"As far as the east is from the west," Ted puffed a huff, "that's when I can stop."
In hie hurry stride Ted neared sidewalk trot, as he blast past Autumn Boutique, past Summers End Flowers, past Open Door Cafe... stopped, froze, ceased breath. He stepped backward to the open door of Open Door Cafe; took eternal breath. "There," breath rushed out, "in there, there I am."
Ted thread door, tread up to cafe table, pulled out chair, sat down, stared eye to eye narrow at coffee sipping Self.
Coffee mug met table top. "Do I know you?" Self smugly smiled.
Ted's noggin hurt. "What," was all he had, yet his mind raced on, almost spit out the obvious conclusion.
"No Ted, I am not your twin." Self's smile grew a tad.
"But how, why, who?" Ted be befuddled.
"I once lived in you," Self hoisted mug, "but now I am sitting cross table." Coffee steam arose, became one with inner nose.
"So you would have me believe that you are my, my conscience, and now this is your new thing?"
"Not new, more gradual. Gradually you pushed me out each time you had no time, each time you hurried out home door with Tess right there, waiting for the scent of kiss that wafted away."
"Who are you to criticize me? I don't even know you." Ted's own words hurt his head. Bewildered cry escaped Ted lips, "Jesus help."
In forgotten corner an antique, broken down, and unplugged jukebox whirled to life, lit up rainbow bright, set up record, played a knowing tune of knowing light, "As far as the east is from the west, that's how far love is..."
Ted turned attention back cross table. Through swirl of steam from lone coffee mug, he beheld empty chair.
Ted pulled out cell phone and cancelled all appointments, accept one, a certain lip to lip at home open door...
...And during that kiss, Ted held Tess tender tight till she giggled.
"Do you feel it?" Tess whispered in Ted ear.
"Love." Ted whispered back.
Tess eyes found Ted's. "Yes, our love bump." Tess tummy kicked his.
To get attention, you gotta give attention... to God, to his son Jesus, to each other... Love...
Proverbs 8:17 KJV "I love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me."
John 3:16 KJV, "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
As far as the east is from the west, Psalm 103
Saturday, November 17, 2018
Saturday, September 15, 2018
HYGGE
"Hygge," puffed joyful purr, neath plush nest of comforter.
Head popped out. Right arm followed, stretched bove unkempt sun lit auburn hair. Eyes squinched tight, Tess yawn trailed off into nother purr, the near succumbing to nether cover. Her arm collapsed... right across face of fellow nestee.
"Owwee," Ted head complained, pushed Tess arm from lips and nose.
"Not owwee, hygge," Tess stretched again, plopped arm back into place atop Ted face.
"Whut?" Ted lips mumbled neath Tess elbow.
"Hygge," Tess struggled to open eyes, "to us tourists pronounced as if it were spelled hue-guh." She shifted to snuggle, turned toward Ted, somehow replaced right elbow with left armpit astraddle Ted nose. Tess slipped into snore.
Ted just wished he could breathe, pulled nose from armpit to atop Tess shoulder, took breath, squeaked, "Bouquet of roses with undertone of hazel nut, or as in this case, Tess nut." He chuckled, kissed Tess shoulder.
Eyes sleepy slits,Tess snuggled closer, purred, "Hygge," started to snuggle even closer, eyes popped wide, "Road trip!"
"But we are newlyweds," Ted whimpered, teased, "More warm hygge snuggles, less trip?"
"Oft soft dreams of night mirror... tucked away kisses of day..." Tess eyes danced.
"Well," Ted smiled, "if its an ice cream run, I'm in."
"Ice cream in Iceland?" Tess eyes reflected chocolate vanilla swirl in hygge a twirl.
"Well, we best get dressed. Although, "Ted lifted brow, "it is early June in Iceland. What hour of the twenty-one hours of sunlight is it and what is the weather up to?"
Ted strode to cabin door, opened, "Snowing, in June, but it's not sticking, but it is wet and chilly. So let the routine multi-layer Icelandic dressing begin."
Content neath warm covers, Tess watched her brand new husband meticulously lay out his and hers clothing on edge of bed.
Twenty minutes later, "Let's see, for our tops," Ted ran through checklist, "we have thermal non-cotton long sleeve under shirts, check; loose lambs wool sweaters, check; thick water repellent coats with hood, check; and lamb fleece head warmers, check. For our bottoms we got thermal non-cotton layer, check; non-cotton active pants, check; and outer layer rain proof pants, check. For feet we got thick wool socks, lamb of course, check; and insulated waterproof hiking boots, check. For hands we have warm gloves with outer waterproof shell and lambs wool liners, check. And of course the mandatory sun glasses for my Tess' pretty almond eyes."
Head propped up by hand and elbow, with lifted brow Tess voiced concern, "Which part of his obsessive compulsive disorder did my new hubby forget to tell me about and what's up with this non-cotton obsession?"
"Cotton kills!" Ted offhandedly replied, while surveying job well done.
"Cotton kills?" Tess eyes strained wide. "You suffer a cotton phobia too!"
"Naw," Ted smirked, "it is an old Icelandic adage belaying the fact that air pockets in cotton fabric fill up with sweat like a sponge and hold it. To stay warm clothing must trap air near the skin and wick away water."
"So you are not the least bit nuerotic?" Tess teased.
"Not at all." Ted eyed undershirt, smoothed out wrinkle. "Oh my, now I've got to go back over the entire checklist."
"What!" Tess mouth did not close.
Ted busted out laughing. Tess clobbered him with pillow. The giggling began. Those neatly arranged clothes got a few new wrinkles, til Tess pinned Ted down, demanded, "Road trip!"
Minutes later a sunglasses and multi-layer clad Tess and Ted paused just outside cabin door in the drifting down snow, and said this little prayer, "Thank you Father above for this beautiful hygge day. Help us be blessings all along the way, in Jesus name." And the newlywed Tess smiled and sighed, "So now we even pray in unison?"
And so on the way in that Volvo AWD the radio sang, "A leidinni aftur..."
"Now that's a lively tune," Tess giggled, "but I can only imagine what the lady is singing."
"A leidinni aftur," Ted flawlessly pronounced.
"So now Mr. Cotton Phobia speaks Icelandic? Because if you do, that is another OCD red flag, check." She only half kidded.
"A leidinni aftur means: on the way return," Ted matter of facted.
"I repeat, so now you speak Icelandic?"
"Well, no," Ted sorta wondered himself, "although why am I understanding every single word of this song on the radio? A leidinni aftur... on the way return."
Then in sync Tess and Ted felt the gentle and familiar warmth of Jesus' smile, and their mission for the day to share Christian joy all along the way, in that oh so very icy, icy Iceland.
Thus it came to pass in a certain grand ice cream parlor, that in line awaiting for ice cream order taking, the bouncy giggly, snuggly kissy newlyweds caught attention of every native and tourist; so every eye did see and their hearts infected be, by that old hygge. And soon round tiny parlor table Tess and Ted sat down, gathered hands together round snowy ice cream sundae peaked with chocolate cherry drizzle, and lifted up thanksgiving: "A leidinni aftur... on the way return, for our Jesus saith, 'I am the 'way', the truth, and the life; no person cometh unto the Father, but by me.' A leidinni aftur... on the way return..."
And every foreign and native ear did understand and hear, that their lips breathe and bear, "Amen."
And later that evening, returned to cozy cabin, after a hygge a wonder kind a day, midst warm comforter nest, twixt passionate embrace, Tess purred in Ted ear, "Oft soft dreams of night mirror... tucked away kisses of day."
To feel Jesus' smile: study his word, fellowship in his church, pray in his name, love God and love one another...
John 14:6... Johannes 14:6...
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
SUNSHINE AFTER RAIN
"I just can't take it any more! Where did all the flowers go?" Exasperated by her own flower garden ineptitude, Jena Scarsbury cried out across backyard fence to her neighborette.
At the end of water hose, Rosie Mai Chi grinned, sprayed prize tulips with streamlettes cool and clear. "That too bad, Jena," Rosie kidded, "maybe you have better luck with cactus." She giggled.
"It's not fair!" Jena fired back, "You guru worshipin' Chinese come over here and foreign idol up America, fill our roads with pint sized cars and fill our minds with inferiority. And what do you get for it? You get rewarded for it, that's what! I can't take it anymore!"
"Jena, Jena, you not know gurus from India, pint sized cars Korean and Japanese the smart ones?" Smiling, Rosie shook head, turned spray on thirsty bed of posies.
"See that is exactly what I mean: you people are inscrutable," Jena groaned.
"You crazy mix-up American, nice try to get my goat, you know husband and I are Christian missionaries to here. You guys need Jesus. And you wonder where did flowers go! You silly." Rosie smiled.
Suddenly, as if heaven sent, bright sunlight and rain cascaded down... Jena scrambled to shelter neath covered patio. She turned to search for her favorite neighborette and sparring partner. Jena hollered loud above the rain on tin, "Who is crazy now? I am not the one standing in the rain!"
And there Rosie stood amid the garden, smiling, watching, rhythmically nodding along with the dance of her kindred roses, flowers and ferns as they bent and leaped... neath the weight of sunlit rain... then Rosie breathed his name... "Jesus..."
In his last words, the man after God's own heart, King David spoke of the coming of Jesus: 2nd Samuel 23:4 Living Bible, "He shall be as the light of morning, a cloudless sunrise, when the tender grass springs forth upon the earth, as sunshine after rain."
Post script: "The Little Miracle":
In the story after Rosie declared, "You silly," the writing ended with no foreseen way to connect it with the chosen scripture nor the title, "Sunshine After Rain." So I prayed. Then the thought struck me that perhaps Rosie's accent was a tad too stereotypical. So I figured why not give her a third generation Chinese from Copenhagen Danish accent. Like that would work? But there I went. I was stuck anyway; so I Google Danish accent, right! Well there she is, the stereotypical little Danish girl answering questions on how to say phrases in English with a Danish accent. And so someone types in and she repeats the question in her natural accent, "What do they call it when the rain falls when the sun is shining?" She giggles, pans camera to window and says, "It actually does right now..." And there is the sunlit rain falling in the beautiful garden just outside her window. And she says, "It is coming a rainbow..." John 20:15-16...
At the end of water hose, Rosie Mai Chi grinned, sprayed prize tulips with streamlettes cool and clear. "That too bad, Jena," Rosie kidded, "maybe you have better luck with cactus." She giggled.
"It's not fair!" Jena fired back, "You guru worshipin' Chinese come over here and foreign idol up America, fill our roads with pint sized cars and fill our minds with inferiority. And what do you get for it? You get rewarded for it, that's what! I can't take it anymore!"
"Jena, Jena, you not know gurus from India, pint sized cars Korean and Japanese the smart ones?" Smiling, Rosie shook head, turned spray on thirsty bed of posies.
"See that is exactly what I mean: you people are inscrutable," Jena groaned.
"You crazy mix-up American, nice try to get my goat, you know husband and I are Christian missionaries to here. You guys need Jesus. And you wonder where did flowers go! You silly." Rosie smiled.
Suddenly, as if heaven sent, bright sunlight and rain cascaded down... Jena scrambled to shelter neath covered patio. She turned to search for her favorite neighborette and sparring partner. Jena hollered loud above the rain on tin, "Who is crazy now? I am not the one standing in the rain!"
And there Rosie stood amid the garden, smiling, watching, rhythmically nodding along with the dance of her kindred roses, flowers and ferns as they bent and leaped... neath the weight of sunlit rain... then Rosie breathed his name... "Jesus..."
In his last words, the man after God's own heart, King David spoke of the coming of Jesus: 2nd Samuel 23:4 Living Bible, "He shall be as the light of morning, a cloudless sunrise, when the tender grass springs forth upon the earth, as sunshine after rain."
Post script: "The Little Miracle":
In the story after Rosie declared, "You silly," the writing ended with no foreseen way to connect it with the chosen scripture nor the title, "Sunshine After Rain." So I prayed. Then the thought struck me that perhaps Rosie's accent was a tad too stereotypical. So I figured why not give her a third generation Chinese from Copenhagen Danish accent. Like that would work? But there I went. I was stuck anyway; so I Google Danish accent, right! Well there she is, the stereotypical little Danish girl answering questions on how to say phrases in English with a Danish accent. And so someone types in and she repeats the question in her natural accent, "What do they call it when the rain falls when the sun is shining?" She giggles, pans camera to window and says, "It actually does right now..." And there is the sunlit rain falling in the beautiful garden just outside her window. And she says, "It is coming a rainbow..." John 20:15-16...
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
THE WINK
Tess wink shouted conspiracy. The flip of her sun kissed auburn hair sang I don't care. Both hitched glitch to over the table negotiations; and as her eyes locked into Ted's, her left hand inched closer to last slice of Galactic Pizza Palace pizza.
Ted winked right back.
Tess blinked. "You know I am only doing this for your own good, saving you from indigestion, heart burn, even flabbier love handles."
Ted winked again.
"You didn't! Did I just see the unmistakable eye nod of innuendo, the hint of insinuation, veiled reflection, perhaps oblique allusion, or even more the wink of retaliatory shenanigan?" Tess huffed.
"Just flirting, Hon." Ted eyes had grown wide with, "Let me outta here! Women are crazy."
Tess arose from seat. One hand on hip, one behind back, she rounded table, stood over and glared down at him, slid arm round his neck, plopped in Ted lap, cooed, "Ahh, the conspiracy... of love." Tess lips met his.
Ted's right arm and hand hugged her to him, while left hand searched table top for last gasp grasp of...
"Looking for this, pizza breath?" Tess teased, waved last chance for peace, piece a pizza, before Ted a hungered eyes. "Do you smell it? Smell the," Tess took whiff, "savor that aged parmesan atop pepperoni, mozzarella and marinara on that fresh baked crust?"
Ted tummy gurgled.
Tess nibbled a bite. Her eyelashes fluttered delight.
Ted whimpered. Lower lip trembled.
With pizza aromaficated breath Tess kissed that lip a tremble. Then Tess eyes to Ted eyes shined love, as she shared with hubby last rites bites of Galactic Pizza Palace pizza.
Ted mumbled through mouthful chew, "Tess, you are my Queen of the Wink."
More than a blink tis the wink. By the nod of the eye what we see is not always what we get. For many be the signals beamed by curtain drawn eye: conspiracy, innuendo, insinuation, retaliation, even scorn; or perhaps playful shenanigan, flirting, teasing, favor, the yes of agreement, good point acknowledgement... or even I saw what you did.
Like pizza, like most things people eat, the wink can be good or bad. Depends on how used, the amount consumed, the motivation behind it, and most of all how God weighs it. Just remember: God sees it all...
Proverbs 15:3 KJV, "The eyes of the LORD are in every place, beholding the evil and the good."
Maybe acting in love is a good idea...
Ted winked right back.
Tess blinked. "You know I am only doing this for your own good, saving you from indigestion, heart burn, even flabbier love handles."
Ted winked again.
"You didn't! Did I just see the unmistakable eye nod of innuendo, the hint of insinuation, veiled reflection, perhaps oblique allusion, or even more the wink of retaliatory shenanigan?" Tess huffed.
"Just flirting, Hon." Ted eyes had grown wide with, "Let me outta here! Women are crazy."
Tess arose from seat. One hand on hip, one behind back, she rounded table, stood over and glared down at him, slid arm round his neck, plopped in Ted lap, cooed, "Ahh, the conspiracy... of love." Tess lips met his.
Ted's right arm and hand hugged her to him, while left hand searched table top for last gasp grasp of...
"Looking for this, pizza breath?" Tess teased, waved last chance for peace, piece a pizza, before Ted a hungered eyes. "Do you smell it? Smell the," Tess took whiff, "savor that aged parmesan atop pepperoni, mozzarella and marinara on that fresh baked crust?"
Ted tummy gurgled.
Tess nibbled a bite. Her eyelashes fluttered delight.
Ted whimpered. Lower lip trembled.
With pizza aromaficated breath Tess kissed that lip a tremble. Then Tess eyes to Ted eyes shined love, as she shared with hubby last rites bites of Galactic Pizza Palace pizza.
Ted mumbled through mouthful chew, "Tess, you are my Queen of the Wink."
More than a blink tis the wink. By the nod of the eye what we see is not always what we get. For many be the signals beamed by curtain drawn eye: conspiracy, innuendo, insinuation, retaliation, even scorn; or perhaps playful shenanigan, flirting, teasing, favor, the yes of agreement, good point acknowledgement... or even I saw what you did.
Like pizza, like most things people eat, the wink can be good or bad. Depends on how used, the amount consumed, the motivation behind it, and most of all how God weighs it. Just remember: God sees it all...
Proverbs 15:3 KJV, "The eyes of the LORD are in every place, beholding the evil and the good."
Maybe acting in love is a good idea...
Wednesday, April 18, 2018
HAIKU
Haiku
Mighty Prince
Haiku
Paddle canoe
Mighty Prince
Haiku
Paddle canoe
Thru sunset
Kissed milieu
Away Haiku
Away
Waters way
Haiku
Romans 12:15
Kissed milieu
Away Haiku
Away
Waters way
Haiku
Romans 12:15
Sunday, April 8, 2018
FISHIN' IN THE AMEN RIVER
Not all appears as it seems in the hill country streams. For in the burning Texas heat how can cypress, cedar and oak grow so green long the dry bone rocks and sandstone slabs of the Amen River bed? But just as the Amen River twists round every foot of hill, so does that hidden; for sometimes a few feet below rock, sometimes only inches, fresh running water runs, and often, so very often just round the next bend lays an open pool of living water.
And round one such foot of hill, at a certain upper pool, on a large flat stone sat one Miss Faith Ann McTurity with fishin' pole in hand. O' so still Faith sat with brown eyes not blinking. He was there. There below. There also with unblinking eyes. Not moving. Contemplating eating. In a snap the worm was his. Unfortunately for him so was the hook Mr. Perch took. To the surface Perch got jerked. And no matter how Mr. Perch flipped and he flapped, that hook to erase, he could not erase the smile of Faith Ann McTurity.
Fish full stringer swayed from that old cane pole on the shoulder of Faith, as she walked round the bend of the Amen River toward her tiny hamlet called Amen Corner. And Faith sang, "One less fish in the Amen River; one more dish we can set for dinner. God bless the Amen River..."
For you see... Miss Faith Ann McTurity lacked not faith and maturity...
...Where Faith meets Knowing...
...The Amen River...
Hebrews 11:1&3; Isaiah 32:2&3, 43:19; John 7:38
Mathew 18:3&4, 21:16
Jesus the Rock from which the Living River flows...
1st Corinthians 10:4 & Numbers 20:8 KJ
.
And round one such foot of hill, at a certain upper pool, on a large flat stone sat one Miss Faith Ann McTurity with fishin' pole in hand. O' so still Faith sat with brown eyes not blinking. He was there. There below. There also with unblinking eyes. Not moving. Contemplating eating. In a snap the worm was his. Unfortunately for him so was the hook Mr. Perch took. To the surface Perch got jerked. And no matter how Mr. Perch flipped and he flapped, that hook to erase, he could not erase the smile of Faith Ann McTurity.
Fish full stringer swayed from that old cane pole on the shoulder of Faith, as she walked round the bend of the Amen River toward her tiny hamlet called Amen Corner. And Faith sang, "One less fish in the Amen River; one more dish we can set for dinner. God bless the Amen River..."
For you see... Miss Faith Ann McTurity lacked not faith and maturity...
...Where Faith meets Knowing...
...The Amen River...
Hebrews 11:1&3; Isaiah 32:2&3, 43:19; John 7:38
Mathew 18:3&4, 21:16
Jesus the Rock from which the Living River flows...
1st Corinthians 10:4 & Numbers 20:8 KJ
.
Tuesday, February 27, 2018
NUT GRASS
"Ever wonder how far is away?" Tess yawned, uprooted yet another sprig of nut grass from the garden.
"Often does the way remind, before the shadow shines the light." Grunt punctuated Ted response, while pulling yet another long rooted weed that he knew not the name of. Ted glanced over at Tess, his eyes lingered there, and he thought, "Even in the late afternoon heat, even in dirt infused sweats, even with garden soil on the tip of freckled nose neath brim of cap, my Tess rocks that strawberry blond hair and pale blue eyes."
Like all intuition imbued women when being watched, Tess wiped speck from nose, looked up, smiled, "Less admiration, more weed pulling, ol' man." Her smile grew as she resumed nut grass war.
But a curious Ted could not help but wonder at a certain Tess brand of peculiar behavior. "Mind if I ask why you are separating the nut grass into two separate pots?"
"Horchata de chufa." Tess extracted yet nother nut grass sprig out of the garden.
"Horchata de what-a?" Familiar female voice chimed in from edge of garden.
Tess and Ted smiled at each other, chimed together, "Good morning Barrett." They looked up to see husband Grinn at her side, both wearing their signature line of Grinn & Barrett khaki knickers and tees.
"How are our neighbor clothing moguls this glorious and blessed morning?" Tess extended greeting.
"Now Tess, you know we love you, but," Grinn grinned, "but when you start slinging round words like glorious and blessed, you usually slip into that irritating witnessing for Jesus stuff."
Barrett elbowed hubby.
"Owww!" Grinn rubbed ribs.
"Don't be rude, Grinn. Tess only witnesses to you cause she loves you. Besides, you need to listen." Barrett returned attention to Tess, "Anyhow, what is this horchata de what-a you mentioned earlier?"
"Horchata de chufa is a delicious icy drink made by mixing water with a ground blend of select nut grass nutlets, rice, sugar, cinnamon, vanilla and tad a nutmeg." Tess blinked those pale blues appretiatively up at Barrett.
"Oh sweet deja vu," Ted eyes lit up, "that's what that creamy white drink was the other day. Fresh n cold right out a the fridge and putting the yeeeeeee back in my haaaaaaa! Tasty E-N-E-R-G-Y!"
"More like ick, nut grass!" Grinn grinned.
"Too proud and stuck in your ways to try something new, no matter how tasty and good for you it is?" Barrett hugged Grinn arm.
Grinn barely noticed the ebb in time... as lightning filled the east and shined even throughout the west, but Tess and Ted knew, knew the Beginning and the End, the Alpha and the Omega, He was here... then they were there... in the clouds with Jesus...
At the edge of the garden Grinn sank to his knees alone... no Barrett hugging his arm...
Matthew 24:27 (Jesus)
"Often does the way remind, before the shadow shines the light." Grunt punctuated Ted response, while pulling yet another long rooted weed that he knew not the name of. Ted glanced over at Tess, his eyes lingered there, and he thought, "Even in the late afternoon heat, even in dirt infused sweats, even with garden soil on the tip of freckled nose neath brim of cap, my Tess rocks that strawberry blond hair and pale blue eyes."
Like all intuition imbued women when being watched, Tess wiped speck from nose, looked up, smiled, "Less admiration, more weed pulling, ol' man." Her smile grew as she resumed nut grass war.
But a curious Ted could not help but wonder at a certain Tess brand of peculiar behavior. "Mind if I ask why you are separating the nut grass into two separate pots?"
"Horchata de chufa." Tess extracted yet nother nut grass sprig out of the garden.
"Horchata de what-a?" Familiar female voice chimed in from edge of garden.
Tess and Ted smiled at each other, chimed together, "Good morning Barrett." They looked up to see husband Grinn at her side, both wearing their signature line of Grinn & Barrett khaki knickers and tees.
"How are our neighbor clothing moguls this glorious and blessed morning?" Tess extended greeting.
"Now Tess, you know we love you, but," Grinn grinned, "but when you start slinging round words like glorious and blessed, you usually slip into that irritating witnessing for Jesus stuff."
Barrett elbowed hubby.
"Owww!" Grinn rubbed ribs.
"Don't be rude, Grinn. Tess only witnesses to you cause she loves you. Besides, you need to listen." Barrett returned attention to Tess, "Anyhow, what is this horchata de what-a you mentioned earlier?"
"Horchata de chufa is a delicious icy drink made by mixing water with a ground blend of select nut grass nutlets, rice, sugar, cinnamon, vanilla and tad a nutmeg." Tess blinked those pale blues appretiatively up at Barrett.
"Oh sweet deja vu," Ted eyes lit up, "that's what that creamy white drink was the other day. Fresh n cold right out a the fridge and putting the yeeeeeee back in my haaaaaaa! Tasty E-N-E-R-G-Y!"
"More like ick, nut grass!" Grinn grinned.
"Too proud and stuck in your ways to try something new, no matter how tasty and good for you it is?" Barrett hugged Grinn arm.
Grinn barely noticed the ebb in time... as lightning filled the east and shined even throughout the west, but Tess and Ted knew, knew the Beginning and the End, the Alpha and the Omega, He was here... then they were there... in the clouds with Jesus...
At the edge of the garden Grinn sank to his knees alone... no Barrett hugging his arm...
Matthew 24:27 (Jesus)
Matthew 25:13 (urgency)
1st Thessalonians 4:15-18 (the rapture: "caught up together" in the clouds with Jesus...)
John 4:35
John 3:16 For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
Romans 6:23; 5:8; 10:9 & 13 (The most wonderful of news... salvation.)
Jesus loves You! Love him right back.
Sunday, February 4, 2018
FROG IN THE FOG
FROG IN THE FOG
"Wake up, Larry," Karen whispered, "Someone is at our window."
"Ugh,"was followed by Larry roll over.
"Larry," Karen shook him, "Larry, go see what it is."
Larry let out mid nightmare moan.
The unseen thumped window screen.
"Get up!" Karen pinched his posterior.
"Mommy!" Larry screamed, "Tha crabs are eating me!"
"I'm not your Mommy! I am wife, scared wife. Someone is breaking into our bedroom window," Karen huffed.
"What?" Larry raised head, rubbed rear, listened.
Thump! "Brrrrooookkke! Brrrrrrrooooookkke!"
"Its just a frog singing and catching mosquitoes," Larry yawned, crashed head back to pillow.
"No you don't. If it is, just a frog, how can I sleep with that green, that thing, ripping through the screen. Get up and get it away from me, or the crabs will eat Mommy's little boy!" Karen jabbed pincer.
"Okay already." In the dark Larry hung legs over mattress edge, stood, felt around on night stand for flashlight, knocked it off squarely onto little toe toenail. "Ou-ou-ou-ouch!" He whined.
"Quit goofing around, Larry!" Karen growled.
"Lord remind me why I love this woman." The thought accidentally found path to his lips.
"What!" Karen fumed.
"I'm going. I'm going." Larry stepped, the flashlight rolled under foot, Larry's legs flew up over his head, head hit floor, his lungs compressed. Silence...
"Larry?" Karen turned on reading lamp.
"Am I dead?" Larry gasped.
Thump went the window screen! "Brrrrrrrooooookkke!"
"Larry, paaa-lease get out there and do something!" Karen seethed through teeth.
Larry grabbed flashlight, crawled to feet and stomped out bedroom to front porch door. Unlocking, he muttered, "At least I can let Muffin back in; another thing I should-a already done." He opened the door. Not even the flashlight penetrated the night fog. "Great, just great," Larry complained. He flicked on the porch light. The fog reflected it back as blinding light. Larry turned it off. "I guess a little light from the flashlight is better than no light at all," he groaned.
Something rustled in the wife's flower garden off to the right of the porch and right under bedroom window. "No doubt Muffin is stalking the wife's nemesis as well," Larry deduced.
The frog in the fog thumped the window screen, again barked warning, "Brrrrrooookkke!"
The rustling under the window increased. Larry stepped off porch directly into potted begonias. Struggling to extract foot from pot, Larry spied the black and white silhouette of Muffin in the fog. "A stroke of good luck at last," Larry sighed, scooped up his precious kitty. He rose, brushed the frog in the fog off window screen and headed back in. "Victory at last." He praised self. "After all, finding a black and white cat in night fog is no small feat. So glad I found you little buddy." Larry hugged Muffin. Muffin hugged Larry's neck, rubbed soft furry cheek on his chin and began to purr. "Love you too little buddy," Larry added, "Let's go cheer up your Momma."
Triumphant and loved, Larry entered bedroom and strode up to mattress edge. "Say hi to Momma... Muffin..."
The volume of horror on Karen's face was only exceeded by the decibels of her scream...
It was then that the startled skunk began to spray...
Thump went the window screen... "Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrooooooookkke!"
...What does the frog say...
...If it ain't brrrrrrooookkke, don't fix it...
...What a deep pit, burning lips dig...
...As the shrill voice reeks,so the skunk stinks...
...Why stir up trouble where there is none...
...Let singing frogs in the fog sing and catch mosquitoes like the LORD designed them to...
Proverbs 16:21 & 27; 10:14; 30:33 and Matthew 6:33-34
Like that old Pharaoh of ancient Egypt, as recorded in Exodus, focusing on the frog as an idol or as a plague is just misplaced focus. Focus on what matters, The Living God and his son Jesus...
"Wake up, Larry," Karen whispered, "Someone is at our window."
"Ugh,"was followed by Larry roll over.
"Larry," Karen shook him, "Larry, go see what it is."
Larry let out mid nightmare moan.
The unseen thumped window screen.
"Get up!" Karen pinched his posterior.
"Mommy!" Larry screamed, "Tha crabs are eating me!"
"I'm not your Mommy! I am wife, scared wife. Someone is breaking into our bedroom window," Karen huffed.
"What?" Larry raised head, rubbed rear, listened.
Thump! "Brrrrooookkke! Brrrrrrrooooookkke!"
"Its just a frog singing and catching mosquitoes," Larry yawned, crashed head back to pillow.
"No you don't. If it is, just a frog, how can I sleep with that green, that thing, ripping through the screen. Get up and get it away from me, or the crabs will eat Mommy's little boy!" Karen jabbed pincer.
"Okay already." In the dark Larry hung legs over mattress edge, stood, felt around on night stand for flashlight, knocked it off squarely onto little toe toenail. "Ou-ou-ou-ouch!" He whined.
"Quit goofing around, Larry!" Karen growled.
"Lord remind me why I love this woman." The thought accidentally found path to his lips.
"What!" Karen fumed.
"I'm going. I'm going." Larry stepped, the flashlight rolled under foot, Larry's legs flew up over his head, head hit floor, his lungs compressed. Silence...
"Larry?" Karen turned on reading lamp.
"Am I dead?" Larry gasped.
Thump went the window screen! "Brrrrrrrooooookkke!"
"Larry, paaa-lease get out there and do something!" Karen seethed through teeth.
Larry grabbed flashlight, crawled to feet and stomped out bedroom to front porch door. Unlocking, he muttered, "At least I can let Muffin back in; another thing I should-a already done." He opened the door. Not even the flashlight penetrated the night fog. "Great, just great," Larry complained. He flicked on the porch light. The fog reflected it back as blinding light. Larry turned it off. "I guess a little light from the flashlight is better than no light at all," he groaned.
Something rustled in the wife's flower garden off to the right of the porch and right under bedroom window. "No doubt Muffin is stalking the wife's nemesis as well," Larry deduced.
The frog in the fog thumped the window screen, again barked warning, "Brrrrrooookkke!"
The rustling under the window increased. Larry stepped off porch directly into potted begonias. Struggling to extract foot from pot, Larry spied the black and white silhouette of Muffin in the fog. "A stroke of good luck at last," Larry sighed, scooped up his precious kitty. He rose, brushed the frog in the fog off window screen and headed back in. "Victory at last." He praised self. "After all, finding a black and white cat in night fog is no small feat. So glad I found you little buddy." Larry hugged Muffin. Muffin hugged Larry's neck, rubbed soft furry cheek on his chin and began to purr. "Love you too little buddy," Larry added, "Let's go cheer up your Momma."
Triumphant and loved, Larry entered bedroom and strode up to mattress edge. "Say hi to Momma... Muffin..."
The volume of horror on Karen's face was only exceeded by the decibels of her scream...
It was then that the startled skunk began to spray...
Thump went the window screen... "Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrooooooookkke!"
...What does the frog say...
...If it ain't brrrrrrooookkke, don't fix it...
...What a deep pit, burning lips dig...
...As the shrill voice reeks,so the skunk stinks...
...Why stir up trouble where there is none...
...Let singing frogs in the fog sing and catch mosquitoes like the LORD designed them to...
Proverbs 16:21 & 27; 10:14; 30:33 and Matthew 6:33-34
Like that old Pharaoh of ancient Egypt, as recorded in Exodus, focusing on the frog as an idol or as a plague is just misplaced focus. Focus on what matters, The Living God and his son Jesus...
Thursday, December 28, 2017
WATER O CHOCOLATE
When Boudreaux wed Apasionada, dim' folk dun' had one-a-dim' paardees'. Amid this fiesta-festival the marriage of zydeco and cumbia echoed through the Louisiana swamp. To de' pound of de' music and de' stomp of de' feets: de' fishes leaped, de' bull frogs bellered, de' gators clapped der' jaws, even the heart of the bayou waters did beat. Nine months later, little was the surprise, when one more excuse to celebrate arrived: the birth of brothers Pierre and Pedro. And the brothers two, oh how they grew, all the while living la vida loco. "No life without passion," they often proclaimed, "our undying motto."
And from the passion of the two that grew flowed a love of food. A love fulfilled in the twin's joint venture, The Chocolate Gator Grill, a cafe made famous by their signature entree: chocolate gator gumbo chili-mole'. They cooked; they flourished; no way could folks get enough of that chocolate gator gumbo chili-mole'...
Until one faithless day, national TV reporter/food critic, Creme Brule, into the blue bayou blew, to interview the chocolate toothed two. And with mike in hand Creme gestured about the cafe to ice cream display, to rows of cake, to piles of de' pie, and with an eye for the eerie she did droolingly query, "All chocolate! Everything, chocolate! What's up with that?"
With tear in the eye, Pierre did reply, "Ever since we was just little bitty babies down on the bayou, Ma Ma' Apasionada dun' us so guud'. I remember like today, we watch de' Ma Ma' boil dat' water for our hot chocolate."
"Si," Pedro patted the shoulder of his choked up brother, "Ma Ma' pass last year. But always before she go, she treat her boys a-alright. In dat' boiling water, chunk after chunk of rich dark chocolate find home. She add one ton cane sugar and boat load cream on top. To us dat' hot, hot chocolate mean no limit of love."
No limit viral that interview got viewed. Viral twas the love of the public for the two with no Ma Ma' and a legacy of chocolate. Besides, the food was "A-alright," as Pierre often said, "beyond some-none-a-tall." Thus a new wave of rave swept the nation. And on TV The Chocolate Gator Grill became the number one cooking show sensation.
The intro to the show became cult classic: "Bonjour!" In sync the brothers chimed. Then the twins introduced each other: "My brother right here with the hangy moss chin and head o' hair be Pierre. And my brother right here with the hangy moss chin and head o' hair be Pedro." In sync again, "And we brothers dun' be right here to chocolate you up!" Could TV fare sink any lower...
Well... One faithless day two flat bottom boats down the bayou did float. With camera crew in tow, reporter Creme Brule shadowed Pierre and Pedro into the swamp to reap the meaty ingredient for their chocolate gator gumbo chili-mole. Pierre cast baited tri-hook into dark waters. Pierre retrieved the line, till no more it did went; then slowly pulled the boat toward the end of the line. All stopped at that sunk tri-hook. Pedro readied dat' bat for the gator's head to splat. He peered over the side. With one big swoosh the mother of all gators Pedro dun' took... Red boiled the blood of Pedro in bayou chocolate...
After that moment tragic, and back on shore, "We should-a known some kind-a better!!!" Pierre into the camera did squall. "Too hot, too hot dat' dark water o' chocolate! O' Ma Ma', what have you dun' dun' to you boys! You should-a warn us! Gotta be careful or de' food dun' eat you!!!"
In the eye of camera, the bayou waters, that dark chocolate, framed the figure of Creme Brule. Into the mike Creme no words better than her tears did speak... Till in mid weep Creme cried, cried out, "Obsession stinks!!"
...Boiling hot chocolate burns...
...I guar-raun-tee...
Postscript:
Jeremiah 17:9 KJ, "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?"
In a heart without Jesus, passion mutates to obsession. When passion becomes idol, obsession consumes. So does in the pot on top of Ma Ma's stove, the hot chocolate grow; grow to the boiling chocolate waters of the whole bayou. Chocolate makes a delicious drink, but if you drink it at boiling temp, you get burned. Passion requires direction and limits. Passion needs the correct temperature before it is drank. Who among us as a child has not burned the lips and tip of the tongue with too hot, hot chocolate.
...Listen to the LORD, drink from the brook the living waters of Jesus...
...Drink not of the dark bayou of this world...
And from the passion of the two that grew flowed a love of food. A love fulfilled in the twin's joint venture, The Chocolate Gator Grill, a cafe made famous by their signature entree: chocolate gator gumbo chili-mole'. They cooked; they flourished; no way could folks get enough of that chocolate gator gumbo chili-mole'...
Until one faithless day, national TV reporter/food critic, Creme Brule, into the blue bayou blew, to interview the chocolate toothed two. And with mike in hand Creme gestured about the cafe to ice cream display, to rows of cake, to piles of de' pie, and with an eye for the eerie she did droolingly query, "All chocolate! Everything, chocolate! What's up with that?"
With tear in the eye, Pierre did reply, "Ever since we was just little bitty babies down on the bayou, Ma Ma' Apasionada dun' us so guud'. I remember like today, we watch de' Ma Ma' boil dat' water for our hot chocolate."
"Si," Pedro patted the shoulder of his choked up brother, "Ma Ma' pass last year. But always before she go, she treat her boys a-alright. In dat' boiling water, chunk after chunk of rich dark chocolate find home. She add one ton cane sugar and boat load cream on top. To us dat' hot, hot chocolate mean no limit of love."
No limit viral that interview got viewed. Viral twas the love of the public for the two with no Ma Ma' and a legacy of chocolate. Besides, the food was "A-alright," as Pierre often said, "beyond some-none-a-tall." Thus a new wave of rave swept the nation. And on TV The Chocolate Gator Grill became the number one cooking show sensation.
The intro to the show became cult classic: "Bonjour!" In sync the brothers chimed. Then the twins introduced each other: "My brother right here with the hangy moss chin and head o' hair be Pierre. And my brother right here with the hangy moss chin and head o' hair be Pedro." In sync again, "And we brothers dun' be right here to chocolate you up!" Could TV fare sink any lower...
Well... One faithless day two flat bottom boats down the bayou did float. With camera crew in tow, reporter Creme Brule shadowed Pierre and Pedro into the swamp to reap the meaty ingredient for their chocolate gator gumbo chili-mole. Pierre cast baited tri-hook into dark waters. Pierre retrieved the line, till no more it did went; then slowly pulled the boat toward the end of the line. All stopped at that sunk tri-hook. Pedro readied dat' bat for the gator's head to splat. He peered over the side. With one big swoosh the mother of all gators Pedro dun' took... Red boiled the blood of Pedro in bayou chocolate...
After that moment tragic, and back on shore, "We should-a known some kind-a better!!!" Pierre into the camera did squall. "Too hot, too hot dat' dark water o' chocolate! O' Ma Ma', what have you dun' dun' to you boys! You should-a warn us! Gotta be careful or de' food dun' eat you!!!"
In the eye of camera, the bayou waters, that dark chocolate, framed the figure of Creme Brule. Into the mike Creme no words better than her tears did speak... Till in mid weep Creme cried, cried out, "Obsession stinks!!"
...Boiling hot chocolate burns...
...I guar-raun-tee...
Postscript:
Jeremiah 17:9 KJ, "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?"
In a heart without Jesus, passion mutates to obsession. When passion becomes idol, obsession consumes. So does in the pot on top of Ma Ma's stove, the hot chocolate grow; grow to the boiling chocolate waters of the whole bayou. Chocolate makes a delicious drink, but if you drink it at boiling temp, you get burned. Passion requires direction and limits. Passion needs the correct temperature before it is drank. Who among us as a child has not burned the lips and tip of the tongue with too hot, hot chocolate.
...Listen to the LORD, drink from the brook the living waters of Jesus...
...Drink not of the dark bayou of this world...
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
ARBORIE ARDOUR
"Abhory leech lips Arborie!" So burned the echo of time in the mind of Arborie Ardour.
And so, oh my how so, was the love of Arborie Ardour beyond passion for little George. Without name he had sprouted into the world, till young lady Arborie fell in love at first sight, dubbed him George, plucked him up from greenhouse nursery, adopted him as her own little loblolly sapling, planted him a few feet from backyard fence. But alas all this was tad more than bit sad; for Arborie had long wanted, planned her first child to be a little George, but perceived herself too ugly to ever kiss a man. Had not the children of school bullied her, tormented her, crushed her with cruel chant, "Abhory leech lips Arborie?" So all the more was the love of Arborie Ardour beyond passion for her sapling son, little George.
Where she had planted little George? Arborie owned half that rocky hill overlooking Valley Lake. It was a hill whose only level ground was perfect, possessed just enough room for two Tudor style cottages. The gabled cottage of Arborie Ardour was brick with native sandstone accent, while gabled cottage of neighbor Heath Schrub was native sandstone with brick accent. They had purchased the homes within months of each other. Now near twenty years later there they were... still there. Why had they stayed? Over the years both had better job offers, enticing salaries and perks to relocate. And though they lived next lake, neither fished, neither sailed, neither swam, only loved the view, the view of Valley Lake?
So did little George grow near that backyard fence, till one huge loblolly limb shaded also Heath's patio, a patio joined by vine arbor gate to garden of favorite and only neighbor. And as most days, there they sat on floral pads of white wicker bench, enjoying lake breeze of early evening.
"Arb," Heath paused, gathered glass from wicker table, took iced sweet tea sip, repeated pet name for Arborie, "Arb, you are one beautiful lady."
Sweet tea sip past Arb lips. Her long fingers touched slender throat, felt the sweetness flowing down. She smiled. "Heath, if I didn't know better, I'd say that tea is getting you tingly in all the wrong places." She near giggled, felt tad of tingle too. "But I see old stick figure big lips me in the mirror every morning," she fished with allure for further compliment.
Genuine reflection rippled the pale face of Heath from receding hairline to brow, past nose to mouth, "When you first moved in next door you were cute, yet a little lean; but over the years I've seen..." Heath stopped, looked away to Valley Lake below, then turned head to face her, "but over the years I've seen that stem figure blossom to match your full flower lips. I, ah..." Heath's courage fell short, for he'd said only in part, the needs of the heart.
Arb took nother sip of sweet tea, swallowed, and in shuddering breath uttered, "Yet, in all these years we have sat together on this garden bench, you have not put your arm around me?" She sat tea glass down on wicker table, ran fingers thru his belt loop, pulled herself close. She lay palm on his chest, moved other round his neck... planted kiss... her first kiss of a man... neath the shade of the once little George.
Oh what bliss, that long awaited kiss blessed by spring breeze caress. Till one too many puffs turned to huff, shook free dangling loblolly cone, one receding hairline to bean to the bone.
Heath hadn't thought kissing would be so painful. He ignored the trickle of wetness down forehead, to nose, then lips, till both tasted it, and together said, "Blood?"
No time to wipe the blood from her lips, she held Heath's face in both hands, saw pine cone tooth stuck in his receding hairline, instinctively plucked it out. "Oops!" Arb aired err; for she'd burst river dam. The flood of blood was on. Arb grabbed napkin from table and applied pressure to stop the bleeding. She stood up to get a better look, reapplied pressure, kidded, "I think you might live. Not all that falls from the sky is painless." Looking down at her patient, Arb smiled. She liked taking care of Heath. She giggled. She sighed. For Arb saw her own reflection in Heath's deep blue eyes.
Looking up into the chocolate almond eyes of Arb, Heath breathed, "Not all that falls from the sky is without purpose. For who rides his chariot of clouds; walks upon wings of wind; wears garment of light; stretches out starry curtain of night. Perhaps our Creator sent puff of breath thru his loblolly tree, to make pine cone his messenger be."
"And what is this message?" Arb asked, Arb smiled, as she tended the wound of his head.
"To get off this bench, and to get down on one knee." Heath did what he said. Heath reached in hip pocket, what was in velvet case was - no - locket.
"Thank you, Jesus," gushed from heart, past the full, oh my how so full, and beautiful rose lips of Arborie Ardour.
Many kisses... a wedding and one year later... little Georgette was born...
Sometimes more is loved than the view... the view of Valley Lake...
Psalms 104:1-5 & 8:1-9
Proverbs 3:11-13
Sometimes we need a pine cone to the head... to get on the right path to God's blessings...
And so, oh my how so, was the love of Arborie Ardour beyond passion for little George. Without name he had sprouted into the world, till young lady Arborie fell in love at first sight, dubbed him George, plucked him up from greenhouse nursery, adopted him as her own little loblolly sapling, planted him a few feet from backyard fence. But alas all this was tad more than bit sad; for Arborie had long wanted, planned her first child to be a little George, but perceived herself too ugly to ever kiss a man. Had not the children of school bullied her, tormented her, crushed her with cruel chant, "Abhory leech lips Arborie?" So all the more was the love of Arborie Ardour beyond passion for her sapling son, little George.
Where she had planted little George? Arborie owned half that rocky hill overlooking Valley Lake. It was a hill whose only level ground was perfect, possessed just enough room for two Tudor style cottages. The gabled cottage of Arborie Ardour was brick with native sandstone accent, while gabled cottage of neighbor Heath Schrub was native sandstone with brick accent. They had purchased the homes within months of each other. Now near twenty years later there they were... still there. Why had they stayed? Over the years both had better job offers, enticing salaries and perks to relocate. And though they lived next lake, neither fished, neither sailed, neither swam, only loved the view, the view of Valley Lake?
So did little George grow near that backyard fence, till one huge loblolly limb shaded also Heath's patio, a patio joined by vine arbor gate to garden of favorite and only neighbor. And as most days, there they sat on floral pads of white wicker bench, enjoying lake breeze of early evening.
"Arb," Heath paused, gathered glass from wicker table, took iced sweet tea sip, repeated pet name for Arborie, "Arb, you are one beautiful lady."
Sweet tea sip past Arb lips. Her long fingers touched slender throat, felt the sweetness flowing down. She smiled. "Heath, if I didn't know better, I'd say that tea is getting you tingly in all the wrong places." She near giggled, felt tad of tingle too. "But I see old stick figure big lips me in the mirror every morning," she fished with allure for further compliment.
Genuine reflection rippled the pale face of Heath from receding hairline to brow, past nose to mouth, "When you first moved in next door you were cute, yet a little lean; but over the years I've seen..." Heath stopped, looked away to Valley Lake below, then turned head to face her, "but over the years I've seen that stem figure blossom to match your full flower lips. I, ah..." Heath's courage fell short, for he'd said only in part, the needs of the heart.
Arb took nother sip of sweet tea, swallowed, and in shuddering breath uttered, "Yet, in all these years we have sat together on this garden bench, you have not put your arm around me?" She sat tea glass down on wicker table, ran fingers thru his belt loop, pulled herself close. She lay palm on his chest, moved other round his neck... planted kiss... her first kiss of a man... neath the shade of the once little George.
Oh what bliss, that long awaited kiss blessed by spring breeze caress. Till one too many puffs turned to huff, shook free dangling loblolly cone, one receding hairline to bean to the bone.
Heath hadn't thought kissing would be so painful. He ignored the trickle of wetness down forehead, to nose, then lips, till both tasted it, and together said, "Blood?"
No time to wipe the blood from her lips, she held Heath's face in both hands, saw pine cone tooth stuck in his receding hairline, instinctively plucked it out. "Oops!" Arb aired err; for she'd burst river dam. The flood of blood was on. Arb grabbed napkin from table and applied pressure to stop the bleeding. She stood up to get a better look, reapplied pressure, kidded, "I think you might live. Not all that falls from the sky is painless." Looking down at her patient, Arb smiled. She liked taking care of Heath. She giggled. She sighed. For Arb saw her own reflection in Heath's deep blue eyes.
Looking up into the chocolate almond eyes of Arb, Heath breathed, "Not all that falls from the sky is without purpose. For who rides his chariot of clouds; walks upon wings of wind; wears garment of light; stretches out starry curtain of night. Perhaps our Creator sent puff of breath thru his loblolly tree, to make pine cone his messenger be."
"And what is this message?" Arb asked, Arb smiled, as she tended the wound of his head.
"To get off this bench, and to get down on one knee." Heath did what he said. Heath reached in hip pocket, what was in velvet case was - no - locket.
"Thank you, Jesus," gushed from heart, past the full, oh my how so full, and beautiful rose lips of Arborie Ardour.
Many kisses... a wedding and one year later... little Georgette was born...
Sometimes more is loved than the view... the view of Valley Lake...
Psalms 104:1-5 & 8:1-9
Proverbs 3:11-13
Sometimes we need a pine cone to the head... to get on the right path to God's blessings...
Wednesday, September 6, 2017
EVERY PEACH HAS ITS PIT
I could have married into the Pedernales Falls Winery up river, but did I listen to Dad, no." Jana puffed at sweat soaked blond bangs, hefted bushel basket of peaches into the back of truck. "I could have married the rich lavender farmer down the east rapids, but did I listen to Mom, nope." The former Stonewall Peach Jamboree and Rodeo Queen grunted under the weight of yet another peach basket. "And did I listen to my best friend Amy to for sure not marry that poor peach farmer smack dab in the middle, nooooo!" That last basket did not hit the truck bed lightly.
"Be careful," Daryll warned," or my Tuetonic warrior princess will bruise the peaches." He loaded basket of peaches next to hers.
"Bruise the peaches? Bruise the peaches!" Jana unleashed arched right eyebrow in Viking berserker stare, grabbed and jerked Daryll off the ground into her arms.
In her zealous embrace the squished and squirming, boot dangling Daryll managed to squeak out, "You... are... bruising the peach."
"I'll bruise my peach if I want to," Jana matter of facted, gave Daryll one hard and long kiss. Daryll quit squirming. Jana sat him down on truck tail gate, had to steady him to keep him from falling over. "I see my peach is a bit fuzzy," Jana smiled at a kiss well done.
"Yeah," Daryll croaked, "passion and lack of oxygen will do that to a fella."
"Just exactly what are you saying, Daryll?" Jana's brain teetered on edge of... was that a compliment or a too often as usual Daryll dig? Affection or affliction hung in precarious balance.
"Precious Lady," fortunately Daryll's mood swing radar activated, "you take my breath away just like the day we first met."
"Fifth grade, what a calamity," Jana giggled, "you were out of breath alright. Those Beasley brothers were kinda kickin' the air out of your lungs for defending my honor."
"They should never have made fun of you for being so tall," Daryll frowned.
"And they shouldn't have skinned up my fuzzy little peach." Jana sat down beside him on tail gate. She took Daryll under arm, hugged him to her.
"Yep, once the scent of my blood stained my Tuetonic warrior princess' nostrils, you sorta lost it." Daryll glowed awe and admiration of his wife. "Was that a one or two week suspension Principal Haney gave you for whuppin' those two boys?"
"Just a week that never happened, cause when their dad, Mr. Beasley, got the truth out of them, he whupped them again." Jana reminisced.
"And the next day Mr. Beasley took them to school and told Principal Haney, then Haney whupped 'em the third time," Daryll slapped knee, chuckled, "but I guess its better, much better to be whupped now than eternally forever later. They did sorta straighten up after that, been good neighbors ever since."
"And we've been together ever since." Jana looked into the eyes of her man, leaned in, gave him kiss. "But we better get busy. These peaches are not going to load themselves," She sighed, stood, was about to lift her man from tail gate...
"Well looky here," Daryll smiled, "I think I might just see two truckloads of reinforcements driving through our orchard front gate. Kinda looks like our wealthy neighbors, that winery fella and lavender farmer you were lamenting about earlier."
"The Beasley brothers!" Jana retightened her pony tail, straitened her blouse. "You knew," Jana accused, "you knew they were coming, didn't cha, Daryll!"
"I'm a peach!" Daryll grinned, admitted, "All I did... was pray."
"Yeah, every peach has its pit." Jana arched that right eyebrow... just before she hugged him tight... and said, "That's why I married you, Daryll, because the heart of my little peach is the seed of Jesus."
In silence the Beasley brothers and their families gathered round Jana and Daryll. And as all, as one, gazed out upon the hills and hills and hills of ripe peach laden trees, Daryll quoted Jesus: "The harvest truly is great, but the laborers few: pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he send forth laborers into his harvest." (Luke 10:2 KJ)
"Be careful," Daryll warned," or my Tuetonic warrior princess will bruise the peaches." He loaded basket of peaches next to hers.
"Bruise the peaches? Bruise the peaches!" Jana unleashed arched right eyebrow in Viking berserker stare, grabbed and jerked Daryll off the ground into her arms.
In her zealous embrace the squished and squirming, boot dangling Daryll managed to squeak out, "You... are... bruising the peach."
"I'll bruise my peach if I want to," Jana matter of facted, gave Daryll one hard and long kiss. Daryll quit squirming. Jana sat him down on truck tail gate, had to steady him to keep him from falling over. "I see my peach is a bit fuzzy," Jana smiled at a kiss well done.
"Yeah," Daryll croaked, "passion and lack of oxygen will do that to a fella."
"Just exactly what are you saying, Daryll?" Jana's brain teetered on edge of... was that a compliment or a too often as usual Daryll dig? Affection or affliction hung in precarious balance.
"Precious Lady," fortunately Daryll's mood swing radar activated, "you take my breath away just like the day we first met."
"Fifth grade, what a calamity," Jana giggled, "you were out of breath alright. Those Beasley brothers were kinda kickin' the air out of your lungs for defending my honor."
"They should never have made fun of you for being so tall," Daryll frowned.
"And they shouldn't have skinned up my fuzzy little peach." Jana sat down beside him on tail gate. She took Daryll under arm, hugged him to her.
"Yep, once the scent of my blood stained my Tuetonic warrior princess' nostrils, you sorta lost it." Daryll glowed awe and admiration of his wife. "Was that a one or two week suspension Principal Haney gave you for whuppin' those two boys?"
"Just a week that never happened, cause when their dad, Mr. Beasley, got the truth out of them, he whupped them again." Jana reminisced.
"And the next day Mr. Beasley took them to school and told Principal Haney, then Haney whupped 'em the third time," Daryll slapped knee, chuckled, "but I guess its better, much better to be whupped now than eternally forever later. They did sorta straighten up after that, been good neighbors ever since."
"And we've been together ever since." Jana looked into the eyes of her man, leaned in, gave him kiss. "But we better get busy. These peaches are not going to load themselves," She sighed, stood, was about to lift her man from tail gate...
"Well looky here," Daryll smiled, "I think I might just see two truckloads of reinforcements driving through our orchard front gate. Kinda looks like our wealthy neighbors, that winery fella and lavender farmer you were lamenting about earlier."
"The Beasley brothers!" Jana retightened her pony tail, straitened her blouse. "You knew," Jana accused, "you knew they were coming, didn't cha, Daryll!"
"I'm a peach!" Daryll grinned, admitted, "All I did... was pray."
"Yeah, every peach has its pit." Jana arched that right eyebrow... just before she hugged him tight... and said, "That's why I married you, Daryll, because the heart of my little peach is the seed of Jesus."
In silence the Beasley brothers and their families gathered round Jana and Daryll. And as all, as one, gazed out upon the hills and hills and hills of ripe peach laden trees, Daryll quoted Jesus: "The harvest truly is great, but the laborers few: pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he send forth laborers into his harvest." (Luke 10:2 KJ)
Saturday, August 12, 2017
CHOCOLATE ARMADILLOS
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)
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 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
Sunday, July 30, 2017
GEEZER MESA
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
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
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...
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