The dust of dusk, yet the yawn of dawn, the usher of transition, the consolation of change, the cusp of day, twilight passing. And so be this one such edge of morn, but rays of sun peeking over granite cliff, piercing gentle running waters mist... design of the Creator to pry open auburn eyelashes... curtains to blue eyes...
As whispered wisps of ember to ash curled from driftwood campfire, her freckled nose crinkled with joy, breathed smile to her lips. Her lithe arms rose. Her fair hands gathered long auburn locks from gnarly nape of trunk and root, pillow and bed of cypress tree; and she sighed, remembering sweet lullaby in moon light on the bank of the Amen River... Until...
...Fish breath and wet tongue violated the space of her pretty face. Faith jerked her cheek away; caught only glimpse of wet furry tail as it flipped over knotted root of cypress back into the water. "What was that?" Faith leaned forward, cradled her round tummy with one arm and hand, braced herself with the other as she leaned further to waters edge. Neath clear water no marauding critter swam. Faith looked closer. "Nothing!" She looked closer, then closer yet, face inches from water surface... Boop! Wet nose touched hers. Faith giggled. Otter chuckled, slipped back under surface, then back up... Boop! Nose to nose again.
"What are you doing here, little fellow?"
Nose to nose, otter sniffed, then tried to lick the freckles from her nose. "They are not dirt." Faith giggled for it tickled. "Oop!" Faith cradled her round tummy a tad tighter. "Time to sit up." She rubbed pregnant tummy, looked down and gathered it into her blue eyes, "Must have cramped the twins space," Faith smiled.
Otter waddled up, sat up, gently placed both paws on her tummy, looked up into Faith's face and merrily chirped. Her tummy began to move neath otter paws. Otter whistled, wiggled head side to side...
"Who is your little friend?" From the comfort of sleeping bag Pastor Tim yawned, scratched sandy mop atop his head. At the sound of his voice otter turned, disappeared again over cypress root back into the Amen River.
"Awww, he's gone," Faith looked upon the ripples of the water, evidence of things not seen.
"Well," Pastor Tim raised an eye brow, "why play with otters, when you can snuggle with husband." Tim invited, flipped back flap of sleeping sack.
Faith stood, waddled over and crawled in with her back to him. Tim covered her, gathered her close in his arms. "So, I get the back treatment!" Tim smiled, swept auburn hair from freckled nape of neck, planted kiss.
You scared him away," Faith pouted, pulled her neck away.
Tim gathered her closer, was just about to kiss her ear, but, "Well looky here, your little buddy turns out to be a girlfriend."
Otter and three pups had come to visit at the foot of sleeping bag. Momma otter slinked up on mid sack, turned head, chirped. The three pups scampered up and swarmed over momma.
Pastor Tim observed, "There has got to be a Sunday sermon in all this somewhere."
"Chirp, chip, bark and squeak..." Momma otter sang to the ears of Faith.
Faith smiled, "She is saying don't count your chicks till they hatch."
Caressing her auburn hair into place round her ear, Tim smiled too, although not quite exactly sure of what he was smiling about.
No next day Sunday morning sermon did Pastor Tim preach. Most of the church congregation was with him at the hospital, praying and waiting, waiting and praying; until...
Tim opened the door to Faith... understood not so coincidental otter coincidence on that bank of the Amen River... For Tim went to side of bed... where Faith lay... saw not twins... but saw three... count them three... in the arms of Faith... And Tim praised the LORD... from twilight to twilight to twilight... in song:
Cross on over to the other side of the Amen River by faith... into the palm of Jesus hand... into the promised land... of living water... water... water... ... ... drink His water... water... water... cool and clear water... water... water... ... ... water... ... ...
John 4:14; Philippians 4:4-7; Matthew 28:19
Endless water... water... water... ... ... Everlasting water... water... water... ... ... Forever living water... water... water... ... ... Jesus... ... ... Endless water... water... water... ... ... Everlasting water... water... water... ... ... Forever living water... water... water... ... ... Jesus... ... ... And sing and sing and sing... And sing and sing and sing... And sing and sing and sing... ... ... Jesus... Jesus... Jesus... ... ... Jesus... Jesus... Jesus... ... ... Jesus...Jesus... Jesus... ... ... Of Jesus forever sing... Of Jesus forever sing... Of Jesus forever sing... Of Jesus...
Friday, March 14, 2014
Sunday, March 2, 2014
LITTLE YELLOW BEE
Little Yellow Bee saw the wood bee
Saw the wood bee drill and saw
Saw the wood bee drill like an awl
Little Bee thought with awe
I would be a wood bee
If I could be
Big round and black
With a tool filled carpenter sack
Buzzing to and fro
Carrying pollen into the hole
A wood bee, I would be
If I could be
But I'm just a little yellow bee
Barely big enough to see
Queen Bee hear my plea
Make my wish to be
Let me be, a big wood bee
As I should be
Then said Queen Bee to Little Bee
Sweeter than honey are thee
You carry nectar to our hive
To make honey, keeping all us bees alive
So you shouldn't be, a wood bee
If you could be...
Be what God created you to be... Be a blessing... Be blessed...
Share the Word of God... Share Jesus... Share the honey...
Where did the saying "Sweeter Than Honey" come from: Psalm 119:103-105; Psalm 19:7-11
Originally written for our grandchildren in 2004.
pawpawcorner.blogpsot.com
Saw the wood bee drill and saw
Saw the wood bee drill like an awl
Little Bee thought with awe
I would be a wood bee
If I could be
Big round and black
With a tool filled carpenter sack
Buzzing to and fro
Carrying pollen into the hole
A wood bee, I would be
If I could be
But I'm just a little yellow bee
Barely big enough to see
Queen Bee hear my plea
Make my wish to be
Let me be, a big wood bee
As I should be
Then said Queen Bee to Little Bee
Sweeter than honey are thee
You carry nectar to our hive
To make honey, keeping all us bees alive
So you shouldn't be, a wood bee
If you could be...
Be what God created you to be... Be a blessing... Be blessed...
Share the Word of God... Share Jesus... Share the honey...
Where did the saying "Sweeter Than Honey" come from: Psalm 119:103-105; Psalm 19:7-11
Originally written for our grandchildren in 2004.
pawpawcorner.blogpsot.com
Monday, February 10, 2014
MOLE HOLE TO MADNESS
Ahab B. Tempest too often of his home town complained, "The best thing I can say about Scope, Texas, is everybody has got to be from somewhere. Why two roads cross this corner to nowhere is beyond me. We got no springs nor streams, no rivers nor lakes, no trees nor mountains. In fact the highest naturally occurring scenery around here is a festering mole hole hill smack dab in the middle of my garden. I hates them moles! One day you got a row of carrots; the next day you got nothing but mounds of violated dirt! I hate em'! I've poisoned, trapped, sonic repelled and even tried electrocuting them nasty critters; but mole hole horde invasion just never ends."
This errant rant twas all too familiar to neighbor Mary Webster, who tried one more time to explain "It is not a mole hole, Ahab. Moles are not your problem. Your missing vegetables problem is gophers, not moles. Gophers eat vegetation; moles eat insects, grubs and such."
"Gophers smoephers!" Ahab escalated to red faced exasperation, "Its moles! Its moles! Its moles! And they are all gonna' die!!" The mole whole to madness lit Ahab's fire, morphed his ire to unicycle peddling psycho desire.
Off to the old, old barn Ahab stomped. Mary shook head, retreated from garden to the assumed safety of her own back yard. She turned to scrutinize the return of Ahab. On one shoulder he carried a hand twist post hole digger. Laden on the other shoulder were several pipe extensions to be added as needed twixt auger and handle for depth. And strait to that mislabeled mole hole in garden Ahab went.
"Concerned moles!" Ahab spit, dropped pipe to the side, raised post hole digger over head and cursed out epitaph, "I hates moles for hate's sake!" Down harpooned auger into the heart of mole hole!
Harpoon, twist, twist, twist, retrieve and dump dirt! Harpoon, twist, twist, twist, retrieve and dump! Harpoon twist, twist, twist, retrieve and dump! An hour and a half drug by. Mary Webster had long given up and gone inside. But neither she nor any of the other town folks witnessed Ahab's obsession twist to evil possession of Ahab.
Ahab screamed, "Enough!" Cast auger down to hate stabbed ground, turned, stomped back again to old, old barn. Too soon he returned to the garden with arms heavy laden with for real dyn-o-mite! How many sticks of dynamite Ahab dropped down that mole hole, no one ever knew nor could conceive. Nor could any conceive Ahab would stand directly over that mole hole, strike a match and drop it down mole hole throat...
...Nothing happened. Off to the old, old barn Ahab ran, waving arms and ranting words that Satan himself took notes on. Back, Ahab raced slinging by handle a five gallon can of lawn mower gas in each hand. Down that packed with dynamite mole hole Ahab poured both cans. Maniacally, he giggled, "No mole left behind!" He pulled cigar from pocket... and as he lit it... so did his face light also in the crazed glee of revenge. A few last deep drags really fired her up... then did he drop tobacco ablaze... straight into that mole hole to madness...
No cosmic cross hairs were ever aimed; yet, by hand of man the crossroads of Scope, Texas vanished... Only an abyss remained... An abyss once but a mole hole mislabeled...
Why turn a mole hole into an abyss... Does not the sting of anger and revenge bite both bitten and biter... even countless innocents...
Life on earth is short enough as it is... forgive and love... as Jesus loves us...
Proverbs 10:12 KJV, "Hatred stirreth up strifes; but love covereth all sins."
Find a nearby Christian church... come on in and sit a spell... find the love of Jesus...
This errant rant twas all too familiar to neighbor Mary Webster, who tried one more time to explain "It is not a mole hole, Ahab. Moles are not your problem. Your missing vegetables problem is gophers, not moles. Gophers eat vegetation; moles eat insects, grubs and such."
"Gophers smoephers!" Ahab escalated to red faced exasperation, "Its moles! Its moles! Its moles! And they are all gonna' die!!" The mole whole to madness lit Ahab's fire, morphed his ire to unicycle peddling psycho desire.
Off to the old, old barn Ahab stomped. Mary shook head, retreated from garden to the assumed safety of her own back yard. She turned to scrutinize the return of Ahab. On one shoulder he carried a hand twist post hole digger. Laden on the other shoulder were several pipe extensions to be added as needed twixt auger and handle for depth. And strait to that mislabeled mole hole in garden Ahab went.
"Concerned moles!" Ahab spit, dropped pipe to the side, raised post hole digger over head and cursed out epitaph, "I hates moles for hate's sake!" Down harpooned auger into the heart of mole hole!
Harpoon, twist, twist, twist, retrieve and dump dirt! Harpoon, twist, twist, twist, retrieve and dump! Harpoon twist, twist, twist, retrieve and dump! An hour and a half drug by. Mary Webster had long given up and gone inside. But neither she nor any of the other town folks witnessed Ahab's obsession twist to evil possession of Ahab.
Ahab screamed, "Enough!" Cast auger down to hate stabbed ground, turned, stomped back again to old, old barn. Too soon he returned to the garden with arms heavy laden with for real dyn-o-mite! How many sticks of dynamite Ahab dropped down that mole hole, no one ever knew nor could conceive. Nor could any conceive Ahab would stand directly over that mole hole, strike a match and drop it down mole hole throat...
...Nothing happened. Off to the old, old barn Ahab ran, waving arms and ranting words that Satan himself took notes on. Back, Ahab raced slinging by handle a five gallon can of lawn mower gas in each hand. Down that packed with dynamite mole hole Ahab poured both cans. Maniacally, he giggled, "No mole left behind!" He pulled cigar from pocket... and as he lit it... so did his face light also in the crazed glee of revenge. A few last deep drags really fired her up... then did he drop tobacco ablaze... straight into that mole hole to madness...
No cosmic cross hairs were ever aimed; yet, by hand of man the crossroads of Scope, Texas vanished... Only an abyss remained... An abyss once but a mole hole mislabeled...
Why turn a mole hole into an abyss... Does not the sting of anger and revenge bite both bitten and biter... even countless innocents...
Life on earth is short enough as it is... forgive and love... as Jesus loves us...
Proverbs 10:12 KJV, "Hatred stirreth up strifes; but love covereth all sins."
Find a nearby Christian church... come on in and sit a spell... find the love of Jesus...
Friday, January 24, 2014
LOLLY GAG AND DAWDLE IDLY
More than just cousins were Miss Lolly Gag and Dawdle Idly. Best friends they were with much in common. Where one lollied the other was sure to dawdle. What they didn't lackadaisically waste, they most certainly fruitlessly dis-labored. Any time and always seemed a good time to procrastinate. And the one thing they procrastinated most about was spiritual life. After all, thought required effort, and effort to Lolly Gag and Dawdle Idly was unthinkable. And my oh my, how the time flew by... to that faithless day when one gagged, while the other idled...
And it came to pass in an opulent sky box at a certain super football game in a wildly super arena that Lolly and Dawdle had much bet on the underdog. And in the final countdown Lolly's team scored the winning touchdown, just as she half swallowed a generous chunk of Cajun chicken wing. In her windpipe it did lodge, but screaming drunken fans, including best friend Dawdle, failed to comprehend Lolly's frantic dance was with death, not celebration. Then, as Lolly gagged, as she turned first blue then dark purple, her last dance stopped. Lolly stood dreadfully still amongst the writhing revelers.
Dawdle turned to see her BFF, see her eyes cross, see the body of Lolly take a backward stiff as a board swan dive. Dawdle tried to grab her, but only succeeded in falling forward herself. And as Lolly hit the floor on her back with a horrible smack, her lungs violently compressed their oxygen depleted air. Like a bullet on a mission that chunk of spicy Cajun chicken dislodged and shot out of Lolly's mouth straight into the left eye ball of a still falling Dawdle...
At the hospital Dawdle lay in a bed. "We are not quite sure," the Nurse said, "whether your left eye will see again."
In reply, Dawdle only smiled, turned head, and with her one good eye did see in bed across the room her BFF. Dawdle reached out to hold the hand of Lolly, not realizing her one eyed depth perception would take some getting use to. Too far away lay Lolly, but even with cracked ribs she reached out to Dawdle. The Nurse smiled and pushed Dawdle's bed closer. And Lolly and Dawdle held hands...
Three Sundays later, hands reverently holding Holy Bibles in laps, Lolly and Dawdle sat in church. They listened to the Pastor speak of the disciples fishing all night long with nets on the Sea of Galilee and catching nothing; until the resurrected Christ Jesus appeared on the shore and called out to them as recorded in John 21:6 KJ, "And he said unto them, Cast the net on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find. They cast therefore, and now they were not able to draw it for the multitude of fishes"
And Lolly and Dawdle did the unthinkable: put forth effort and thought as the Pastor taught: "As Jesus spoke to the disciples from shore, so does he speak to us today from heaven. Some sitting in this very church today have led a life that is but a dark night in which over and over again they have cast their net on the wrong side of the boat. The wrong side of the boat, the wrong side of life, where only emptiness is caught. Perhaps some sitting here have even been recently reminded of how short life is. That no one is guaranteed another breath, not even another beat of the heart. Today, to you, do you hear Jesus calling, calling: 'Cast the net on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find.' Find repentance and forgiveness; find redemption and salvation; find abundant life, even life eternal; and find love and find peace: all found in Jesus."
And that very morning Lolly and Dawdle found their NBFF (New Best Friend Forever)... JESUS...
Jesus speaks as recorded in John 15:12-13 KJ, "12)This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you. 13)Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."
Postscripts for the studious: Mark 9:47; Hebrews 12:6; Acts 9: 1-20...
Allegory & Scripture
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
And it came to pass in an opulent sky box at a certain super football game in a wildly super arena that Lolly and Dawdle had much bet on the underdog. And in the final countdown Lolly's team scored the winning touchdown, just as she half swallowed a generous chunk of Cajun chicken wing. In her windpipe it did lodge, but screaming drunken fans, including best friend Dawdle, failed to comprehend Lolly's frantic dance was with death, not celebration. Then, as Lolly gagged, as she turned first blue then dark purple, her last dance stopped. Lolly stood dreadfully still amongst the writhing revelers.
Dawdle turned to see her BFF, see her eyes cross, see the body of Lolly take a backward stiff as a board swan dive. Dawdle tried to grab her, but only succeeded in falling forward herself. And as Lolly hit the floor on her back with a horrible smack, her lungs violently compressed their oxygen depleted air. Like a bullet on a mission that chunk of spicy Cajun chicken dislodged and shot out of Lolly's mouth straight into the left eye ball of a still falling Dawdle...
At the hospital Dawdle lay in a bed. "We are not quite sure," the Nurse said, "whether your left eye will see again."
In reply, Dawdle only smiled, turned head, and with her one good eye did see in bed across the room her BFF. Dawdle reached out to hold the hand of Lolly, not realizing her one eyed depth perception would take some getting use to. Too far away lay Lolly, but even with cracked ribs she reached out to Dawdle. The Nurse smiled and pushed Dawdle's bed closer. And Lolly and Dawdle held hands...
Three Sundays later, hands reverently holding Holy Bibles in laps, Lolly and Dawdle sat in church. They listened to the Pastor speak of the disciples fishing all night long with nets on the Sea of Galilee and catching nothing; until the resurrected Christ Jesus appeared on the shore and called out to them as recorded in John 21:6 KJ, "And he said unto them, Cast the net on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find. They cast therefore, and now they were not able to draw it for the multitude of fishes"
And Lolly and Dawdle did the unthinkable: put forth effort and thought as the Pastor taught: "As Jesus spoke to the disciples from shore, so does he speak to us today from heaven. Some sitting in this very church today have led a life that is but a dark night in which over and over again they have cast their net on the wrong side of the boat. The wrong side of the boat, the wrong side of life, where only emptiness is caught. Perhaps some sitting here have even been recently reminded of how short life is. That no one is guaranteed another breath, not even another beat of the heart. Today, to you, do you hear Jesus calling, calling: 'Cast the net on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find.' Find repentance and forgiveness; find redemption and salvation; find abundant life, even life eternal; and find love and find peace: all found in Jesus."
And that very morning Lolly and Dawdle found their NBFF (New Best Friend Forever)... JESUS...
Jesus speaks as recorded in John 15:12-13 KJ, "12)This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you. 13)Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."
Postscripts for the studious: Mark 9:47; Hebrews 12:6; Acts 9: 1-20...
Allegory & Scripture
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Thursday, January 9, 2014
WAKE UP DREAMING
The apple is nice, but in this world of spice is sliced caramelized in butter and brown sugar, dusted with nutmeg and cinnamon, and baked till golden atop dough of kolache. So does the mouth water for the knowledge of oven warm forbidden apple kolache, beside tall cool glass of sweet cream milk. So swam waking, lip smacking dream; so was the life stream of one Juan John Paulo, beloved son of Manuel Janacek Paulo and Ana Chen Paulo.
"Wake now, my little Juan John a-litto," Ana yanked the covers away. "School day," Ana sang, "Juan John a-litto, he is one Juan John a-litto... Juan John a-littooooo... Juan John a-littooo..."
Juan John moaned, grabbed too late at soft covers gone. "Mom! I am eighteen years old! Stop treating me like a kid! You are going to drive the other two-thirds of me into being Chinese!"
Oh, my poor Juan John Janacek Chen Paulo... how did you know?" The eyes of Ana flashed.
The aroma of sauteed cabbage assaulted the nostrils of Juan John, "Noooo! Not egg rolls for breakfast again!"
On the way to school Juan John mulled cultural diversification, "Who am I? My DNA got tossed into a blender and pureed."
At Learning Tree High School, observing the multitude of other teens in the hallway, Juan John avoided not the next thought perplexing, "Where have all the white people gone? For that matter where are the black people? Brown or yellow people, where are they? Who is anybody anymore?"
Finger through belt loop tugged Juan John round, eye to eye with amber eyed girlfriend. "Juan John," Missy began, "troubled brow betrays that the subject of our little talk last night, your cultural meltdown, continues."
"Egg rolls!" Juan John complained.
"What?" Missy drew a perplexed look of her own.
"Egg rolls for breakfast again, and I don't mean the homemade kind either. Frozen! Nuked! Egg rolls! For breakfast!" Juan John spat.
"First of all..." Missy started...
"Yeah, I know how many folks round the world would just be grateful for something warm to eat." Juan John rolled eyes.
"You did't?" You did! You rolled your eyes at me!" Missy feigned anger, giggled, took his chin in the palm of her hand, returned his eyes to hers. "Rolled those beautiful eyes at me, one sapphire blue, one ruby green, so beautiful. That's it! Your eyes, people still tease you about your eyes??"
"Not so much tease or make fun of, but stare. They try not to look, but end up starring, like I'm some kind a mutated freak. Blue, green, brown, aqua maroon, who cares, as long as both eyes are the same color. I just want to be like everybody else. Or no I don't, cause everybody else is a mutt too. Am I confused or what?" Juan John wondered, repeated, "Or what?"
"Or," Missy caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers. "Or," she pulled his ear to her lips. "Or," she whispered, "they might just admire you, and your beautiful eyes, like I do..." Missy reflected, hinted soft threat, "Although, they better not."
Missy paused, made the most of Juan John's undivided attention. "My precious Juan John Paulo, even with beautiful eyes of different colors through which to see, how do you not see how blessed you are? You get to celebrate throughout the year many cultures, that our Heavenly Father has blessed you with. Just thank Him in Jesus name."
No matter the color of the eyes... how seen what is seen... is key to color...
See in love one another... See in love our Creator above... Who loves His flowers... His morning and sunset skies... His people of rainbow colors... (Genesis 1:26)
John 3:16 KJ, "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."
Allegory & Scripture
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
"Wake now, my little Juan John a-litto," Ana yanked the covers away. "School day," Ana sang, "Juan John a-litto, he is one Juan John a-litto... Juan John a-littooooo... Juan John a-littooo..."
Juan John moaned, grabbed too late at soft covers gone. "Mom! I am eighteen years old! Stop treating me like a kid! You are going to drive the other two-thirds of me into being Chinese!"
Oh, my poor Juan John Janacek Chen Paulo... how did you know?" The eyes of Ana flashed.
The aroma of sauteed cabbage assaulted the nostrils of Juan John, "Noooo! Not egg rolls for breakfast again!"
On the way to school Juan John mulled cultural diversification, "Who am I? My DNA got tossed into a blender and pureed."
At Learning Tree High School, observing the multitude of other teens in the hallway, Juan John avoided not the next thought perplexing, "Where have all the white people gone? For that matter where are the black people? Brown or yellow people, where are they? Who is anybody anymore?"
Finger through belt loop tugged Juan John round, eye to eye with amber eyed girlfriend. "Juan John," Missy began, "troubled brow betrays that the subject of our little talk last night, your cultural meltdown, continues."
"Egg rolls!" Juan John complained.
"What?" Missy drew a perplexed look of her own.
"Egg rolls for breakfast again, and I don't mean the homemade kind either. Frozen! Nuked! Egg rolls! For breakfast!" Juan John spat.
"First of all..." Missy started...
"Yeah, I know how many folks round the world would just be grateful for something warm to eat." Juan John rolled eyes.
"You did't?" You did! You rolled your eyes at me!" Missy feigned anger, giggled, took his chin in the palm of her hand, returned his eyes to hers. "Rolled those beautiful eyes at me, one sapphire blue, one ruby green, so beautiful. That's it! Your eyes, people still tease you about your eyes??"
"Not so much tease or make fun of, but stare. They try not to look, but end up starring, like I'm some kind a mutated freak. Blue, green, brown, aqua maroon, who cares, as long as both eyes are the same color. I just want to be like everybody else. Or no I don't, cause everybody else is a mutt too. Am I confused or what?" Juan John wondered, repeated, "Or what?"
"Or," Missy caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers. "Or," she pulled his ear to her lips. "Or," she whispered, "they might just admire you, and your beautiful eyes, like I do..." Missy reflected, hinted soft threat, "Although, they better not."
Missy paused, made the most of Juan John's undivided attention. "My precious Juan John Paulo, even with beautiful eyes of different colors through which to see, how do you not see how blessed you are? You get to celebrate throughout the year many cultures, that our Heavenly Father has blessed you with. Just thank Him in Jesus name."
No matter the color of the eyes... how seen what is seen... is key to color...
See in love one another... See in love our Creator above... Who loves His flowers... His morning and sunset skies... His people of rainbow colors... (Genesis 1:26)
John 3:16 KJ, "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."
Allegory & Scripture
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Thursday, December 19, 2013
THE HAZE
In his gut Moss knew that in the nowhere before him lay somewhere in the haze... Binoculars to eyes penetrated it not. Moss smiled. Perhaps this day held danger enough to sate thrill, even peril enough to stab away the boredom of a mountain climber on flat land. "Haze in the desert," Moss stoked self, "means one of two, dust storm or mountain. Either way, I win."
Open truck tailgate pointed way to the haze. Off road bike cranked, spit fire, roared off truck bed, screamed through air; tires ripped desert sand. Dark rider twisted throttle till it twisted no more. And Moss jeered the unforgiving desert, spat at love lost, railed to heaven, "I need nothing nor nobody. All I need is me!"
Into the desert sand dark rider sped past cactus, past tumbleweed, past screech owl and rattler, but not past dark past. Past that stalked him, caught him twixt talons that pierced deeper into his ribs with every jarring of rock neath the tires of the motorized beast he rode. And the beast propelled Moss onward, pressed him toward date with fate... in the haze...
On and on Moss rode. "What lies waiting in the haze?" On he rode. "Will I be able to see once in?" On he rode. But the closer Moss got, the farther away the haze fled. "Is it real? Oasis or mirage? Dream or nightmare? Friend or foe?" The mind of Moss wandered, till time crushed in, till numbness crept from finger tips, through hands, up arms, into shoulders, up spine till paralyzing unsound mind. And on and on Moss rode atop dirge wailing motor of beast...
"Phrrreeeet, phom phom phom... phom!" The beast sputtered and died.
Moss woke. Woke to silence, to lack of movement, to realization, "Out of gas..." Moss dismounted, kicked kick stand down, before noticing, "I can't see a thing." And the dawn of the haze smote him, "I'm in!" I'm in the haze!" Moss let go of handle bar, strode deeper into the haze... THUD! "Owww!" Unforward progress ended at second step, ended hard, recoiled Moss back half a step. "What the..." He reached out, felt rock, "Its a cliff. If I hadn't run out of gas, I'd be dead."
Moss smiled, laughed, "Like I care." In the haze he reached back, felt handlebars, slid hands to saddle bags, took out climbing gear, and to and up the cliff he climbed into the haze... "Challenging, not being able to see," Moss grunted out, "but nothing and nobody is going to stop me."
Moss knew not how the hours flew, till his left hand reached up and in... to empty haze. "The peak!" He climbed up and over the edge, rolled over on his back. No rock poked him. With right hand he felt out and around. Moss contemplated out loud, "Smooth flat rock, too smooth, not the natural top of a cliff, more like..." Then he realized, "On the way up! The stones were uniform, equally spaced. I didn't catch on because they were so massive. I'm on top of a building, or a wall, a bulwark? Where am I? What is this? If only I could see through the haze."
Moss lay there wondering, thinking, concluding, "If its a wall, the other edge of it can't be far." He rolled over on stomach, inched forward into the haze for what he figured to be about twelve yards, till his fingers grasped it, "The other edge! The other side!"
As rapidly as an experienced but unable to see climber is capable, Moss was a tad quicker at rigging up the repelling gear. The thirst for perilous discovery goaded Moss over the edge of the wall.
Down... blindly down... further... further... further... until... end of repelling rope. "Stinking haze! I got no idea how far down the bottom is. If there is a bottom?" Literally at the end of his rope, Moss murmured, "I'm too tired to climb back up." He sighed, "So, time for a nap." In two shakes Moss set up the netting for a nap. And nap one exhausted Moss did, hanging there... in the net... at the end of his rope... in the haze...
How long was he out? Moss had no idea, before the voices woke him, especially one sweet voice... beckoning... enticing... inviting... luring...
"Moss, sweet Moss, awaken... come to me... come to me..." soft coo coaxed...
Moss half woke; longed to kiss sweet siren lips; reached out in the dream; and forgetting where suspended, in quest for siren lips leaned forward out of the netting, and fell... fell... fell... as echoed his last scream of life...
More than one glass of iced tea and plate of barbecue with potato salad went flying. All eyes jerked attention to the screamer, one confused and red faced Moss, flayed out on rear neath swinging back yard netting of hammock... and beneath the hands on hips of Mrs. Hazel Moss...
"Just who were you puckering up those unfaithful lips for, Mossy boy?" Queried Mrs. Hazel Moss. The interrogation had just begun... for at the end of the rope of life the haze burns away and all face the judgment...
The steps of all who walk in self alone keep not in step with the walk of the way. Why seek the haze of this world, which leads to fall; when tis better to seek and to see clearly in the light of Jesus love, which completes us...
John 8:12 KJ, "Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life."
Jeremiah 10:23 KJ, "O LORD, I know that the way of man is not within himself: it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps."
Proverbs 3:5 KJ, "Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; lean not unto thy own understanding."
...We all need Jesus...
Allegory & Scripture
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Open truck tailgate pointed way to the haze. Off road bike cranked, spit fire, roared off truck bed, screamed through air; tires ripped desert sand. Dark rider twisted throttle till it twisted no more. And Moss jeered the unforgiving desert, spat at love lost, railed to heaven, "I need nothing nor nobody. All I need is me!"
Into the desert sand dark rider sped past cactus, past tumbleweed, past screech owl and rattler, but not past dark past. Past that stalked him, caught him twixt talons that pierced deeper into his ribs with every jarring of rock neath the tires of the motorized beast he rode. And the beast propelled Moss onward, pressed him toward date with fate... in the haze...
On and on Moss rode. "What lies waiting in the haze?" On he rode. "Will I be able to see once in?" On he rode. But the closer Moss got, the farther away the haze fled. "Is it real? Oasis or mirage? Dream or nightmare? Friend or foe?" The mind of Moss wandered, till time crushed in, till numbness crept from finger tips, through hands, up arms, into shoulders, up spine till paralyzing unsound mind. And on and on Moss rode atop dirge wailing motor of beast...
"Phrrreeeet, phom phom phom... phom!" The beast sputtered and died.
Moss woke. Woke to silence, to lack of movement, to realization, "Out of gas..." Moss dismounted, kicked kick stand down, before noticing, "I can't see a thing." And the dawn of the haze smote him, "I'm in!" I'm in the haze!" Moss let go of handle bar, strode deeper into the haze... THUD! "Owww!" Unforward progress ended at second step, ended hard, recoiled Moss back half a step. "What the..." He reached out, felt rock, "Its a cliff. If I hadn't run out of gas, I'd be dead."
Moss smiled, laughed, "Like I care." In the haze he reached back, felt handlebars, slid hands to saddle bags, took out climbing gear, and to and up the cliff he climbed into the haze... "Challenging, not being able to see," Moss grunted out, "but nothing and nobody is going to stop me."
Moss knew not how the hours flew, till his left hand reached up and in... to empty haze. "The peak!" He climbed up and over the edge, rolled over on his back. No rock poked him. With right hand he felt out and around. Moss contemplated out loud, "Smooth flat rock, too smooth, not the natural top of a cliff, more like..." Then he realized, "On the way up! The stones were uniform, equally spaced. I didn't catch on because they were so massive. I'm on top of a building, or a wall, a bulwark? Where am I? What is this? If only I could see through the haze."
Moss lay there wondering, thinking, concluding, "If its a wall, the other edge of it can't be far." He rolled over on stomach, inched forward into the haze for what he figured to be about twelve yards, till his fingers grasped it, "The other edge! The other side!"
As rapidly as an experienced but unable to see climber is capable, Moss was a tad quicker at rigging up the repelling gear. The thirst for perilous discovery goaded Moss over the edge of the wall.
Down... blindly down... further... further... further... until... end of repelling rope. "Stinking haze! I got no idea how far down the bottom is. If there is a bottom?" Literally at the end of his rope, Moss murmured, "I'm too tired to climb back up." He sighed, "So, time for a nap." In two shakes Moss set up the netting for a nap. And nap one exhausted Moss did, hanging there... in the net... at the end of his rope... in the haze...
How long was he out? Moss had no idea, before the voices woke him, especially one sweet voice... beckoning... enticing... inviting... luring...
"Moss, sweet Moss, awaken... come to me... come to me..." soft coo coaxed...
Moss half woke; longed to kiss sweet siren lips; reached out in the dream; and forgetting where suspended, in quest for siren lips leaned forward out of the netting, and fell... fell... fell... as echoed his last scream of life...
More than one glass of iced tea and plate of barbecue with potato salad went flying. All eyes jerked attention to the screamer, one confused and red faced Moss, flayed out on rear neath swinging back yard netting of hammock... and beneath the hands on hips of Mrs. Hazel Moss...
"Just who were you puckering up those unfaithful lips for, Mossy boy?" Queried Mrs. Hazel Moss. The interrogation had just begun... for at the end of the rope of life the haze burns away and all face the judgment...
The steps of all who walk in self alone keep not in step with the walk of the way. Why seek the haze of this world, which leads to fall; when tis better to seek and to see clearly in the light of Jesus love, which completes us...
John 8:12 KJ, "Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life."
Jeremiah 10:23 KJ, "O LORD, I know that the way of man is not within himself: it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps."
Proverbs 3:5 KJ, "Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; lean not unto thy own understanding."
...We all need Jesus...
Allegory & Scripture
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
BREAD OF LIFE
Nose awakening homemade bread! What a comfort! So wafted away the Saturdays of my youth in the little town of Blessing, Texas. Saturday, the day grandson crock churned sweet cream to butter. Saturday, the day Grandma Smith bake bread. Bake bread in the oven of a cast iron wood burning stove, then set it to cool upon old oaken kitchen table. What comfort, that fragrant fresh baked homemade bread! Grandma love baked in every loaf. Comfort food indeed!
More than a few years earlier in a land faraway, lay the little town of Bethlehem. A humble little town amid hills of sheep and fields of grain. A little town where grain twas ground; where bread twas bake. Bethlehem, the little town whose very name means House of Bread.
Of celestial comfort, the babe born in Bethlehem, born in a stable, wrapped in swaddling cloths, laid in a manger, a feed trough where livestock ate hay and grain. Christ Jesus, the Wonder of Wonders, our Redeemer, our Savior, the Bread of Life laid in a manger. Where had lain grain now lay bread. Humble bread in a humble manger that all the humble of heart, who eat thereof, inherit a seat at the wedding banquet of Jesus in Heaven. The very love and grace of God the Father brought forth to earth in a lowly, yet precious manger, that sheep and donkeys and goats and maybe even camels had eaten grain from. The manger now overflowing with the pure Bread of life, Emmanuel, God with us. The manger, where all that eat thereof, eat of GOD. (Luke Chapters 1 & 2)
Jesus speaks in John 6:33,47,48,51 KJ, "The bread of God is he which cometh down from heaven, and giveth life unto the world. 47)Verily, verily I say unto you, He that believeth on me hath everlasting life. 48)I am that bread of life. 51)I am the living bread which came down from heaven: if any man eat of this bread, he shall live forever: and the bread that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world."
So much for such a humble little manger to hold... that grace of God the Father, His very Son brought forth to earth as holy bread in a manger; that folks like sheep (the helpless), and folks like donkeys (the stubborn), and folks like goats (the ornery), and maybe even folks like camels (spitty complainers): might repent and eat of the Bread of life."
God loves you
Eat of the Bread of Life
Bread of the spirit
...Jesus...
Comfort Food Indeed
More than a few years earlier in a land faraway, lay the little town of Bethlehem. A humble little town amid hills of sheep and fields of grain. A little town where grain twas ground; where bread twas bake. Bethlehem, the little town whose very name means House of Bread.
Of celestial comfort, the babe born in Bethlehem, born in a stable, wrapped in swaddling cloths, laid in a manger, a feed trough where livestock ate hay and grain. Christ Jesus, the Wonder of Wonders, our Redeemer, our Savior, the Bread of Life laid in a manger. Where had lain grain now lay bread. Humble bread in a humble manger that all the humble of heart, who eat thereof, inherit a seat at the wedding banquet of Jesus in Heaven. The very love and grace of God the Father brought forth to earth in a lowly, yet precious manger, that sheep and donkeys and goats and maybe even camels had eaten grain from. The manger now overflowing with the pure Bread of life, Emmanuel, God with us. The manger, where all that eat thereof, eat of GOD. (Luke Chapters 1 & 2)
Jesus speaks in John 6:33,47,48,51 KJ, "The bread of God is he which cometh down from heaven, and giveth life unto the world. 47)Verily, verily I say unto you, He that believeth on me hath everlasting life. 48)I am that bread of life. 51)I am the living bread which came down from heaven: if any man eat of this bread, he shall live forever: and the bread that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world."
So much for such a humble little manger to hold... that grace of God the Father, His very Son brought forth to earth as holy bread in a manger; that folks like sheep (the helpless), and folks like donkeys (the stubborn), and folks like goats (the ornery), and maybe even folks like camels (spitty complainers): might repent and eat of the Bread of life."
God loves you
Eat of the Bread of Life
Bread of the spirit
...Jesus...
Comfort Food Indeed
Thursday, December 5, 2013
PILLOW TALK
"My arms, I can't feel my arms," the thought tore across his mind. Panic was not quite there yet, but he was working on it, "Why can't I move?" With every last ounce of willpower he concentrated to move right arm. "Nothing! What is happening to me?" He could hear Jenny humming one of those new Christian songs round the bed as she dressed. He tried to call out to her, but his lips, his jaw, his throat were frozen. He teetered on edge, "Am I dead? I can't be dead. I hear Jenny." He struggled to open eyes... but realized, "They are already open! I'm blind... I'm blind... I can't breath!!"
"Wake up, goof head," Jenny's voice pierced fear. "George, you fell asleep with that pillow over your head... AGAIN!" Jenny pulled the pillow off his face. She shook him by arm and shoulder, "George, wake up..."
"Angel?" George whined, "Where am I?"
"This ain't heaven, George," Jenny chuckled, "but it is Sunday, so get your rear end up."
Now George did not particularly like going to church, but this particular day, church sounded like a pretty good idea. "I'm sure glad, I'm not dead," George said, rolled out of bed, fell hard face down on the floor. "Ouch!"
"A bit overly dramatic, as usual," Jenny commented, while applying makeup from her perch in front of bureau mirror, "Just get ready, dear."
Heavenly sunlight shined through the stained glass windows of the church that glorious day. George and Jenny sat three rows from the front in mid pew. And as the planned coincidence of heaven instructed, Pastor Mark approached the podium carrying visual aide. He held the pillow up for all to see, as he introduced sermon topic, "No amount of pillows over your head will hide you from the world." He paused, put the pillow over his eyes, continued, "But a pillow over the head will hide the world from you, so that it can sneak up... right behind you... and GET-CHA!" Pastor Mark tossed the pillow into the congregation.
To George that pillow seemed to float toward him like slow motion on a mission. George fought off attacking pillow more than just a tad too effeminately almost hyperventilating in the process, much to the good natured amusement of folks in pews all about. Jenny yanked renegade pillow off hubby, turned red, poked elbow into his ribs and mumbled under breath, "Get a grip, George!"
Pastor Mark continued, "So, what should we do with the pillow? How about putting that pillow under your weary head to give it rest, and to see... see near 4,000 years ago... see Jacob, the son of Isaac and the grandson of Abraham, the father of God's chosen children... see Jacob in journey passing. Genesis 28:10-19 paraphrased: In journey passing from Beersheba toward Haran, Jacob stopped for the night and used a stone for his pillow. And Jacob dreamed and did see a ladder, a stairway set up on earth and reaching heaven with angels of God ascending and descending upon it. And when he arose in the early morning, Jacob realized that this stairway is also the gate, the very door to heaven. Jacob therefore raised up that stone pillow as a pillar, and anointed that pillar with oil, and named the place where it stood Bethel, meaning House of God."
Pastor Mark paused, let it all settle in, or as in George's case unsettle in.
"Pillow to Pillar!" Pastor Mark continued, "Stone pillow risen as anointed stone pillar! Children I ask you: Who is our faith? Who is the solid stone pillar, the cornerstone of the House of God?"
"Jesus," the children in the congregation spoke forth.
"All who are children of God, I ask you: Who is the Rock of our Salvation?" Pastor Mark urged.
"Jesus!" The audience spoke forth, some shouted.
"Children of God, I ask you: Who is the ladder... Who is the very stairway between earth and heaven... Who is the gate, the very door, to go through, and to enter in, with the Living God, Our Father in heaven...
"J-E-S-U-S !!!" The congregation roared, rose to feet and praised the Son of God.
After a time the congregation hushed, sat, eager to hear. Pastor Mark clung to the podium, barely able to stand. "Jesus is the stairway and the doorway between earth and heaven that Jacob saw in a dream, as recorded in Genesis Chapter 11. But keep in mind also that in dream passing, Jacob received the blessing of faith, and in that new morning light, raised his stone 'pillow' of rest in memorial as the pillar of Bethel, the House of God.
Pastor Mark paused, began, "2000 years later, consider Jesus, who after having taught by the sea shore most of the day, Jesus saying to his disciples about the sea before them, 'Let us pass to the other side.' And in passing, behold on a 'pillow' in the stern of the ship, Jesus rested asleep, while arose a great storm of wind and waves that beat into the ship till near sinking. And fearing for their very lives, the disciples awaken Jesus from his 'pillow'... And Jesus, the very Stairway to heaven, the Rock of our Salvation, the Pillar of God's house, Jesus 'arises' and rebukes the evil winds and perverse waves of tempest tossed sea with these words: "Peace be still." And in the great calm, the great stillness, Jesus asks his disciples, actually asks us all: 'Why are you so fearful? How do you have so little faith?' And the awed disciples wonder, 'What manner of man is this that even the wind and the waves obey him?' "
After a moment, Pastor Mark reflected, "So, dear children of God, even though we live in the tempest tossed perverse sea of this world, why be fearful, why hide your head beneath a pillow, when faith in Christ Jesus makes possible even the soft bellows of heaven to be our pillows..."
With Jesus in her heart, Jenny hugged the arm of her husband and lay her head upon his shoulder. And George breathed easy... blinded by fear... never more... For George had passed to the other side... with Jesus...
Genesis 28:10-19; John 1:47-51; Mark 4:35-41: (Genesis 28:12 with John 1:51)
Postscript:
Of all the postscripts you will ever read, please take time to read and be blessed by one of God's 'planned coincidences' in the Bible: From the first book of the Old Testament compare Genesis 28:11 with Matthew 11:28 in the first book of the New Testament... and rest peacefully on the pillow of your faith...
Allegory & Scripture
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
"Wake up, goof head," Jenny's voice pierced fear. "George, you fell asleep with that pillow over your head... AGAIN!" Jenny pulled the pillow off his face. She shook him by arm and shoulder, "George, wake up..."
"Angel?" George whined, "Where am I?"
"This ain't heaven, George," Jenny chuckled, "but it is Sunday, so get your rear end up."
Now George did not particularly like going to church, but this particular day, church sounded like a pretty good idea. "I'm sure glad, I'm not dead," George said, rolled out of bed, fell hard face down on the floor. "Ouch!"
"A bit overly dramatic, as usual," Jenny commented, while applying makeup from her perch in front of bureau mirror, "Just get ready, dear."
Heavenly sunlight shined through the stained glass windows of the church that glorious day. George and Jenny sat three rows from the front in mid pew. And as the planned coincidence of heaven instructed, Pastor Mark approached the podium carrying visual aide. He held the pillow up for all to see, as he introduced sermon topic, "No amount of pillows over your head will hide you from the world." He paused, put the pillow over his eyes, continued, "But a pillow over the head will hide the world from you, so that it can sneak up... right behind you... and GET-CHA!" Pastor Mark tossed the pillow into the congregation.
To George that pillow seemed to float toward him like slow motion on a mission. George fought off attacking pillow more than just a tad too effeminately almost hyperventilating in the process, much to the good natured amusement of folks in pews all about. Jenny yanked renegade pillow off hubby, turned red, poked elbow into his ribs and mumbled under breath, "Get a grip, George!"
Pastor Mark continued, "So, what should we do with the pillow? How about putting that pillow under your weary head to give it rest, and to see... see near 4,000 years ago... see Jacob, the son of Isaac and the grandson of Abraham, the father of God's chosen children... see Jacob in journey passing. Genesis 28:10-19 paraphrased: In journey passing from Beersheba toward Haran, Jacob stopped for the night and used a stone for his pillow. And Jacob dreamed and did see a ladder, a stairway set up on earth and reaching heaven with angels of God ascending and descending upon it. And when he arose in the early morning, Jacob realized that this stairway is also the gate, the very door to heaven. Jacob therefore raised up that stone pillow as a pillar, and anointed that pillar with oil, and named the place where it stood Bethel, meaning House of God."
Pastor Mark paused, let it all settle in, or as in George's case unsettle in.
"Pillow to Pillar!" Pastor Mark continued, "Stone pillow risen as anointed stone pillar! Children I ask you: Who is our faith? Who is the solid stone pillar, the cornerstone of the House of God?"
"Jesus," the children in the congregation spoke forth.
"All who are children of God, I ask you: Who is the Rock of our Salvation?" Pastor Mark urged.
"Jesus!" The audience spoke forth, some shouted.
"Children of God, I ask you: Who is the ladder... Who is the very stairway between earth and heaven... Who is the gate, the very door, to go through, and to enter in, with the Living God, Our Father in heaven...
"J-E-S-U-S !!!" The congregation roared, rose to feet and praised the Son of God.
After a time the congregation hushed, sat, eager to hear. Pastor Mark clung to the podium, barely able to stand. "Jesus is the stairway and the doorway between earth and heaven that Jacob saw in a dream, as recorded in Genesis Chapter 11. But keep in mind also that in dream passing, Jacob received the blessing of faith, and in that new morning light, raised his stone 'pillow' of rest in memorial as the pillar of Bethel, the House of God.
Pastor Mark paused, began, "2000 years later, consider Jesus, who after having taught by the sea shore most of the day, Jesus saying to his disciples about the sea before them, 'Let us pass to the other side.' And in passing, behold on a 'pillow' in the stern of the ship, Jesus rested asleep, while arose a great storm of wind and waves that beat into the ship till near sinking. And fearing for their very lives, the disciples awaken Jesus from his 'pillow'... And Jesus, the very Stairway to heaven, the Rock of our Salvation, the Pillar of God's house, Jesus 'arises' and rebukes the evil winds and perverse waves of tempest tossed sea with these words: "Peace be still." And in the great calm, the great stillness, Jesus asks his disciples, actually asks us all: 'Why are you so fearful? How do you have so little faith?' And the awed disciples wonder, 'What manner of man is this that even the wind and the waves obey him?' "
After a moment, Pastor Mark reflected, "So, dear children of God, even though we live in the tempest tossed perverse sea of this world, why be fearful, why hide your head beneath a pillow, when faith in Christ Jesus makes possible even the soft bellows of heaven to be our pillows..."
With Jesus in her heart, Jenny hugged the arm of her husband and lay her head upon his shoulder. And George breathed easy... blinded by fear... never more... For George had passed to the other side... with Jesus...
Genesis 28:10-19; John 1:47-51; Mark 4:35-41: (Genesis 28:12 with John 1:51)
Postscript:
Of all the postscripts you will ever read, please take time to read and be blessed by one of God's 'planned coincidences' in the Bible: From the first book of the Old Testament compare Genesis 28:11 with Matthew 11:28 in the first book of the New Testament... and rest peacefully on the pillow of your faith...
Allegory & Scripture
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
HEATHEN HUBBY
Lily smiled. The birdees were a singing. The sun was a shining. Her hopes were arising. Her husband was a snoring. She twisted under the covers and plopped herself on hubby's chest. Lily kissed him. Half awake hubby Blake pulled her to him, kissed her back.
Lily cooed, "Today is the day."
Blake groaned, remembered wife's bliss born ulterior motive. He hugged her tight, offered alternative, "Couldn't we just sleep in this morning?"
"You promised!" Lily glared, then smiled, hiked left eyebrow.
"Oh no!" Blake squealed like a school kid.
"Oh yes!" Lily pinned him down. "Let the tickling begin!"
"AAAAAAAAAAAARRRrrgggggggggg!" Blake suddenly ran out of breath and almost excuses.
"Hubby kryptonite!" Lily giggled. She halted tickle attack, cooed, demanded, "Today is the day..."
"But, but, but its Saturday, yeah that's it, its Saturday," Blake lied, but could not stop the smile poking at his face.
You know today is the day, the LORD's day." Lily nipped his nose with her teeth, added, "Sunday, you heathen! Must I spell it out for you?"
"Does God allow heathens in church? See I can't go." Blake feigned disappointment.
"All have sinned and fallen short," Lily beamed. "I was a heathen too, only weeks ago."
"Why are you so happy about that?" Blake genuinely wondered.
"Because... just because... you'll see..." Lily promised.
Later that morning on church steps a lovely old lady in Jesus T-shirt greeted Lily with a hug and Blake with warm hand shake. Lily blurted out, "Mrs. Lovall, this is Blake, my heathen husband."
Blake turned red, protested, "Lily!!"
"Well!" Mrs. Lovall lifted left eyebrow, smiled, "Well, we were all once heathens, Blake; but you'll see..." Mrs. Lovall hugged him.
"Why is everyone so friendly?" Blake whispered as he and Lily crossed church threshold. "These folks act like they know me, even love me."
"You'll see..." Lily promised.
And standing in front of a pew with Lily at side, the eyes of Blake did see, his ears did hear, his heart burned Holy Spirit clear, what God has planned for us... Saw deep into the multitude of people swaying, some dancing, lifting hands in angelic swirl amid praise filled song and music. And as the band played on, the praise, the worship amplified, and the heart of a certain heathen more than imagined... so must be heaven... And Blake sang along the words on the overhead screen; and Blake swayed arms uplifted; and Blake praised and worshiped the Living God and his Son ...Jesus... and Blake never wanted it to end...
And Lily smiled...
Romans 3:23; 6:23; 5:8; 10:9; John 3:16
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Lily cooed, "Today is the day."
Blake groaned, remembered wife's bliss born ulterior motive. He hugged her tight, offered alternative, "Couldn't we just sleep in this morning?"
"You promised!" Lily glared, then smiled, hiked left eyebrow.
"Oh no!" Blake squealed like a school kid.
"Oh yes!" Lily pinned him down. "Let the tickling begin!"
"AAAAAAAAAAAARRRrrgggggggggg!" Blake suddenly ran out of breath and almost excuses.
"Hubby kryptonite!" Lily giggled. She halted tickle attack, cooed, demanded, "Today is the day..."
"But, but, but its Saturday, yeah that's it, its Saturday," Blake lied, but could not stop the smile poking at his face.
You know today is the day, the LORD's day." Lily nipped his nose with her teeth, added, "Sunday, you heathen! Must I spell it out for you?"
"Does God allow heathens in church? See I can't go." Blake feigned disappointment.
"All have sinned and fallen short," Lily beamed. "I was a heathen too, only weeks ago."
"Why are you so happy about that?" Blake genuinely wondered.
"Because... just because... you'll see..." Lily promised.
Later that morning on church steps a lovely old lady in Jesus T-shirt greeted Lily with a hug and Blake with warm hand shake. Lily blurted out, "Mrs. Lovall, this is Blake, my heathen husband."
Blake turned red, protested, "Lily!!"
"Well!" Mrs. Lovall lifted left eyebrow, smiled, "Well, we were all once heathens, Blake; but you'll see..." Mrs. Lovall hugged him.
"Why is everyone so friendly?" Blake whispered as he and Lily crossed church threshold. "These folks act like they know me, even love me."
"You'll see..." Lily promised.
And standing in front of a pew with Lily at side, the eyes of Blake did see, his ears did hear, his heart burned Holy Spirit clear, what God has planned for us... Saw deep into the multitude of people swaying, some dancing, lifting hands in angelic swirl amid praise filled song and music. And as the band played on, the praise, the worship amplified, and the heart of a certain heathen more than imagined... so must be heaven... And Blake sang along the words on the overhead screen; and Blake swayed arms uplifted; and Blake praised and worshiped the Living God and his Son ...Jesus... and Blake never wanted it to end...
And Lily smiled...
Romans 3:23; 6:23; 5:8; 10:9; John 3:16
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
CHOCOLATE TEARS
Down Cobble Way, ye olde shoppe the Chocolate Box nestled twixt Hope Chest Treasures and Gifts By Fig Tree Fox. The Chocolate Box, famous for scarlet heart containers sealed Chocolate Tears, that once past lips echoed sweet sorrows love lost years. Every customer tasted such perfect sadness in each chocolate drop, till along cheek fell down sweet teardrop. O' how that dark velvet cocoa dripped, that waiting in line buyer of tears for tears memory be tripped. For not one who did eat ever failed to weep; no not one ever dry eyes did keep.
So many came, so many hungered to know, how could any make chocolate so? What secret, what enigma sans joy did proprietress Miss Bonnie Foy employ? So went on this little what known, scattered as leaves by autumn wind blown.
O' but the how and the why came each lonely, each waiting night, that Miss Bonnie Foy stirred each chocolate delight. "Why, o' why dear Father above, why can not your poor Christian child find her one true love? Please dear Lord in the name of your Son, o' dear Jesus bring to me my one and only one." And from sad blue eyes of Bonnie Foy fell drops of not so secret ingredient... into spiral stir so chocolient.
Till one faith filled day as store front roses cried the morning dew, in with the cool breeze of autumn a young man blew. And in last step of steps for chocolate box he stood waiting, till at last his turn of time came at counter where Bonnie Foy stood waiting. To him Bonnie smiled, but said, "Sorry young gentleman, all my chocolate boxes through the door have ran. Please come back on the morrow, then you may have your chocolate tears of sorrow."
But the young man said, "Of chocolate boxes I need none. Of chocolate tears I need only one."
Like the deer oer brook lept the heart of Bonnie Foy, anticipating cool fresh drink of joy. From lower counter she retrieved the tray, and over last one and only chocolate tear did pray. In her own sweet hand, Bonnie lifted chocolate tear to the lips of the man. And lo, unlike all else who had eaten and wept of late, this young man did not weep as he ate...
And so it was, and so it is, that by good gift of faith we pray; and our Creator above stirs chocolate tears to chocolate kisses in His perfect hour of day...
...To our Father may all about in the name of Jesus cry out...
...Our Father is faithful to His faithful...
Bonnie Foy: bonny foy - Scottish for good gift; bonne foi - French for good faith.
"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning." -James 1:17 KJ
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
So many came, so many hungered to know, how could any make chocolate so? What secret, what enigma sans joy did proprietress Miss Bonnie Foy employ? So went on this little what known, scattered as leaves by autumn wind blown.
O' but the how and the why came each lonely, each waiting night, that Miss Bonnie Foy stirred each chocolate delight. "Why, o' why dear Father above, why can not your poor Christian child find her one true love? Please dear Lord in the name of your Son, o' dear Jesus bring to me my one and only one." And from sad blue eyes of Bonnie Foy fell drops of not so secret ingredient... into spiral stir so chocolient.
Till one faith filled day as store front roses cried the morning dew, in with the cool breeze of autumn a young man blew. And in last step of steps for chocolate box he stood waiting, till at last his turn of time came at counter where Bonnie Foy stood waiting. To him Bonnie smiled, but said, "Sorry young gentleman, all my chocolate boxes through the door have ran. Please come back on the morrow, then you may have your chocolate tears of sorrow."
But the young man said, "Of chocolate boxes I need none. Of chocolate tears I need only one."
Like the deer oer brook lept the heart of Bonnie Foy, anticipating cool fresh drink of joy. From lower counter she retrieved the tray, and over last one and only chocolate tear did pray. In her own sweet hand, Bonnie lifted chocolate tear to the lips of the man. And lo, unlike all else who had eaten and wept of late, this young man did not weep as he ate...
And so it was, and so it is, that by good gift of faith we pray; and our Creator above stirs chocolate tears to chocolate kisses in His perfect hour of day...
...To our Father may all about in the name of Jesus cry out...
...Our Father is faithful to His faithful...
Bonnie Foy: bonny foy - Scottish for good gift; bonne foi - French for good faith.
"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning." -James 1:17 KJ
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Sunday, October 27, 2013
THE SIEGE OF FORT PANIC (LAKE WOEMEEITCHEE II)
On the corner of Hope Lane and Faith Way the second live interview with Mayor Bob was not going well. "Mayor Bob, over here please," KOPE reporter Beau Airr attempted to refocus Bob's attention. Bob promptly plopped down in a pile of autumn leaves and began removing shoes and socks. "Mayor Bob," Beau persisted, "will you and the folks of Fort Panic comply with government demand to relocate by noon tomorrow?"
Mayor Bob stood. "Wheeee!" He gleefully squeaked, while shuffling bare feet midst gold and red leaves.
"At least," Beau side glanced into the camera, half joked, "at least before this interview I didn't eat the fish and kelp salad down at Uncle Kelpy's Cafe."
Mayor Bob stood still, balanced on one foot, picked up a golden leaf twixt toes and asked, "Well there Beau, have you ever walked barefoot..." Bob wobbled a tad on that one foot, repeated, "Have you ever walked barefoot in autumn leaves... and found childhood?"
"Never a dull moment with the dull," Beau sighed. Tried again, "Mayor, the President has declared that the people of Fort Panic are in imminent danger from the volcanic gas belched up by Lake Woemeeitchee and must relocate by noon tomorrow. What is your response, Mayor Bob?"
Bob bent over, picked up another leaf, "Oh, a violet one!"
The face of Beau Airr deepened grim. He almost seemed concerned when he asked yet again, "Willingly or by force, tomorrow noon the government relocates all of you. What are you, Mayor Bob, and the precious folks round Lake Woemeeitchee going to do?"
"Well Beau, what we are going to do is what we always do," Mayor Bob stated matter of factly, then kinda nonchalantly faded out for a while, as if in another world.
"Which is?" Reporter Beau inquired. Mayor Bob did not respond. Beau laid hand on Bob's shoulder to bring him around. "Which is?" Beau persisted.
"Which is what we have already done and will continue to do," Bob smiled.
"Is it a secret, armed resistance, a peaceful sit-in? That's it, isn't it? You are going to chain yourselves to trees!" Beau Airr dogged Mayor Bob for an answer.
"Well there Beau, me and all the folks round here intend to just keep on praying fer our enemies," Bob finally fessed up, added, "Oh, that and prepare the feast."
"You are going to what!" Beau looked like he was suffering another Lake Woemeeitchee gas attack.
"We are praying fer all those sent here to forcibly relocate us. Praying our LORD above will shower them with grace and forgiveness; not visit destruction upon them, for they are but lost sheep in need of finding," Mayor Bob finally spilled the beans of blessing.
"Nutty as a squirrel in a walnut factory!" Beau spit out, composed himself, direly warned, "There is only one road in or out of Lake Woemeeitchee and the Feds have it blockaded."
"One way in only," Mayor Bob agreed, "and that way is Christ Jesus."
...The tomorrow of high noon found reporter Beau Airr and news crew in awe of what they saw. Every man, woman and child of the sparsely populated Lake Woemeeithcee area had gathered on crater rim, looking down that one narrow way in, more a path than a road. And holding hands, together they stood, singing praises to the LORD...
Beau Airr breathed into the camera, "Everyone of them! Nuts as a squirrel in a barrel of peanuts! What is wrong with these people?" Beau paused, reflected, "Or maybe what is right with them?" Beau looked down the road. The air in his lungs fled out. A multitude of assault vehicles, armored transports, bulldozers and black SUV's were lining up in dark convoy at the base of the road up. The assault was about to begin.
And even reporter Beau Airr, closed eyes and breathed good prayer, "Dear Jesus, please save these dear sweet people. Save us all."
"Fear not, there Beau," Mayor Bob laid hand upon his shoulder, "for those with us are more than those with them."
And the eyes of Beau Airr opened, and he saw with them, all about the mountain crater rim... horses and chariots of fire...
And Mayor Bob praised, "Blessed be the name of the LORD..."
Inspired by the true and infinitely more awesome 2nd Kings 6:1-23 of the Holy Bible.
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Mayor Bob stood. "Wheeee!" He gleefully squeaked, while shuffling bare feet midst gold and red leaves.
"At least," Beau side glanced into the camera, half joked, "at least before this interview I didn't eat the fish and kelp salad down at Uncle Kelpy's Cafe."
Mayor Bob stood still, balanced on one foot, picked up a golden leaf twixt toes and asked, "Well there Beau, have you ever walked barefoot..." Bob wobbled a tad on that one foot, repeated, "Have you ever walked barefoot in autumn leaves... and found childhood?"
"Never a dull moment with the dull," Beau sighed. Tried again, "Mayor, the President has declared that the people of Fort Panic are in imminent danger from the volcanic gas belched up by Lake Woemeeitchee and must relocate by noon tomorrow. What is your response, Mayor Bob?"
Bob bent over, picked up another leaf, "Oh, a violet one!"
The face of Beau Airr deepened grim. He almost seemed concerned when he asked yet again, "Willingly or by force, tomorrow noon the government relocates all of you. What are you, Mayor Bob, and the precious folks round Lake Woemeeitchee going to do?"
"Well Beau, what we are going to do is what we always do," Mayor Bob stated matter of factly, then kinda nonchalantly faded out for a while, as if in another world.
"Which is?" Reporter Beau inquired. Mayor Bob did not respond. Beau laid hand on Bob's shoulder to bring him around. "Which is?" Beau persisted.
"Which is what we have already done and will continue to do," Bob smiled.
"Is it a secret, armed resistance, a peaceful sit-in? That's it, isn't it? You are going to chain yourselves to trees!" Beau Airr dogged Mayor Bob for an answer.
"Well there Beau, me and all the folks round here intend to just keep on praying fer our enemies," Bob finally fessed up, added, "Oh, that and prepare the feast."
"You are going to what!" Beau looked like he was suffering another Lake Woemeeitchee gas attack.
"We are praying fer all those sent here to forcibly relocate us. Praying our LORD above will shower them with grace and forgiveness; not visit destruction upon them, for they are but lost sheep in need of finding," Mayor Bob finally spilled the beans of blessing.
"Nutty as a squirrel in a walnut factory!" Beau spit out, composed himself, direly warned, "There is only one road in or out of Lake Woemeeitchee and the Feds have it blockaded."
"One way in only," Mayor Bob agreed, "and that way is Christ Jesus."
...The tomorrow of high noon found reporter Beau Airr and news crew in awe of what they saw. Every man, woman and child of the sparsely populated Lake Woemeeithcee area had gathered on crater rim, looking down that one narrow way in, more a path than a road. And holding hands, together they stood, singing praises to the LORD...
Beau Airr breathed into the camera, "Everyone of them! Nuts as a squirrel in a barrel of peanuts! What is wrong with these people?" Beau paused, reflected, "Or maybe what is right with them?" Beau looked down the road. The air in his lungs fled out. A multitude of assault vehicles, armored transports, bulldozers and black SUV's were lining up in dark convoy at the base of the road up. The assault was about to begin.
And even reporter Beau Airr, closed eyes and breathed good prayer, "Dear Jesus, please save these dear sweet people. Save us all."
"Fear not, there Beau," Mayor Bob laid hand upon his shoulder, "for those with us are more than those with them."
And the eyes of Beau Airr opened, and he saw with them, all about the mountain crater rim... horses and chariots of fire...
And Mayor Bob praised, "Blessed be the name of the LORD..."
Inspired by the true and infinitely more awesome 2nd Kings 6:1-23 of the Holy Bible.
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
LAKE WOEMEEITCHEE
Smack dab in the middle of west Texas desert rests the oasis of Fort Panic along the high in the sky shore of Lake Woemeeitchee. Inside that volcanic crater ridge, village cabins weave like bird nests amongst fir, pine and maple. For long ago Mount Sur had blown its top to the heavens to make room for the waters of Lake Woemeeitchee and the down home folks that would settle many moons later...
Now who would not flock to see such a village as this: an oasis by the name Fort Panic threatened on all sides by unforgiving desert, resting in the active volcanic crater known as Lake Woemeeitchee? What else could possibly draw more thrill seekers and scientists like flies than volcanic danger, except perhaps disgustingly stinky danger? Lake Woemeeitchee irregularly passed gas of volcanic proportions. A special gas temporarily stunning to fish, but not humans; although the olfactory nerves of Lake Woemeeitchee visitors might gag to disagree.
Oh, what a riddle of mystery, what an enigma of paradox, what an anomaly of juxtaposition was the catch 22 question vexing the vexed. From all round the world the curious, the tourist, the scientist, the doomsayer, the reporterous scoopticuss just had to come, to see, to smell, to itch to ask one question: "Why?"
"Why?" gasped KOPE Channel 3.1 reporter Beau Airr, as the just passed gas of Lake Woemeeitchee wafted by. "Why," Beau rubbed eyes and nose with freehand, his voice shifted to in-distress nasal twang, "why would any sane person with a nose live in such a 'disaster waiting to happen' place as Fort Panic? Why would the people, who live here, so stubbornly resist government efforts to relocate them? Why, well who better to answer that question than mayor of Fort Panic, Bob Tomm. So why, Mayor Bob? Reporter Beau Airr thrust the microphone into the hand of Mayor Bob. Beau needed both hands to scratch.
"We won't run, because us Fort Panic natives don't ask why... we do why not. Well that, and mostly we have just learned not to scratch," Mayor Bob said, then added, "When Lake Woemeeitchee breaks wind, we go out in tha boats and net tha floating fish fer supper."
"You eat dead gassed fish!" Reporter Beau Airr gagged.
"Not dead, stunned," Mayor Bob corrected. "We kill tha fish later when we cut off its head, gut it and scale it. Takes a real sharp knife. Oh, and also, before that, while in tha boats netting tha fish, we gather up the edible fresh water kelp that tha gas release knocks loose from the bottom of Lake Woemeeitchee."
Reporter Beau Airr fell to all fours and wretched.
Like a moose of night caught in headlights, Mayor Bob for a moment stared into the still rolling cameras, didn't know what else to say, but, "I see Beau had the fish and kelp salad down at Uncle Kelpy's Cafe. So... so... its like as we Fort Panic natives always say: tha main thing, 'the' main thing is... just don't panic... and trust in the Lord Jesus. We always say that cause in making tha best outta what we got... we grow in fatness of tha soul. Amen!"
On knees, reporter Beau Airr grabbed the microphone. Bob did not let go. Beau Airr warned, "Stop! This is live! Elected officials are forbidden to mention God. The government, the courts will prosecute!" Beau Airr added dry heave for emphasis.
"You mean persecute, there, Beau," Mayor Bob corrected, added, "God created Lake Womeeitchee to provide for us; and no matter how many tha threats by misguided government and so called scientist alike, threats to relocate us fer our own supposedly good; we children of God reserve the God given right to live where God intends, to think and speak as God directs, and have life as God provides. And our Creator, the Living God Almighty, keeps us as the apple of His eye... Praise our Father God in the name of His precious Son Jesus Christ... Amen, again!"
The gauntlet had been cast down... Coming soon: The Siege of Fort Panic...
Be anxious about nothing... Trust in Jesus... Philippians 4:6-7
Find fatness of the soul... Isaiah 55:1-2
We who love Christ Jesus shall not be separated from the love of God... Romans 8:37,38,39
We are the apple of His eye... Psalm 17:8
Feel free to share pawpawcorner.blogspot.com with any who might benefit...
...Thank you Jesus for loving us...
Now who would not flock to see such a village as this: an oasis by the name Fort Panic threatened on all sides by unforgiving desert, resting in the active volcanic crater known as Lake Woemeeitchee? What else could possibly draw more thrill seekers and scientists like flies than volcanic danger, except perhaps disgustingly stinky danger? Lake Woemeeitchee irregularly passed gas of volcanic proportions. A special gas temporarily stunning to fish, but not humans; although the olfactory nerves of Lake Woemeeitchee visitors might gag to disagree.
Oh, what a riddle of mystery, what an enigma of paradox, what an anomaly of juxtaposition was the catch 22 question vexing the vexed. From all round the world the curious, the tourist, the scientist, the doomsayer, the reporterous scoopticuss just had to come, to see, to smell, to itch to ask one question: "Why?"
"Why?" gasped KOPE Channel 3.1 reporter Beau Airr, as the just passed gas of Lake Woemeeitchee wafted by. "Why," Beau rubbed eyes and nose with freehand, his voice shifted to in-distress nasal twang, "why would any sane person with a nose live in such a 'disaster waiting to happen' place as Fort Panic? Why would the people, who live here, so stubbornly resist government efforts to relocate them? Why, well who better to answer that question than mayor of Fort Panic, Bob Tomm. So why, Mayor Bob? Reporter Beau Airr thrust the microphone into the hand of Mayor Bob. Beau needed both hands to scratch.
"We won't run, because us Fort Panic natives don't ask why... we do why not. Well that, and mostly we have just learned not to scratch," Mayor Bob said, then added, "When Lake Woemeeitchee breaks wind, we go out in tha boats and net tha floating fish fer supper."
"You eat dead gassed fish!" Reporter Beau Airr gagged.
"Not dead, stunned," Mayor Bob corrected. "We kill tha fish later when we cut off its head, gut it and scale it. Takes a real sharp knife. Oh, and also, before that, while in tha boats netting tha fish, we gather up the edible fresh water kelp that tha gas release knocks loose from the bottom of Lake Woemeeitchee."
Reporter Beau Airr fell to all fours and wretched.
Like a moose of night caught in headlights, Mayor Bob for a moment stared into the still rolling cameras, didn't know what else to say, but, "I see Beau had the fish and kelp salad down at Uncle Kelpy's Cafe. So... so... its like as we Fort Panic natives always say: tha main thing, 'the' main thing is... just don't panic... and trust in the Lord Jesus. We always say that cause in making tha best outta what we got... we grow in fatness of tha soul. Amen!"
On knees, reporter Beau Airr grabbed the microphone. Bob did not let go. Beau Airr warned, "Stop! This is live! Elected officials are forbidden to mention God. The government, the courts will prosecute!" Beau Airr added dry heave for emphasis.
"You mean persecute, there, Beau," Mayor Bob corrected, added, "God created Lake Womeeitchee to provide for us; and no matter how many tha threats by misguided government and so called scientist alike, threats to relocate us fer our own supposedly good; we children of God reserve the God given right to live where God intends, to think and speak as God directs, and have life as God provides. And our Creator, the Living God Almighty, keeps us as the apple of His eye... Praise our Father God in the name of His precious Son Jesus Christ... Amen, again!"
The gauntlet had been cast down... Coming soon: The Siege of Fort Panic...
Be anxious about nothing... Trust in Jesus... Philippians 4:6-7
Find fatness of the soul... Isaiah 55:1-2
We who love Christ Jesus shall not be separated from the love of God... Romans 8:37,38,39
We are the apple of His eye... Psalm 17:8
Feel free to share pawpawcorner.blogspot.com with any who might benefit...
...Thank you Jesus for loving us...
Saturday, October 5, 2013
DETACHED ATTACHMENT
For sure Bill Nuff loved his wife Anida. Bill wanted the world for Anida, and Anida wanted the world. Seemed for Anida, Bill Nuff could never buy enough stuff. Perfect union, most thought. And why not, neighbors added, in the land of unlimited credit, just why not?
Early in the marriage, actually on wedding day, sitting in front of the mirror in that glowing fluffy white, adding that last dab of makeup before walking the aisle of no return, Anida had sworn, "I'll never be one of those gray sweats wearing ex-cheer leader wives, waddling through life like a caged duck out of water." Thus in her mind echoed this no-direction lack of Christian emotion to the inevitable conclusion of detached attachment. The void had to be filled... "Filled," cried Anida Nuff, "with more stuff.
But soon the train of buying things derailed budgetary reality. For no matter how well Bill's Plumbing succeeded, no matter the robust business net, no matter the credit cards of every nuance of rainbow color maxed to sky limit, Anida's lust for more stuff, cost more. Therefore, Bill stepped up. Bill's Plumbing morphed into Bill's Plumbing & Electrical Unlimited. And as Bill Nuff huffed and puffed enough hours to kill any man, the neighbor ladies of more stuff creed, all agreed, "What a man!"
And as the business grew, and grew, and grew, so did the stuff of Anida Nuff: designer clothing, summer and winter cottages, a new mansion on the hill, a bigger garage to house her dozen or so custom autos, and just plain old more expensive stuff, till stuff had no more space to be stuffed. Hence loving husband Bill built for Anida her very own warehouse outback. But as the business grew, so did the blood pressure of Bill Nuff, until his heart had had enough. Actually his aorta had had enough. Actually exploded with such force, Bill's lungs were shredded in the high pressure blast.
Sitting at the bureau mirror, adding that last dab of makeup, Anida had not noticed fatal explosion. Anida stood up, bent over for one last in mirror touch up, turned round, saw Bill, and hands on hips complained, "Bill quit laying there like your dead! I'm going shopping with or without you." Bill didn't budge. Anida sashayed over, bent over, removed his wallet and said, "Anida needs her money, Honey." Not till her return from shopping, did Anida's detached attachment become self evident. Bill had still not budged.
After the funeral, Anida drove straight to the mall. The spending spree lasted only as long as the insurance and business money. Soon foreclosed upon were the mansion on the hill, the summer and winter cottages. The custom autos repossessed. The business assets and warehouse of stuff auctioned off. But Anida found a new home of cardboard under the Constitution Bridge just outside Richland in Prosperity County. And although shoved without, Anida did not do without. She still collected stuff... all sorts of stuff... cans, bottles, pieces of misshapen wood, a sun bleached squirrel skull or two... all a clutter but no less useless as all the expensive stuff before. And so in Anida's false bliss... detached attachment ate on and on...
At the foot of Constitution Bridge, the north wind swirled the white hair of Pastor John, as he held tight Bible to chest... as he prayed, "Dear Heavenly Father, winter nears, please help Anida give up the idol of stuff, and span the void between You and her with the love of Jesus. We have a warm place for her at Pilgrim Way Mission, as long as Anida needs us."
...Why let possessions possess you...
...Only Jesus can fill the void...
Ecclesiastes 1:1-3; Proverbs 1:19; Mark 8:36; Ecclesiastes 12:7-14; Acts 2:37-38
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Early in the marriage, actually on wedding day, sitting in front of the mirror in that glowing fluffy white, adding that last dab of makeup before walking the aisle of no return, Anida had sworn, "I'll never be one of those gray sweats wearing ex-cheer leader wives, waddling through life like a caged duck out of water." Thus in her mind echoed this no-direction lack of Christian emotion to the inevitable conclusion of detached attachment. The void had to be filled... "Filled," cried Anida Nuff, "with more stuff.
But soon the train of buying things derailed budgetary reality. For no matter how well Bill's Plumbing succeeded, no matter the robust business net, no matter the credit cards of every nuance of rainbow color maxed to sky limit, Anida's lust for more stuff, cost more. Therefore, Bill stepped up. Bill's Plumbing morphed into Bill's Plumbing & Electrical Unlimited. And as Bill Nuff huffed and puffed enough hours to kill any man, the neighbor ladies of more stuff creed, all agreed, "What a man!"
And as the business grew, and grew, and grew, so did the stuff of Anida Nuff: designer clothing, summer and winter cottages, a new mansion on the hill, a bigger garage to house her dozen or so custom autos, and just plain old more expensive stuff, till stuff had no more space to be stuffed. Hence loving husband Bill built for Anida her very own warehouse outback. But as the business grew, so did the blood pressure of Bill Nuff, until his heart had had enough. Actually his aorta had had enough. Actually exploded with such force, Bill's lungs were shredded in the high pressure blast.
Sitting at the bureau mirror, adding that last dab of makeup, Anida had not noticed fatal explosion. Anida stood up, bent over for one last in mirror touch up, turned round, saw Bill, and hands on hips complained, "Bill quit laying there like your dead! I'm going shopping with or without you." Bill didn't budge. Anida sashayed over, bent over, removed his wallet and said, "Anida needs her money, Honey." Not till her return from shopping, did Anida's detached attachment become self evident. Bill had still not budged.
After the funeral, Anida drove straight to the mall. The spending spree lasted only as long as the insurance and business money. Soon foreclosed upon were the mansion on the hill, the summer and winter cottages. The custom autos repossessed. The business assets and warehouse of stuff auctioned off. But Anida found a new home of cardboard under the Constitution Bridge just outside Richland in Prosperity County. And although shoved without, Anida did not do without. She still collected stuff... all sorts of stuff... cans, bottles, pieces of misshapen wood, a sun bleached squirrel skull or two... all a clutter but no less useless as all the expensive stuff before. And so in Anida's false bliss... detached attachment ate on and on...
At the foot of Constitution Bridge, the north wind swirled the white hair of Pastor John, as he held tight Bible to chest... as he prayed, "Dear Heavenly Father, winter nears, please help Anida give up the idol of stuff, and span the void between You and her with the love of Jesus. We have a warm place for her at Pilgrim Way Mission, as long as Anida needs us."
...Why let possessions possess you...
...Only Jesus can fill the void...
Ecclesiastes 1:1-3; Proverbs 1:19; Mark 8:36; Ecclesiastes 12:7-14; Acts 2:37-38
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
BEEN THERE DONE THAT
Where else but the Autumnville Country Store front porch could sitting be considered sport. But there the tres amigos, Fred, Ed and Ted, competed in rocking chairs, just a tad more antique than they were.
"Good morning rocking chair jockeys," greeted Mrs. Bode, as she ascended porch steps, "I see you all are wearing the team uniform and protective head gear."
"Are you poking fun at our overalls and caps?" Ed complained.
Mrs Bode halted halfway through store screen door and left jabbed his shoulder. "Just yours Ed," she laughed.
"Ouch!" Ed rubbed his shoulder.
"Beat up by a woman!" Fred ribbed.
"Yep," nodded Ted.
"Shut up!" Ed fended them off, "At least she's purdy, and she touched me. That's more action than either one of you two geezers have had in the past 40 years."
"Sadly true," Fred reflected.
"Yep," Ted agreed.
Fred stroked beard, spit, said, "Have you ever crossed the line, just to get to the other side?"
"Been there, done that," Ed mused.
"Yep," chimed Ted.
Fred contemplated, "Have you ever had a date with destiny," he spit over porch plank edge, "and got stood up?"
"Been there, done that," Ed said, added, "In fact her name 'was' Destiny, back in '43."
"Yep," Ted was slipping off into that special place of diminished capacity, called The Ted Zone.
Fred thought a while, then asked, "Have you ever accepted Christ Jesus as Savior?"
"Nope!" Ed croaked, tilted forward, fell face down on porch plank. The only chair still rocking was the one Ed fell out of.
"Is he planking?" Ted asked.
"Walked the eternal plank," Fred observed. He swallowed hard, "Why didn't I witness to him before now?"
Ted cried out, "This life is but a mist for a little while..."
James 4:14; Romans 3:23, 6:23, 5:8, 10:9 & 13
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
"Good morning rocking chair jockeys," greeted Mrs. Bode, as she ascended porch steps, "I see you all are wearing the team uniform and protective head gear."
"Are you poking fun at our overalls and caps?" Ed complained.
Mrs Bode halted halfway through store screen door and left jabbed his shoulder. "Just yours Ed," she laughed.
"Ouch!" Ed rubbed his shoulder.
"Beat up by a woman!" Fred ribbed.
"Yep," nodded Ted.
"Shut up!" Ed fended them off, "At least she's purdy, and she touched me. That's more action than either one of you two geezers have had in the past 40 years."
"Sadly true," Fred reflected.
"Yep," Ted agreed.
Fred stroked beard, spit, said, "Have you ever crossed the line, just to get to the other side?"
"Been there, done that," Ed mused.
"Yep," chimed Ted.
Fred contemplated, "Have you ever had a date with destiny," he spit over porch plank edge, "and got stood up?"
"Been there, done that," Ed said, added, "In fact her name 'was' Destiny, back in '43."
"Yep," Ted was slipping off into that special place of diminished capacity, called The Ted Zone.
Fred thought a while, then asked, "Have you ever accepted Christ Jesus as Savior?"
"Nope!" Ed croaked, tilted forward, fell face down on porch plank. The only chair still rocking was the one Ed fell out of.
"Is he planking?" Ted asked.
"Walked the eternal plank," Fred observed. He swallowed hard, "Why didn't I witness to him before now?"
Ted cried out, "This life is but a mist for a little while..."
James 4:14; Romans 3:23, 6:23, 5:8, 10:9 & 13
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
Monday, September 9, 2013
HALFWAY TO HATHAWAY
Serpentine smirk glowered in the dim light of dashboard GPS. "Spur 777 dead ends in the town of Halfway, Texas. If that is not poetic injustice for all those logic challenged Christians, what is? This is going to be good," spat out the up to no good Saul Bellow of the Texas Restless Reporter. Seems Saul never ceased pursuit of atheistic un-value.
For Saul that winding road to Halfway was an unsteady climb over hill after hill; till one hill loomed steeper than them all. Saul on gas pedal the pressure applied, but his truck began to buck, coughed, choked, then died, before backwards it began to slide. Hard on the brake pedal Saul gave it all, but truck downhill continued back pedal fall. His leg muscles for what seemed eternity burned raw. His heart pounded. His brain ached, took a minute or two to register truck no longer moved. "Wheeh, still alive?" At steep hill bottom Saul chewed, "I got a job to do!"
To the less taller hill behind, the truck u-turned, climbed to its top, turned round and stopped. "Get 'er done!" Saul screamed, crammed gas pedal to metal. Tires burned rubber. Saul's heart burned hotter, "I got a story to twist!"
Down hill Saul sped, then up higher hill he fled, till stopped, till perched on top. From over his shoulder the morning sun rose, shined on west, cast twilight day down upon the town of Halfway, nestled in the valley of the Horse Shoe Mountains. Saul stepped out of truck. Raised camera, even said, "So beautiful, it almost makes me want to believe." He filmed a while, before returned sad smile, "But I'll get over it."
The plan was nothing new, followed old format, tried and semi-true. Thru town pass thru. Film here, film there, fire in an oral observation or two. But Saul interviewed none, figured to do it later; for something compelled him toward the far end of Halfway. "Why not," Saul shrugged, "I mean, like after all, how far down can far end be in this halfway town?"
Saul braked at stop sign. Spur 777 ended at the tee with Hathaway Street. On the far side of Hathaway a big green sign beckoned. Welcome to Horse Shoe Mountain Trail. Enter at own risk. Continue on foot. So he did, camera in hand. "Photo-op heaven!" Saul slipped, un-corrected himself, "That is, if there really were a heaven."
Up he went. The climb rapidly got steeper. The trail got narrower. "Real narrow," Saul muttered, "Who in their right mind would put a public trail not more than three feet wide up the side of a mountain?" He rounded the corner. Heard coiled diamond back rattler. Saul looked down, squeaked, "That snake's head is bigger than my foot!" Back glued to mountain, eyes squinched tight, he called out, "Help me Jesus!" With venom dripping fangs that ancient serpent sprang, sprang over trail edge to far, far below...
Saul's eyes opened. Saw all the way to Hathaway Street and a cross topped building there...
Back in the town of Halfway, on the street of Hathaway, a shaken Saul walked thru the Door of the Church. "Hello little sheep. I've been told to expect you, Saul," greeted the Pastor from altar steps, "Have you ever considered a change of name?"
...Is Halfway to Hathaway closer than thought...
...Call out to the only way...
...JESUS...
As entertaining as this little story may be, it is no where near as awesome as the true story of Saul to Paul in the Bible... Please read Acts 9:1-20 & 13:9. The sheep and the Door & the Way are explained in John 10:1-30; 14:6; 3:16; and Romans 10:13.
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
For Saul that winding road to Halfway was an unsteady climb over hill after hill; till one hill loomed steeper than them all. Saul on gas pedal the pressure applied, but his truck began to buck, coughed, choked, then died, before backwards it began to slide. Hard on the brake pedal Saul gave it all, but truck downhill continued back pedal fall. His leg muscles for what seemed eternity burned raw. His heart pounded. His brain ached, took a minute or two to register truck no longer moved. "Wheeh, still alive?" At steep hill bottom Saul chewed, "I got a job to do!"
To the less taller hill behind, the truck u-turned, climbed to its top, turned round and stopped. "Get 'er done!" Saul screamed, crammed gas pedal to metal. Tires burned rubber. Saul's heart burned hotter, "I got a story to twist!"
Down hill Saul sped, then up higher hill he fled, till stopped, till perched on top. From over his shoulder the morning sun rose, shined on west, cast twilight day down upon the town of Halfway, nestled in the valley of the Horse Shoe Mountains. Saul stepped out of truck. Raised camera, even said, "So beautiful, it almost makes me want to believe." He filmed a while, before returned sad smile, "But I'll get over it."
The plan was nothing new, followed old format, tried and semi-true. Thru town pass thru. Film here, film there, fire in an oral observation or two. But Saul interviewed none, figured to do it later; for something compelled him toward the far end of Halfway. "Why not," Saul shrugged, "I mean, like after all, how far down can far end be in this halfway town?"
Saul braked at stop sign. Spur 777 ended at the tee with Hathaway Street. On the far side of Hathaway a big green sign beckoned. Welcome to Horse Shoe Mountain Trail. Enter at own risk. Continue on foot. So he did, camera in hand. "Photo-op heaven!" Saul slipped, un-corrected himself, "That is, if there really were a heaven."
Up he went. The climb rapidly got steeper. The trail got narrower. "Real narrow," Saul muttered, "Who in their right mind would put a public trail not more than three feet wide up the side of a mountain?" He rounded the corner. Heard coiled diamond back rattler. Saul looked down, squeaked, "That snake's head is bigger than my foot!" Back glued to mountain, eyes squinched tight, he called out, "Help me Jesus!" With venom dripping fangs that ancient serpent sprang, sprang over trail edge to far, far below...
Saul's eyes opened. Saw all the way to Hathaway Street and a cross topped building there...
Back in the town of Halfway, on the street of Hathaway, a shaken Saul walked thru the Door of the Church. "Hello little sheep. I've been told to expect you, Saul," greeted the Pastor from altar steps, "Have you ever considered a change of name?"
...Is Halfway to Hathaway closer than thought...
...Call out to the only way...
...JESUS...
As entertaining as this little story may be, it is no where near as awesome as the true story of Saul to Paul in the Bible... Please read Acts 9:1-20 & 13:9. The sheep and the Door & the Way are explained in John 10:1-30; 14:6; 3:16; and Romans 10:13.
pawpawcorner.blogspot.com
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