Life at the Spice of Life Greeting Cards warehouse was anything but living for Bentley Wordsworthy. Driving the same old forklift day after day, year after year, of what would soon be over two decades of spiceless boredom had eroded the mind, if not the soul of Bentley. Bentley Wordsworthy, the dreamer who longed to be a coiner of phrases, even a bard of adages. If only he could get recognition from just one of the Spice of Life Greeting Card Editors.
But alas, Bentley Wordsworthy possessed no wordsmith flair. Seldom is a kind way of saying never did Bentley Wordsworthy surpass the rudimentary roses are red, violets are blue level of poetic expression. And worse, Bentley was the untalented failure of the Wordsworthy family, which included over two centuries of poets, authors, editors and publishing house masters. Indeed Bentley himself often sighed, "I'm the last and the dead end of the Wordsworthy clan. That's me, just being all a failure can be." Be...
Until one faithful day... the boredom bent mind of Bentley over indulged in an oft visited daydream. High through the sky, Bentley Wordsworthy did fly, super hero of the greeting card world. From his shoulders fluttered the cape of bard-dom and across his chest emanated the magnificent letter "A," standing for ADAGEMAN!! Actually the letter "A" should have been two letters, A.D., standing for ATTENTION DEFICITMAN. Driving a forklift laden with crates full of greeting cards is no time to dream, let alone fly around a corner a tad too sharp. From forklift seat ADAGEMAN stomped on the brake a bit too late. The crates on the forklift remained stable, but the mile high stack the forklift bumped into shook violently. Bentley's hardhat fell off as he craned neck back to see the last rock of the teetering crate on top. Bentley gasped, "Jesus, save me!!!" Down plummeted that faith guided missile right between the safety glass wearing eyes of Bentley...
"Is he dead?" asked foreman Fred.
No one wanted to know more than Bentley. So from the concrete floor, flat on his back, Bentley Wordsworthy opened his mouth and instantly breathed out greeting card gold, "Life is like a box of chocolate armadillos: all slippery, scratchy and none too happy about being dipped in molten chocolate."
Bentley wrote it down. Bentley turned it in to the editors of Spice of Life Greeting Cards. Bentley garnered a new gig. A coiner of phrases he had become. ADAGEMAN... MAN... MAN... AN... AN... N born! Yet, died...
For the Lord above had up-up-and away far greater heights for Bentley Wordsworthy to fly. Not only did Bentley live to master the seemingly absurd and funny side of greeting cards, but there were sympathy cards, get well cards, birthday, wedding, friendship, Mothers Day, Fathers Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas cards to compose. Indeed His favorite of all were scripturally inspired. Cards like: Better a hole in the sock; than a hole in the soul. Cards like: The flames of youth, the ashes of regret, the if only of what can never be... Jesus heals it all...
Yes, ADAGEMAN had died, but Bentley Wordsworthy reigned alive and well as the bard of Spice of Life Greeting Cards. He even authored a few novels. But in the life of Bentley, the waters of success never flooded over the banks of humbletude. "Don't be too proud;" Bentley would say, "the chocolate coating of riches does not a life make; for of faded wisps, once whirlwinds, the dust whispers without thirst." He more than often added, "The spice of life, the very essence of living: Love the LORD continually; share his love with all; enjoy his every gift. For who else can turn even a bump on the head into blessing."
Oh, and in the chair of the bard, the new fantasy of Bentley twas a job well done, driving a forklift...
(Mark 8:36; Isaiah 29:4) (James 1:17; Colossians 3:17) (Romans 10:13)
Saturday, August 12, 2017
Saturday, August 5, 2017
WHERE THE WHITE FLOWER GROWS
Squeals of children playing sang through kitchen window of the old farm house. Inside Grammy and Pawpaw sat at oaken table, listening, watching, drinking a not usual afternoon mug of coffee.
"Thank the Lord for coffee," Grammy took another sip.
"Yep," Pawpaw reflected. "Caffeine is about the only way to fend off our normal afternoon snooze. Sure could use a nap, but we need to keep tabs on those little rascals." He chuckled. He and precious wife held hands cross that table, turned gaze from each others eyes thru window to the children outside.
At the edge of the yard, little Christin pointed past fence up the hill. "Flower," she tugged on older cousin Kirk's sleeve. "Flower," she repeated.
The good Kirk smiled. Since her birth, Kirk had loved his little cousin. Her whim had always been his command in deed. He followed her finger pointing. Saw what he thought was the most beautiful white flower on the hill between white picket fence and the cross of snow on the mountain beyond.
"Flower," little Christin urged.
Kirk hopped the white picket fence, raced up the hill...
Pawpaw had just taken deep sip of too hot coffee. He swallowed fast and hard, yelled out kitchen window, "Kirk, stop!!!"
The flower possessed the eyes of Kirk, closed his ears by its pretty. For the only sound Kirk heard was the whisper of white flower's beauty, "Pick me... for I am the jewel of all delights. Pick me... little Christin awaits..."
Kirk reached out to possess the possessor, grasped white flower's stem tight. From his palm the pain screamed up his arm, tore through spine, seared brain, roared from throat...
Pawpaw turned over chair, tore out the kitchen door. With resolute purpose Grammy rose, went to the pantry, prayed, "The poultice most be prepared. Please bless it and bless Kirk, dear Heavenly Father; I ask in Jesus precious name..."
At the table Grammy sat stirring baking soda into honey with tad of water, as Pawpaw carried a whimpering Kirk through kitchen door. A train of grandkids followed. Pawpaw sat Kirk in chair next to Grammy. Grammy waited for her husband to retrieve duct tape from lower cabinet. She gently placed Kirk's hand palm up on the table. As Pawpaw applied the duct tape to the wound, all six of the other grandchildren gathered round. Little Christin held on tight to Kirk's arm.
To the children Pawpaw explained, "The tape will pull out the poisonous hairs of the bull nettle." Pawpaw peeled off the tape from the palm of Kirk's hand and out came the thin hair like spears of the bull nettle in the stick-um. Grammy began applying the cool poultice of honey and baking soda. With each dab the whimpering of Kirk subsided.
"A lesson for us all," Pawpaw taught. "not all... that is beautiful... is harmless." The ears of the children's hearts opened wide. "Long, long ago in heaven above, a certain angel thought himself so beautiful that he sought to steal the throne of God. For this, he and the angels on his side were cast out of heaven. Ever since he has seethed hate and trod the earth seeking to trap away any he can from our Heavenly Father. One of his favorite tricks is to disguise himself or one of his servants as attractive or good or moral. This evil prince of darkness even at times disguises himself as an angel of light, perhaps as a politician or false person of religion or false teacher, or even just one of us. So do his servants also, as they have learned from him. ...And such is through yon kitchen window, 'where the white flower grows,' but a hill of stinging bull nettle, that tries to separate those within the white picket fence from the cross of snow on the mountain beyond."
All eyes of the children peered through kitchen window past white picket fence ...to where the white flower grows. Scarcely had they noticed the exit of Pawpaw, till they saw him carrying the hoe up that hill...
2nd Corinthians 11:13-15 (Satan and his servants masquerade as an angels of light.)
Without our Heavenly Father we are like children without guidance, who play in the nettles that sting...
Allegory & Scripture
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
"Thank the Lord for coffee," Grammy took another sip.
"Yep," Pawpaw reflected. "Caffeine is about the only way to fend off our normal afternoon snooze. Sure could use a nap, but we need to keep tabs on those little rascals." He chuckled. He and precious wife held hands cross that table, turned gaze from each others eyes thru window to the children outside.
At the edge of the yard, little Christin pointed past fence up the hill. "Flower," she tugged on older cousin Kirk's sleeve. "Flower," she repeated.
The good Kirk smiled. Since her birth, Kirk had loved his little cousin. Her whim had always been his command in deed. He followed her finger pointing. Saw what he thought was the most beautiful white flower on the hill between white picket fence and the cross of snow on the mountain beyond.
"Flower," little Christin urged.
Kirk hopped the white picket fence, raced up the hill...
Pawpaw had just taken deep sip of too hot coffee. He swallowed fast and hard, yelled out kitchen window, "Kirk, stop!!!"
The flower possessed the eyes of Kirk, closed his ears by its pretty. For the only sound Kirk heard was the whisper of white flower's beauty, "Pick me... for I am the jewel of all delights. Pick me... little Christin awaits..."
Kirk reached out to possess the possessor, grasped white flower's stem tight. From his palm the pain screamed up his arm, tore through spine, seared brain, roared from throat...
Pawpaw turned over chair, tore out the kitchen door. With resolute purpose Grammy rose, went to the pantry, prayed, "The poultice most be prepared. Please bless it and bless Kirk, dear Heavenly Father; I ask in Jesus precious name..."
At the table Grammy sat stirring baking soda into honey with tad of water, as Pawpaw carried a whimpering Kirk through kitchen door. A train of grandkids followed. Pawpaw sat Kirk in chair next to Grammy. Grammy waited for her husband to retrieve duct tape from lower cabinet. She gently placed Kirk's hand palm up on the table. As Pawpaw applied the duct tape to the wound, all six of the other grandchildren gathered round. Little Christin held on tight to Kirk's arm.
To the children Pawpaw explained, "The tape will pull out the poisonous hairs of the bull nettle." Pawpaw peeled off the tape from the palm of Kirk's hand and out came the thin hair like spears of the bull nettle in the stick-um. Grammy began applying the cool poultice of honey and baking soda. With each dab the whimpering of Kirk subsided.
"A lesson for us all," Pawpaw taught. "not all... that is beautiful... is harmless." The ears of the children's hearts opened wide. "Long, long ago in heaven above, a certain angel thought himself so beautiful that he sought to steal the throne of God. For this, he and the angels on his side were cast out of heaven. Ever since he has seethed hate and trod the earth seeking to trap away any he can from our Heavenly Father. One of his favorite tricks is to disguise himself or one of his servants as attractive or good or moral. This evil prince of darkness even at times disguises himself as an angel of light, perhaps as a politician or false person of religion or false teacher, or even just one of us. So do his servants also, as they have learned from him. ...And such is through yon kitchen window, 'where the white flower grows,' but a hill of stinging bull nettle, that tries to separate those within the white picket fence from the cross of snow on the mountain beyond."
All eyes of the children peered through kitchen window past white picket fence ...to where the white flower grows. Scarcely had they noticed the exit of Pawpaw, till they saw him carrying the hoe up that hill...
2nd Corinthians 11:13-15 (Satan and his servants masquerade as an angels of light.)
Without our Heavenly Father we are like children without guidance, who play in the nettles that sting...
Allegory & Scripture
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
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