic natives always say: tha  main thing, 'the' main thing is... just don't panic... and trust in the Lord Jesus.  We always say that cause in making tha best outta what we got... we grow in fatness of tha soul. Amen!"

            On knees, reporter Beau Airr grabbed the microphone.  Bob did not let go.  Beau Airr warned, "Stop!  This is live!  Elected officials are forbidden to mention God.  The government, the courts will prosecute!"  Beau Airr added dry heave for emphasis.

            "You mean persecute, there, Beau," Mayor Bob corrected, added, "God created Lake Womeeitchee to provide for us; and no matter how many tha threats by misguided government and so called scientist alike, threats to relocate us fer our own supposedly good; we children of God reserve the God given right to live where God intends, to think and speak as God directs, and have life as God provides.  And our Creator, the Living God Almighty, keeps us as the apple of His eye...  Praise our Father God in the name of His precious Son Jesus Christ...  Amen, again!"

            The gauntlet had been cast down... Coming soon: The Siege of Fort Panic...


                         Be anxious about nothing... Trust in Jesus... Philippians 4:6-7

                                      Find fatness of the soul... Isaiah 55:1-2

We who love Christ Jesus shall not be separated from the love of God... Romans 8:37,38,39

                                    We are the apple of His eye... Psalm 17:8

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                                          ...Thank you Jesus for loving us...

                  


                  

Saturday, October 5, 2013

DETACHED ATTACHMENT

            For sure Bill Nuff loved his wife Anida.  Bill wanted the world for Anida, and Anida wanted the world.  Seemed for Anida, Bill Nuff could never buy enough stuff.  Perfect union, most thought.  And why not, neighbors added, in the land of unlimited credit, just why not?

            Early in the marriage, actually on wedding day, sitting in front of the mirror in that glowing fluffy white, adding that last dab of makeup before walking the aisle of no return, Anida had sworn, "I'll never be one of those gray sweats wearing ex-cheer leader wives, waddling through life like a caged duck out of water." Thus in her mind echoed this no-direction lack of Christian emotion to the inevitable conclusion of detached attachment.  The void had to be filled... "Filled," cried Anida Nuff, "with more stuff.

            But soon the train of buying things derailed budgetary reality.  For no matter how well Bill's Plumbing succeeded, no matter the robust business net, no matter the credit cards of every nuance of rainbow color maxed to sky limit, Anida's lust for more stuff, cost more.  Therefore, Bill stepped up.  Bill's Plumbing morphed into Bill's Plumbing & Electrical Unlimited.  And as Bill Nuff huffed and puffed enough hours to kill any man, the neighbor ladies of more stuff creed, all agreed, "What a man!"

            And as the business grew, and grew, and grew, so did the stuff of Anida Nuff: designer clothing, summer and winter cottages, a new mansion on the hill, a bigger garage to house her dozen or so custom autos, and just plain old more expensive stuff, till stuff had no more space to be stuffed.  Hence loving husband Bill built for Anida her very own warehouse outback.  But as the business grew, so did the blood pressure of Bill Nuff, until his heart had had enough.  Actually his aorta had had enough. Actually exploded with such force, Bill's lungs were shredded in the high pressure blast.

            Sitting at the bureau mirror, adding that last dab of makeup, Anida had not noticed fatal explosion.  Anida stood up, bent over for one last in mirror touch up, turned round, saw Bill, and hands on hips complained, "Bill quit laying there like your dead!  I'm going shopping with or without you."  Bill didn't budge. Anida sashayed over, bent over, removed his wallet and said, "Anida needs her money, Honey."  Not till her return from shopping, did Anida's detached attachment become self evident.  Bill had still not budged.

            After the funeral, Anida drove straight to the mall.  The spending spree lasted only as long as the insurance and business money.  Soon foreclosed upon were the mansion on the hill, the summer and winter cottages.  The custom autos repossessed.  The business assets and warehouse of stuff auctioned off.  But Anida found a new home of cardboard under the Constitution Bridge just outside Richland in Prosperity County.  And although shoved without, Anida did not do without.  She still collected stuff... all sorts of stuff... cans, bottles, pieces of misshapen wood, a sun bleached squirrel skull or two... all a clutter but no less useless as all the expensive stuff before.  And so in Anida's false bliss... detached attachment ate on and on...

            At the foot of Constitution Bridge, the north wind swirled the white hair of Pastor John, as he held tight Bible to chest... as he prayed, "Dear Heavenly Father, winter nears, please help Anida give up the idol of stuff, and span the void between You and her with the love of Jesus.  We have a warm place for her at Pilgrim Way Mission, as long as Anida needs us."

                                             ...Why let possessions possess you...
                                                  ...Only Jesus can fill the void...

            Ecclesiastes 1:1-3; Proverbs 1:19; Mark 8:36; Ecclesiastes 12:7-14; Acts 2:37-38

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