Nestled in ethereal mist twixt Texas hill country and Geezer Mesa lay the sleepy dwellings of Geezerville. Geezerville, a town transitioning much like its geography. Geezerville, on the very edge of the dessert an oasis of natural springs, a valley of water abundant, a plethora of flora and fauna, and this very evening, as most evenings, a town in motion, all be it, slow motion. The heat of Texas day did dictate this daily ritual. Not many of the towns elderly residents functioned well in hundred degree mid-day heat, but late evening, each late evening for years and decades and even over a century, as the sun drifted low behind lofty Geezer Mesa, the mesa from which the town got its name, in the fingers of the mighty mesa's cool shadow, life began to move. Few of those movers were not elderly. Geezers they were, with canes, with walkers, men and women slowly moving, shuffling along in a sidewalk waltz, transitioning to last tango in Geezerville.
All crawled along splendidly well in Geezerville. Well until the town's unwell and only pastor passed away. A replacement had to be found. So with non-denominational geezerdom prerequisite the town of many faiths, but only one church, sought and found their spiritual compass. Or so they thought. For this preacher, name of Rev. Bell Ringer, unexpectedly had change on the brain. Change: only a good word to geezers when applied to contents of the pocket, not change on the sidewalk where one must actually bend over to pick it up, and especially not change of direction.
Oh, there were groans and there were moans from the congregation when Pastor Bell Ringer preached; but certainly no open rebellion from folks just too tired to rebel. Besides, most conceded, although a tad reluctantly, that yes, they did need to redirect their slow moving, their shuffling along, even that last tango.
"No one!" Pastor Bell Ringer preached, "No one should shuffle off the edge of Geezer Mesa without Jesus. In service to God and in service to one another spread the way, the truth and the life. His name is Jesus. With every last shuffle we got left in this dance called life, in joy shine forth the light and love our Savior."
And that very Sunday morn, soaring oer the clearing mist, an eagle eye did see new life in the valley below. Life blessed, life with purpose, even one time geezers sprouting wings to share the air above Geezer Mesa.
From whence it came: Ecclesiastes Chapter 12; Isaiah 40:21-31; John 14:6
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Thursday, July 20, 2017
SHORTCUT TO FORGOTTEN
Some will argue... there are no shortcuts to Forgotten...
"The surgery will be canceled." Javan white knuckled steering wheel, pressed accelerator near floor. As the dark road chariot of SUV sped down I-33, he lamented, "After fixing that flat tire, no matter how fast I drive, we are not getting to the hospital in time."
"Sometimes," the slender neck of Svana DeGenade turned her eyes to face husband, "sometimes," she reached out, ran fingers thru his silver peppered hair, "sometimes, on the road... we meet more than expected."
Even as worried as he was, even in the hurry of all his life, Javan calmed in what he had come to know as the 'Svana effect.' He let off accelerator a tad, reminisced, "I remember, remember not so long ago, our chance airplane seating, our first meeting. There sat my Svana with skin like silk, the color of milk, and hair like eiderdown, pure as snow. I had thought you an albino until that graceful neck of yours turned green emerald eyes to meet mine. Sometimes in the air we meet more than ever expected."
"We shall see." Svana smiled. "Often does the way remind: before the shadow... shines the light."
"Shortcut, Daddy." The wee voice of Epiphany DeGenade, Epi for short, spoke from dark leather rear seat. Wee and weak the voice came from one whose growth only grew more crooked her precious little body, til only wee and weak she could speak.
"Yes," Javan grasped hope. "We can take Old Narrow Lane, the once main road to Forgotten lies near ahead."
Soon Javan commanded the helm right, right on to Old Narrow Lane, passing under hanging moss of oak, passing over fallen down and faded sign: Road Closed. Yet, on both sides of road beckoned the blue of forget-me-nots, wild flowers licked by inky swamp. And lo that neglected lane forced Javan to go against his hie hurry grain, drive slow and punctuate with unsteady refrain, "Aptly named, this road, this Old Narrow Lane."
And so on they drove, chasing from dry road perch more than one sliding gator, filthy claws ripping up by roots sad blue forget-me-nots, dragging flowers screaming neath dark waters swamp. Til before bayou bridge, the sign not fallen over read: Bridge Out.
"Now what?" Javan bridged not frustration. "The road is way to narrow. I can not turn around."
"Back up Daddy," Epi epiphanied again. "We won't be late. We are right on time."
Svana saw the tears well in Javan's eyes. She placed hand upon his thigh, squeezed out assurance, "From the mouths of babes... remember what Jesus said."
The Dad in Javan shifted gear to reverse. He shifted in seat, turned head, saw so very far behind the sparkling sunlit reflections of vehicles as they passed by the head of the cross, where Old Narrow Lane met the outstretched arms of I-33. He backed. He backed up some more. He backed up, but the intersection grew no closer. He backed more, a whole lot more, then some more. The further he backed, the further away I-33 seemed. And yet, Javan backed the more.
"Daddy," Epi labored to breathe..
"Yes, sweetie," Javan answered.
"Daddy be still; and know our Daddy," the wee weak voice of Epi whispered.
Javan stopped SUV.
On the shortcut to Forgotten, Javan was reminded to pray. Daddy and Mommy reached into back seat, and held hands with precious daughter... And after prayer to Heavenly Father, asking in his son Jesus' precious name, Javan unbowed his head and beheld that Old Narrow Lane somehow seemed much broader now, even no longer a lane, but highway main. He turned SUV around, soon passing under hanging moss of oak, passing over fallen down and faded sign at the head of the cross, where Old Narrow Lane joins the outstretched arms of I-33...
...The fallen lavender of crepe myrtles covered the concrete path from parking lot to the hospital. Svana and Javan each held Epi hand... scarcely noticing that time right on time... scarcely noticing that healthy up and down of skipping between them, until child's strong voice road the wind of the near Forgotten... "I hope they got ice cream."
Jeremiah 33:3... Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and shew thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not...
Some will argue, there are no shortcuts to Forgotten... less there be flat tire...
Not every life story ends in Epi miracle, but for those who love Jesus... even when this life ends... glorious life in heaven begins... Unbound... in the out bound lane...
To understand this little story please read and be blessed by the totally awesome Bible readings: Psalm 46:10 with John 14:6 with Isaiah 35:8 then all Isaiah 35:1-10... Jesus loves you...
What's in a name: Svana DeGenade - Svana is Icelandic for Swan; De in French & Spanish means 'from' or 'of', and Genade is Dutch for Grace. (Proverbs 3:3-4 & 3:19-22)
Only one path exists for our short comings to be forgotten... to be forgiven... Jesus
...Grace unto thy neck... Life unto thy soul...
"The surgery will be canceled." Javan white knuckled steering wheel, pressed accelerator near floor. As the dark road chariot of SUV sped down I-33, he lamented, "After fixing that flat tire, no matter how fast I drive, we are not getting to the hospital in time."
"Sometimes," the slender neck of Svana DeGenade turned her eyes to face husband, "sometimes," she reached out, ran fingers thru his silver peppered hair, "sometimes, on the road... we meet more than expected."
Even as worried as he was, even in the hurry of all his life, Javan calmed in what he had come to know as the 'Svana effect.' He let off accelerator a tad, reminisced, "I remember, remember not so long ago, our chance airplane seating, our first meeting. There sat my Svana with skin like silk, the color of milk, and hair like eiderdown, pure as snow. I had thought you an albino until that graceful neck of yours turned green emerald eyes to meet mine. Sometimes in the air we meet more than ever expected."
"We shall see." Svana smiled. "Often does the way remind: before the shadow... shines the light."
"Shortcut, Daddy." The wee voice of Epiphany DeGenade, Epi for short, spoke from dark leather rear seat. Wee and weak the voice came from one whose growth only grew more crooked her precious little body, til only wee and weak she could speak.
"Yes," Javan grasped hope. "We can take Old Narrow Lane, the once main road to Forgotten lies near ahead."
Soon Javan commanded the helm right, right on to Old Narrow Lane, passing under hanging moss of oak, passing over fallen down and faded sign: Road Closed. Yet, on both sides of road beckoned the blue of forget-me-nots, wild flowers licked by inky swamp. And lo that neglected lane forced Javan to go against his hie hurry grain, drive slow and punctuate with unsteady refrain, "Aptly named, this road, this Old Narrow Lane."
And so on they drove, chasing from dry road perch more than one sliding gator, filthy claws ripping up by roots sad blue forget-me-nots, dragging flowers screaming neath dark waters swamp. Til before bayou bridge, the sign not fallen over read: Bridge Out.
"Now what?" Javan bridged not frustration. "The road is way to narrow. I can not turn around."
"Back up Daddy," Epi epiphanied again. "We won't be late. We are right on time."
Svana saw the tears well in Javan's eyes. She placed hand upon his thigh, squeezed out assurance, "From the mouths of babes... remember what Jesus said."
The Dad in Javan shifted gear to reverse. He shifted in seat, turned head, saw so very far behind the sparkling sunlit reflections of vehicles as they passed by the head of the cross, where Old Narrow Lane met the outstretched arms of I-33. He backed. He backed up some more. He backed up, but the intersection grew no closer. He backed more, a whole lot more, then some more. The further he backed, the further away I-33 seemed. And yet, Javan backed the more.
"Daddy," Epi labored to breathe..
"Yes, sweetie," Javan answered.
"Daddy be still; and know our Daddy," the wee weak voice of Epi whispered.
Javan stopped SUV.
On the shortcut to Forgotten, Javan was reminded to pray. Daddy and Mommy reached into back seat, and held hands with precious daughter... And after prayer to Heavenly Father, asking in his son Jesus' precious name, Javan unbowed his head and beheld that Old Narrow Lane somehow seemed much broader now, even no longer a lane, but highway main. He turned SUV around, soon passing under hanging moss of oak, passing over fallen down and faded sign at the head of the cross, where Old Narrow Lane joins the outstretched arms of I-33...
...The fallen lavender of crepe myrtles covered the concrete path from parking lot to the hospital. Svana and Javan each held Epi hand... scarcely noticing that time right on time... scarcely noticing that healthy up and down of skipping between them, until child's strong voice road the wind of the near Forgotten... "I hope they got ice cream."
Jeremiah 33:3... Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and shew thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not...
Some will argue, there are no shortcuts to Forgotten... less there be flat tire...
Not every life story ends in Epi miracle, but for those who love Jesus... even when this life ends... glorious life in heaven begins... Unbound... in the out bound lane...
To understand this little story please read and be blessed by the totally awesome Bible readings: Psalm 46:10 with John 14:6 with Isaiah 35:8 then all Isaiah 35:1-10... Jesus loves you...
What's in a name: Svana DeGenade - Svana is Icelandic for Swan; De in French & Spanish means 'from' or 'of', and Genade is Dutch for Grace. (Proverbs 3:3-4 & 3:19-22)
Only one path exists for our short comings to be forgotten... to be forgiven... Jesus
...Grace unto thy neck... Life unto thy soul...
Friday, July 7, 2017
BABUSHKA LULLABY
"A wacko a day keeps the shrink in pay," stealth in his mind sung the words to Dr. Adams audible hum. He raised left eyebrow, flipped to blank second page of new patient history. Why had the young woman, sitting before him, refused to fill out the form? "What a way to start a New York Monday," escaped his lips. He leaned a tad back in seat, flipped back to page one, stared at the one and only blank filled in. "I see you listed your name as Apple, no middle name, no last name, jussst Apple."
"Yes!!!" From toes to nose, Apple's whole body vibrated answer.
"Are you a one name celebrity?" Dr. Adams did not smile.
"Oh, no sir," Apple shook head. "Just the messenger," she wide eyed nodded.
Dr. Adams thought, "I'd like to shoot the messenger for not filling out this form!" He could not just let it go, internally revenged, "This Apple got worms for brains." He almost giggled past professional facade, but what he said was, "Messenger, in what way?"
"Yes..." Apple's entire being danced in tune with the nod of her head, "yes, the messenger of dream, a reoccurring dream."
"And in this dream?" Dr. Adams led, while mind inside sighed, "Not another dream!"
"For three months now, in the dream I see myself sleeping, and in this sleep dreaming a dream... of insomnia. I dream of rest... with no rest. I dream of sleep... with no sleep. I dream of you, Dr. Adams. I dream of you, Dr. Alexsie from the Ukraine."
As his diagnosis raced to obsessional delusion and probable schizophrenia, Dr. Adams brain screamed, "We should have checked her purse for sharp objects." But his mouth carefully phrased, "And how do you know who I am and where I am from?"
"By the dream within a dream of your insomnia, I see you in the Ukraine. I see you as a child afore bed. I see your Babushka rub her grandson's feet, sing sweet lullaby till he sleep. And then I see your sleepless nights of now... how your thoughts have often been... if only I could... rewind the wind..."
"But how did you know I changed my name, know of my insomnia... my Babushka? Are you a psychic?" More than a tad of his inside shaking vibrated to the outside of Dr. Adams' skin.
"No dark side here... only Jesus light... when you pray for answer... answer is God's delight..." Apple stretched arms, smiled sweet. "How many the times... have your times been... sleepless daydreams of often when..." As in the dream her arms drew to breast, cradled unseen child before her. Her body rocked to old Ukraine Babushka lullaby... as Apple sang: "Dream O dream within the window. Rock warm to sleep sweet child. Sleep O sleep little sparrow so mild. Rest and grasp the snow without the window..." From cradled arms Apple raised her eyes to Adam's...
With tear in eye, the Doctor did reply, "And then, when she laid me down, when she tucked me in, my Babushka kissed my ear and whispered sweet breath so warm: 'All who rest... rest in Jesus...'" And Dr. Adams relaxed for the first time in a very, very long time.
Find rest even unto your very soul... with Jesus... Matthew 11:28-30...
"Yes!!!" From toes to nose, Apple's whole body vibrated answer.
"Are you a one name celebrity?" Dr. Adams did not smile.
"Oh, no sir," Apple shook head. "Just the messenger," she wide eyed nodded.
Dr. Adams thought, "I'd like to shoot the messenger for not filling out this form!" He could not just let it go, internally revenged, "This Apple got worms for brains." He almost giggled past professional facade, but what he said was, "Messenger, in what way?"
"Yes..." Apple's entire being danced in tune with the nod of her head, "yes, the messenger of dream, a reoccurring dream."
"And in this dream?" Dr. Adams led, while mind inside sighed, "Not another dream!"
"For three months now, in the dream I see myself sleeping, and in this sleep dreaming a dream... of insomnia. I dream of rest... with no rest. I dream of sleep... with no sleep. I dream of you, Dr. Adams. I dream of you, Dr. Alexsie from the Ukraine."
As his diagnosis raced to obsessional delusion and probable schizophrenia, Dr. Adams brain screamed, "We should have checked her purse for sharp objects." But his mouth carefully phrased, "And how do you know who I am and where I am from?"
"By the dream within a dream of your insomnia, I see you in the Ukraine. I see you as a child afore bed. I see your Babushka rub her grandson's feet, sing sweet lullaby till he sleep. And then I see your sleepless nights of now... how your thoughts have often been... if only I could... rewind the wind..."
"But how did you know I changed my name, know of my insomnia... my Babushka? Are you a psychic?" More than a tad of his inside shaking vibrated to the outside of Dr. Adams' skin.
"No dark side here... only Jesus light... when you pray for answer... answer is God's delight..." Apple stretched arms, smiled sweet. "How many the times... have your times been... sleepless daydreams of often when..." As in the dream her arms drew to breast, cradled unseen child before her. Her body rocked to old Ukraine Babushka lullaby... as Apple sang: "Dream O dream within the window. Rock warm to sleep sweet child. Sleep O sleep little sparrow so mild. Rest and grasp the snow without the window..." From cradled arms Apple raised her eyes to Adam's...
With tear in eye, the Doctor did reply, "And then, when she laid me down, when she tucked me in, my Babushka kissed my ear and whispered sweet breath so warm: 'All who rest... rest in Jesus...'" And Dr. Adams relaxed for the first time in a very, very long time.
Find rest even unto your very soul... with Jesus... Matthew 11:28-30...
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