Living With My Shoes On

This poem was inspired by Mollie Jones and a metaphor of hers.

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Living With My Shoes On

Gardens surround the red brick path

And lead me to the charming red door

A welcome mat and flower pots

Implore me to want to see more

I step inside the homiest house

Looking over the loveliest lawn

The cozy couches calling my name

But I choose to keep my shoes on

~

The fireplace cracks and keeps me warm

The carpet is white, cozy, and soft

Chocolate served hot is cupped in my hand

As I hear music played in the loft

My hosts beg me to feel right at home

They’ve made it so I feel drawn

But respectfully I must decline

And I choose to keep my shoes on

~

They show me to their best guest room

They say “stay as long as you want”

A king size bed and flat screen TV

Thousands of books, from Plato to Kant

A room so tempting to say the least

Relaxing, it seems, as I yawn

But I say "no thanks" as I head for the door

Because I’m living with my shoes on

Barren the Adventurer (2)

Barren had not gone far when he came upon his first adventure. As Barren got close, he noticed another bird doing something to the narrow land, but he could not tell what exactly. He addressed the bird in hopes of passing him without trouble.

“Greetings, my name is Barren.”

“Greetings of the same; it is good to meet you Barren. My name is Christian, but most birds around here call me the Pointless Planter.

“Might I ask what you are doing to the ground?” asked Barren.

“I have this seed I am trying to plant in the narrow land. Nothing has grown yet, but I trust that when the time is right, my seed will sprout.”

Barren did not understand. He had only ever heard of food crawling around to the surface of the land, but never grown. Yet the Pointless Planter seemed to carry with him a wisdom he had not seen in any other bird, so he brought himself to inquire about his mystery.
“Do you know anything about what is beyond the blinding whiteness?” Barren asked.

“Certainly. I’ve been there. Being outside of this blinding whiteness is the most wonderful experience in life.”

“Really, what is it like?” Barren asked excitedly.

“You can see more than only birds' faces; you can see the rest of their beings too. You can see every bird, all the wonderful different kinds. And there are other birds, but different than birds. But this is the best part: we, birds, can fly.”

Barren did not know what “fly” meant, but it sounded wonderful to him. “How can I get to everything you are talking about, beyond the blinding whiteness?” Barren asked.

“It is simple, but very difficult. You must jump off the narrow land.”

“But that is suicide. I will die.” Barren shouted angrily. After the Pointless Planter’s answer to his last question, Barren’s demeanor ran from excitement to resentfully doubtful. Barren passed the Pointless Planter disappointedly. As he passed, the Pointless Planter told him, “You must die to truly live. But if you ever decide to jump off, God will catch you.”

Barren heard what the Pointless Planter said, but he was not listening anymore. He had heard of God before, but knew nothing about him. Saddened that his first adventure left him more confused than before, he continued on his journey to the end of the land, determined to find out what was beyond the blinding whiteness.

(to be continued)

Barren the Adventurer

Once upon a time there lived a group of birds. The land they lived on was very narrow; so narrow that hardly two could fit side by side without one falling off the land. Of course this is what they understood to be death. The other strange part of this land was no one could see any further than right in front of their faces. Everything was like a blinding whiteness. As a result, the only faces some ever saw were those of their family and their close friends. Also, since the land wasn’t very wide, you couldn’t walk from one end of the land to the other, so most spent all of their lives on the same segment of the land.

There were a few adventurers who wanted to go to the end of the land. This meant they needed to meet many different birds and pass them to continue their journey, and if they met a bird who didn’t want to be passed, they would have to turn around or fight to the death. Great stories were told of those who made it to the end of the land, but most of those stories ended with the adventurer disappearing.

One day a bird was born whose name was Barren. Barren lived on the far left side of the land. He had one brother and four sisters, but because the land was so narrow, he only ever saw his parents and brother. Barren’s parents were like most birds’ parents. They caught worms that climbed around to the surface of the land as food, they told him not to talk to birds with voices they didn’t recognize, and taught him the best way to live on the land was never to show your face to anyone you didn’t trust and never to pass people as much as you could help it.

When Barren was past of age of learning to catch worms for himself, he became very dissatisfied with his life. He thought there had to be more to life than hopping around the narrow land and only ever seeing two or three other birds. Barren wanted to know if there was something more than the blinding whiteness everyone was accustomed to. And he heard stories from his brother of famous birds, adventurers, who traveled to the end of the land. So one day, Barren decided to become one of the adventurers.

(to be continued...)

Time Is More Fleeting Than a Bunch of Ships

Psalm 90 - A prayer of Moses the man of God

A thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by... [our days] are like the new grass of the morning--though in the morning it springs up new, by evening it is dry and withered... the length of our days is seventy years--or eighty, if we have the strength... they quickly pass, and we fly away... teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom...

May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us--yes, establish the work of our hands.

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"Time Is..." - DC TALK

You got a gift and you best start using it

Cuz if you don't you're gonna wind up losing it

Just like the brother who buried it deep

The task was simple but the price was steep

We got a mission while we're on this earth

We need to tell people 'bout our second birth

Get busy like a school boy making an "A"

Cause time my brother is tickin' away

Time is tickin' away

Tick tick tickin' away

Right now is the time that we gotta get with it

The gift that He's given ain't just an exhibit

But a tool that He's given us to use for His sake

And just as He's given He can surely take

The signs of the times are dropping like flies

The cries of the people around us imply

They're lookin' for an answer that we already know

But time is definitely on the go

All the money in the world can never stop the hands of time

And a wasted day in your life is more than a crime

Time is tickin'

It keeps on tickin'

Time is tickin' away

James' Return

It was just an ordinary Sunday morning, or so i thought. I was enjoying my breakfast when the usual rush to leave for church commenced.

"Is everybody dressed well? Fix your tie! Oh, we're going to be late!" shouted my mother. She seemed a little more concerned this morning than usual.

"Whats so special about this morning?" i asked.

"James, Mr Cunningham's oldest, has come home and is going to speak." she said. But she didn't just say it. Excitement poured out of her body. Of course i knew why. We hadn't seen James in years, and the stories about him were spreading like wildfire. Everyone was talking about him and how amazing he had become, practically worshiping him. Even crazy old Johnny liked James. I couldn't wait to see him.

We finally set out and walked briskly to church. Everyone in town was there, even the skeptics. We sang the usual hymns and recited the usual psalms. I always wished we had more than psalms to recite. Maybe some of the early Testament's stories or words of the prophets from the end of the Testament. But the Psalms were good.

Then James got up to speak. The church leaders handed him a copy of the Testament. He opened it to Isaiah and began to read:

"THE SPIRIT OF THE LORD IS ON ME, BECAUSE HE HAS ANOINTED ME TO PREACH GOOD NEWS TO THE POOR. HE HAS SENT ME TO PROCLAIM FREEDOM FOR THE PRISONERS AND RECOVERY OF SIGHT FOR THE BLIND, TO RELEASE THE OPPRESSED, TO PROCLAIM THE YEAR OF THE LORD'S FAVOR."

He gave the Testament back to the church leaders, and then looked at the crowd. I could tell every eye focused in on what he was about to say next.

"Today this prophesy is being fulfilled in me as i speak." Everyone in the church looked astonished that he would make such a claim.

"Isn't this Mr. Cunningham's son?" muttered dad, leaning over to me and mom. Then James continued.

"You probably are going to ask me to do all the wonderful things here that i've been doing around the countryside, but i won't be able to. No prophet is accepted in his hometown. If you recall the stories of Elijah and how he didn't perform miracles in Israel, then you'll understand."

This time my dad didn't mutter. He, along with the other townsmen, jumped up and started yelling at James. Then they started rushing at James like they wanted to kill him. It only took me a second to realized they did want to kill him. The church leaders apprehended him and started marching him to the outskirts of town; I even overheard Mr. Smith tell my dad they were taking him to Cain's Canyon, just north of the abandoned town hall where the town originated.

I didn't have time to think if this was right and wrong, but i had to see what was going to happen.

Finally, i learned they were taking him to Cain's Canyon. I didn't want to see James die, so i pleaded with my dad, "Look at him. What has he done?" He looked at me, then looked at James.

"I am looking at him, son," he said with hatred in his eyes, "and he might as well have publicly declared himself a traitor."

I looked over to see James' face one more time, but he was gone. I knew we were still a mile out from Cain's Canyon, so i didn't know what was happening. Turned out i wasn't alone. He had vanished into thin air. Everyone fell silent. All I could hear on the walk home was the sound of our boots knocking up the dirt that the wind carried on to the next town.