Abundant life has appeared before me out of the miry waters. Where there was chaos and cloudy sight, new life has now emerged. Or was it already there, just waiting to be discovered, waiting to be revealed as the dust settled to the bottom? Amidst the rocks a dizzying swarm dances as they feed on the life-giving water. The truth is that most of them will die, yet life goes on for the rest. Those who pass will become food for those who remain, and those who remain must fight for their survival. Their world is encased in glass, the world of their brothers encased by eternity – a world the survivors could never fully discover. Who is to say who will live and who will die? For some, all that is known is the struggle for survival – and then nothing. For the others, the fight to live must continue, but is it in ignorance that the survivors live? Do they truly know the dangers they could face: teeth, tires, feet, and sun? Would that knowledge change the way they lived? Would they stay in their holes, bury themselves in their dens? Or would they live life to the fullest and feast on all that the Lord offers them? Who is to say? For right now they are tadpoles in a blender sitting in the sun. The top of the table on the deck is their home, and who is to say what will become of them?
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
The Boardroom Chronicles: Sarkis Ekran
There are some who, as you approach them walking down the street, or anywhere else for that matter, one will avoid at all costs. No eye contact. No accidental brushing up against. Nothing of the sort. Only complete avoidance will do. The sidewalks aren’t quite wide enough to give berth to such, and much effort is made to sidestep them as quickly and as obviously as humanly possible. No effort is made to hide or disguise the deviation and disgust of an encounter with such a person.
Filthy. Smelly. Ugly. Sewer trash. They haunt the alleyways and sewage systems. Their homes are abandoned and condemned buildings, dumpsters, cardboard boxes. More than homeless. These are something beyond homeless. These even the transients and vagabonds avoid. They are unclean amongst lepers, a walking disease of bile and excrement. While human, they have lost touch with their own humanity. They live like animals hiding in shadows, more creatures than anything else. The man amongst the tombs of the Gerasenes was such as these.
And so was Sarkis Ekran. Though perhaps not outwardly so, but in the mind and in the heart he was vile to the core. Where a conscience should have been there was only darkness. Sarkis lived for one thing and one thing alone: to satisfy his cravings – whatever they happened to be at any given time, and whatever the cost, though the cost was usually at someone else’s expense. The only law he followed was the law of selfish nature. Sarkis took without giving except for pain, misery, and sorrow. He killed without remorse and destroyed whatever he laid his hands on.
On most days Sarkis lurked in the shadows seeking out his next victim. Today, however, he was cowering in darkness in a room with no windows.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Ode to My Mother by Randall Stephens
I’m writing this not just for Mom but also for me and my selfish pain. I hope it may in some way make you and me feel a bit better about our very special Mom.
Sometimes life sucks, other times it just hurts really bad and often it’s wondrous, amazing and confusing. But always it is mysterious and puzzling.
Mom told my oldest daughter that “I’m going away to see Dad but don’t be sad for me. It will all be OK.”
Isn’t that just like a Mom? Moms are like life, they are surprising and amazing. Mom always told me in my darkest hour that it will be OK. It will all work out. Moms are the best, the bravest, the weakest, the strongest, the softest, the wisest, the gentlest of all God’s lovely creatures and I haven’t always realized that. Mom, I’m sorry.
In their softness is the strength of Hercules. In their gentleness is the Rock of Gibraltar. In their hum is the song of Angels. In their reprimand is the non conditional love of God. In their discipline is the broken wing of a dove. In their laughter is the birth of life. In their smile is the promise of love. In their presence there is grace. In their embrace the whole world stands still. In their protective wrath the heavens shake and in their loss we are forever broken. Mom, I love you.
They give life and light. They give us love and compassion. They give us foresight and direction. They give us calm in the storm, wisdom in confusion, hope in the mysteries of darkness. They give us the best of their best, their life for ours. They give and give and give and continue to give without demanding anything for themselves in return. Mom, I’m so grateful.
Their words send us into the battle of light and darkness. Their embrace makes our pain disappear. Their smile melts all our fears. Their memory keeps us going on and on, forever forward, forever challenging, forever brave, forever forgiving, forever loving, forever strong, forever understanding, forever compassionate, forever thankful. Forever. I just wish I could give my life so she could live a little longer. Oh that she could live and love my children and grandchildren into adulthood. To love them into brave, strong, understanding, loving and forgiving graceful adults. I know she could do that so much better than me. Mom, I’m proud.
Mom taught me how to shoot. She always could outshoot Dad and knew how to rub it in real good. She taught me to reverence all life, to respect others, to be nice to girls and animals (not that the two are related or anything). She helped me with school work and with life’s conundrums. She told me stories about what could be. She held my hand when I was scared and hurt, wiped my tears of rage and fear, dried my eyes of pain and disappointment. Mom told me about my ancestors’ heroic journeys and exploits. Who I was and where I came from. Mom laughed with me and cried with me. Mom healed my wound, soothed my pains, held my hands and told me about life even though I didn’t understand at the time. She took me by the arm and whipped me in a circle with a tree branch and then told me how much she was disappointed in me and how much she loved me. Mom did all she could to lovingly form and mold me into a brave, whole man that others could be proud they knew. Mom, you gave so much so I could have the chance of being something. So that I could someday be the twinkle in your eye. The love of your broken life. Mom, I’m still trying to make you proud.
Moms! There’s nothing like them in all the universe and without them there would be no gentle strength, no tenderness, no compassion. There would be no loving, brave feminine side of life, and the beauty of our world that Moms form with their loving, broken heart would be forever lost.
Mom, this is from the heart of your eldest. The son you formed from your joy, pain, and love. I’m proud to be your son! I’ll always love you forever and ever!
Sometimes life sucks, other times it just hurts really bad and often it’s wondrous, amazing and confusing. But always it is mysterious and puzzling.
Mom told my oldest daughter that “I’m going away to see Dad but don’t be sad for me. It will all be OK.”
Isn’t that just like a Mom? Moms are like life, they are surprising and amazing. Mom always told me in my darkest hour that it will be OK. It will all work out. Moms are the best, the bravest, the weakest, the strongest, the softest, the wisest, the gentlest of all God’s lovely creatures and I haven’t always realized that. Mom, I’m sorry.
In their softness is the strength of Hercules. In their gentleness is the Rock of Gibraltar. In their hum is the song of Angels. In their reprimand is the non conditional love of God. In their discipline is the broken wing of a dove. In their laughter is the birth of life. In their smile is the promise of love. In their presence there is grace. In their embrace the whole world stands still. In their protective wrath the heavens shake and in their loss we are forever broken. Mom, I love you.
They give life and light. They give us love and compassion. They give us foresight and direction. They give us calm in the storm, wisdom in confusion, hope in the mysteries of darkness. They give us the best of their best, their life for ours. They give and give and give and continue to give without demanding anything for themselves in return. Mom, I’m so grateful.
Their words send us into the battle of light and darkness. Their embrace makes our pain disappear. Their smile melts all our fears. Their memory keeps us going on and on, forever forward, forever challenging, forever brave, forever forgiving, forever loving, forever strong, forever understanding, forever compassionate, forever thankful. Forever. I just wish I could give my life so she could live a little longer. Oh that she could live and love my children and grandchildren into adulthood. To love them into brave, strong, understanding, loving and forgiving graceful adults. I know she could do that so much better than me. Mom, I’m proud.
Mom taught me how to shoot. She always could outshoot Dad and knew how to rub it in real good. She taught me to reverence all life, to respect others, to be nice to girls and animals (not that the two are related or anything). She helped me with school work and with life’s conundrums. She told me stories about what could be. She held my hand when I was scared and hurt, wiped my tears of rage and fear, dried my eyes of pain and disappointment. Mom told me about my ancestors’ heroic journeys and exploits. Who I was and where I came from. Mom laughed with me and cried with me. Mom healed my wound, soothed my pains, held my hands and told me about life even though I didn’t understand at the time. She took me by the arm and whipped me in a circle with a tree branch and then told me how much she was disappointed in me and how much she loved me. Mom did all she could to lovingly form and mold me into a brave, whole man that others could be proud they knew. Mom, you gave so much so I could have the chance of being something. So that I could someday be the twinkle in your eye. The love of your broken life. Mom, I’m still trying to make you proud.
Moms! There’s nothing like them in all the universe and without them there would be no gentle strength, no tenderness, no compassion. There would be no loving, brave feminine side of life, and the beauty of our world that Moms form with their loving, broken heart would be forever lost.
Mom, this is from the heart of your eldest. The son you formed from your joy, pain, and love. I’m proud to be your son! I’ll always love you forever and ever!
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The Boardroom and the Hiker (Introduction to The Boardroom Chronicles)
Footsteps echoed down a dark hallway, hard soles against hard wood.
Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop.
A door was opened by an unseen hand. The hinges creaked as the door gave passage to the Bringer of Light and a light switch was turned on, giving life to two chandeliers hanging far above the board room table. Then the door shut and the Bringer of Light was gone again.
Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop.
The chandeliers were aged brass – not polished, yet not greened with tarnish – and shone their light through dozens of pieces of rectangular glass. The board room was filled with their light, though not overwhelmingly so. The room itself looked out of place in time. Clap boards made the floors, walls, and ceiling, as if the room had been transported through time from the Colonial eighteenth century. Yet at the same time, however, it was very fitting – simple and functional.
There were no windows and only one door, which gave the board room great privacy and seclusion. There were no decorations on the walls, and no furniture except one long, oval table and eight wooden chairs, each befitting this room out of time. The table was hewn oak and hand carved, sanded, yet unfinished. It had been well used and weathered with time, yet just as sturdy and strong as the day it was built. Although the chairs were mismatched, each fit in with the table they surrounded – five on one side and three on the opposite. They were carved out of the same tree as the table and each chair was handcrafted to be similar yet different from the others.
The board room was ready. An important meeting was about to take place. Yehu himself was going to be the there. More than important, this meeting was critical and long awaited. Many great decisions were about to be made in this room, crucial decisions.
And under one end of the table someone or something moved, shifting its weight as it breathed heavily and nervously.
The door opened again and the Bringer of Light entered the room with another chair different from the rest. It was newer, with a cherry finish. It also had a padded seat and back and arm rests. There would be a guest at today’s meeting. The Bringer of Light set the chair down in the corner to the right of the door and turned to walk out of the room again, this time leaving the door open. Shortly after, the scribe, who would serve as the meeting’s mediator and conductor, took his place in the padded chair, pen and notebook in hand. The meeting was about to begin.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, a young man was sitting on a small precipice overlooking a winding creek, about sixty feet above the water’s surface.
Footsteps snapped twigs and crunched leaves somewhere in the forest above the precipice. They drew nearer with each step as if the precipice was their destination. Or perhaps it was the one sitting there on the rock that the footsteps came to see. The young man stood and turned, not startled or afraid, but perhaps curious or on the other hand, expecting.
“Mind if I join you?” The voice belonged to another young man who looked to be in his early thirties. He stepped through the trees and brush of the forest into the rock and moss clearing just before the small cliff. He wore blue jeans and hiking boots, a button down flannel shirt and a backpack, and he had long hair pulled back into a pony tail. His face was kind, yet not exactly handsome. He wasn’t necessarily ugly, but he wouldn’t have made it on any calendars either. But something about him was very disarming. His persona quietly shouted, “Hey, I’m a good guy.” And so he was.
The young man stood up to respond: “Sure.” He watched as the hiker climbed down to the cliff. “I was hoping you would show,” the young man said as they both turned to look out over the water. For a moment they stood in silence. Then the hiker spoke: “Of course I came. You asked me to meet you here, didn’t you?” He smiled as he said it and the young man responded with a smile of his own.
Then the hiker turned to the young man and began to speak: “I have a message from my father.” The young man gave him his full attention.
(For the continuation of this story go to the "Boardroom and the Hiker Continuation" link on the right under the "Pages" header)
Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop.
A door was opened by an unseen hand. The hinges creaked as the door gave passage to the Bringer of Light and a light switch was turned on, giving life to two chandeliers hanging far above the board room table. Then the door shut and the Bringer of Light was gone again.
Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop.
The chandeliers were aged brass – not polished, yet not greened with tarnish – and shone their light through dozens of pieces of rectangular glass. The board room was filled with their light, though not overwhelmingly so. The room itself looked out of place in time. Clap boards made the floors, walls, and ceiling, as if the room had been transported through time from the Colonial eighteenth century. Yet at the same time, however, it was very fitting – simple and functional.
There were no windows and only one door, which gave the board room great privacy and seclusion. There were no decorations on the walls, and no furniture except one long, oval table and eight wooden chairs, each befitting this room out of time. The table was hewn oak and hand carved, sanded, yet unfinished. It had been well used and weathered with time, yet just as sturdy and strong as the day it was built. Although the chairs were mismatched, each fit in with the table they surrounded – five on one side and three on the opposite. They were carved out of the same tree as the table and each chair was handcrafted to be similar yet different from the others.
The board room was ready. An important meeting was about to take place. Yehu himself was going to be the there. More than important, this meeting was critical and long awaited. Many great decisions were about to be made in this room, crucial decisions.
And under one end of the table someone or something moved, shifting its weight as it breathed heavily and nervously.
The door opened again and the Bringer of Light entered the room with another chair different from the rest. It was newer, with a cherry finish. It also had a padded seat and back and arm rests. There would be a guest at today’s meeting. The Bringer of Light set the chair down in the corner to the right of the door and turned to walk out of the room again, this time leaving the door open. Shortly after, the scribe, who would serve as the meeting’s mediator and conductor, took his place in the padded chair, pen and notebook in hand. The meeting was about to begin.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, a young man was sitting on a small precipice overlooking a winding creek, about sixty feet above the water’s surface.
Footsteps snapped twigs and crunched leaves somewhere in the forest above the precipice. They drew nearer with each step as if the precipice was their destination. Or perhaps it was the one sitting there on the rock that the footsteps came to see. The young man stood and turned, not startled or afraid, but perhaps curious or on the other hand, expecting.
“Mind if I join you?” The voice belonged to another young man who looked to be in his early thirties. He stepped through the trees and brush of the forest into the rock and moss clearing just before the small cliff. He wore blue jeans and hiking boots, a button down flannel shirt and a backpack, and he had long hair pulled back into a pony tail. His face was kind, yet not exactly handsome. He wasn’t necessarily ugly, but he wouldn’t have made it on any calendars either. But something about him was very disarming. His persona quietly shouted, “Hey, I’m a good guy.” And so he was.
The young man stood up to respond: “Sure.” He watched as the hiker climbed down to the cliff. “I was hoping you would show,” the young man said as they both turned to look out over the water. For a moment they stood in silence. Then the hiker spoke: “Of course I came. You asked me to meet you here, didn’t you?” He smiled as he said it and the young man responded with a smile of his own.
Then the hiker turned to the young man and began to speak: “I have a message from my father.” The young man gave him his full attention.
(For the continuation of this story go to the "Boardroom and the Hiker Continuation" link on the right under the "Pages" header)
Sunday, May 1, 2011
A Heavy Heart by Kayla Brooke Quillen
Emptiness, silence, tears
Where have our minds been for all these years?
Thinking we're free from the devastation
Saying "You can wait" to the salvation
Of God, who alone can set us free
My spirit rolls over inside of me
At the sight of the loss and the sorrow
For people who said "Maybe tomorrow"
And have taken their leave
My heart is grieved
And sick to see the women, children, and men
Who will not live to life's long end
For like a fish caught on a line,
No one really knows their time
No one is exempt from death
Any one could be your last breath
Could you look back on your life with peace?
Or be haunted for all eternity
For things you did or did not do
For those who really needed you
A prayer, a word, or just a smile
Can make somebody feel worthwhile
It only takes a bit of love
To bring down Heaven from up above
Proverbs 27:1 says
"Do not boast about tomorrow,
For you do not know what a day
may bring forth."
Ecclesiastes 9:11-12 says
"I returned and saw under the sun
that --
The race is not to the swift,
Nor the battle to the strong,
Nor bread to the wise,
Nor riches to men of understanding,
Nor favor to men of skill;
But time and chance happen to
them all.
For man also does not know his
time:
Like fish taken in a cruel net,
Like birds caught in a snare,
So the sons of men are snared in an
evil time,
When it falls suddenly upon them."
Where have our minds been for all these years?
Thinking we're free from the devastation
Saying "You can wait" to the salvation
Of God, who alone can set us free
My spirit rolls over inside of me
At the sight of the loss and the sorrow
For people who said "Maybe tomorrow"
And have taken their leave
My heart is grieved
And sick to see the women, children, and men
Who will not live to life's long end
For like a fish caught on a line,
No one really knows their time
No one is exempt from death
Any one could be your last breath
Could you look back on your life with peace?
Or be haunted for all eternity
For things you did or did not do
For those who really needed you
A prayer, a word, or just a smile
Can make somebody feel worthwhile
It only takes a bit of love
To bring down Heaven from up above
Proverbs 27:1 says
"Do not boast about tomorrow,
For you do not know what a day
may bring forth."
Ecclesiastes 9:11-12 says
"I returned and saw under the sun
that --
The race is not to the swift,
Nor the battle to the strong,
Nor bread to the wise,
Nor riches to men of understanding,
Nor favor to men of skill;
But time and chance happen to
them all.
For man also does not know his
time:
Like fish taken in a cruel net,
Like birds caught in a snare,
So the sons of men are snared in an
evil time,
When it falls suddenly upon them."
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