The Fire

 

The withering glare of heartless rays,

All day has beaten down.

And from the mountain and rocks and trees

Rises exhausted haze.

 

Now man and beast heave a sigh of relief

As the sun sinks to its rest.

And the shade of dusk rejuvenates

Where heat all day has pressed.

 

A full moon sheds a gentle glow

While rising from the east.

And a coyote howls an eerie tune,

The song of a ravenous beast.

 

 

The ground is parched in this high desert land,

And nary a cloud has been found,

To send some rain to dying plants

And water the thirsty ground.

 

But wait, what was that? That pierced the dark

In brief, but malevolent gleam.

A spark born down from a wire up high,

As in a nightmarish dream.

 

Quickly it takes, and fans to a flame,

Its appetite explosively grows.

While embers glowing like evil eyes,

Fly in the wind the blows.

 

Now a fire, fiendish and wild

Roars through mountain and tree.

And beast and bird ahead of its path

In terror, blindly flee.

 

But now in the path of the scorching blaze

People are sleeping in peace,

Unaware of the fate that screams

In a sprint across the east.

 

A glow of orange in the window pain,

Rouses a boy from his bed.

He gazes amazed at the scene outside,

A landscape turning to red.

 

Then the cold hand of fear grips on his heart.

And panic takes over his mind.

He turns and dashes out of the room.

A safer place to find.

 

Where can he go? He’s surrounded it seems,

Flames lick on every side,

They flicker around and light every space,

And leave not a nook where to hide.

 

He pauses just for a second and stares,

And then through the smoke comes a thought,

Of something his mother often has said

A truth she had carefully taught.

 

That way up above, past the sky and the stars

Is Someone who knows everything

He sees and He hears, even a child,

That kneels with a question to bring.

 

So the boy knelt, and clasping his hands,

In a whisper for safety to bring,

His words were borne, up through the flames

And brought before the great King.

 

So the house, with the boy inside,

Was covered with a mighty hand.

The fire howled in fury and heat,

But the house continued to stand.

 

With a gust of wind the fire was passed,

And in its wake was seen,

Ashes and rubble in smoking heaps,

Where once the town had been.

 

But like an island in a sea of gray,

Unscathed one house had stayed.

A testament of the power that came

Because one small child prayed.

Remembering

 

What age are you supposed to be before you can use the word reminisce? If I had to guess, I would say probably mid to late-fifties would be a safe place to start. Early sixties might be better if you want to really make good on your reminiscing. I haven’t attained the age or the experience to start yet, that much I know.

Anyway, I was looking back at various documents and ran across some stuff that I will reminisce about in another forty years or so. Right now, they are just nice events to remember. According to my calendar, the events were exactly two years two months and two days ago.

There were four of us guys, Titus, Johannes, Caleb, and me. Probably four or five-ish in the afternoon we rolled into a little town in the Alps of southeastern Germany, nearly on the Austrian border. I don’t remember how long the train ride had been, but it had started in France, we had spent the night in another German town, and as we got into more and more desolate terrain, the train had gotten shorter until when we finally arrived, it had only two passenger cars.

There is something about those high mountain towns that is different than anywhere else. It’s almost like life itself slows down a little bit in awe of the snowy peaks that soar into the sky behind the buildings and streets that humans have dared to put on their slopes. None the less, they provide some breathtaking scenery. The town itself, Berchtesgaden, is fairly small. A train station, a few restaurants including a Burger King, and of course a few churches.

One day of our stay there, we hiked out of the town and took on the mountains. The trail we found took us about three miles up in what I would describe as a wide canyon. Supposedly there was an ice sculpture or something way back in there, but we never found it. While we were walking we would intermittently hear a booming noise echoing through the canyon. After an hour or two, we got to the end of the canyon and found out what the sound was. It was a sunny day, and every so often, way high on the mountain, snow would break loose and come crashing down. Probably the closest thing to an avalanche this delta boy will ever see.

Anyway, that’s probably enough “remembering” for now.

One more thing before I go, if you get a chance to ride a train to a town in the mountains in Germany, take it. You’ll be glad you did.

In The Peace of Early Morning

 

In the peace of early morning,

Ere the sun has shed its light,

While the air is still and hushed,

Not a bird has taken flight.

 

Silently across the landscape,

Dew has covered all the space.

In a whisper it has settled

Bringing life to every place.

 

So, the love of God comes stealing.

Bringing hope and life and healing

To His children every day.

It’s the perfect place to stay.

 

Mark 2

 

              It’s two thousand years ago, maybe a little more. There’s a man that has been paralyzed as long as he can remember. Except in those ancient times, it was called palsy. But the name of the disease really isn’t important. What matters is that he had been bedridden probably for many years, and possibly many decades. But he isn’t without hope. The Miracle-worker is in town, and he is determined to see Him. He has found four friends to take him to the house the Miracle-worker is teaching in. I wonder how he had summoned his four friends. Were they friends from childhood days at school? Or maybe cousins that stopped by? I don’t know. But they had agreed to carry him and his bed to the house and see if he could be healed. But they ran into a problem. The house was packed. It was standing room only and filled out the door. There was no way to get five more guys and a bed inside. These were resourceful men though, and they weren’t going to be so easily deterred. The floor of the house was full, but there was one place that wasn’t. They could climb on the roof. I’m assuming it was probably a flat roof, or maybe just angled down one way. I also just imagine there were probably some olive trees hanging over the roof that allowed easy access for the four friends to scale to the roof and then raise their bedridden comrade up to join them. Once they were all atop the house all that remained was to get the bed and the paralyzed man lowered in. I wonder at this point if it was a one room house or how they knew where to make the hole in the roof. No doubt though it caused quite a spectacle as they proceeded to remodel the roof to fit their needs. But now is when it really gets interesting. The Miracle-worker, Jesus saw the man laying in front of him. But instead of healing him, he said, “Son, thy sins be forgiven thee.” (Mark 2:5) Why did he do that? Why not heal the man first and then forgive his sins. As it turns out, some of the people in the room had similar questions. The scribes wondered, “Why doth this man thus speak blasphemies? Who can forgive sins but God only?” (Mark 2:7) Jesus could tell what they were thinking and approached them about it. He asked them if they thought it would be easier to forgive the man’s sins or make him walk. And then to demonstrate His power, power to heal and to forgive sins, He told the man to, “Arise, and take up thy bed, and go thy way into thine house” (Mark 2:11). At this command, the man got up and walked out, healed and forgiven. No doubt it was real to him what Jesus had saw. Not an invalid confined to his bed, but a man with a soul that needed to be saved. And no doubt he realized that salvation was more important even than his health problems. I wonder if I have that vision today? That Jesus is interested in His child’s life and happiness. But when He looks down, what He sees first is a soul that must be saved.

Your Power

 Your loving hand showed me the way,

And from Your path I will not stray.

Your love and grace has helped me stand,

I'll walk in faith and hold Your hand.

With holding on to joy and trust,

You've helped me win this trial I must.

Now walking in this joy a new,

Ever praising, thanks to You.

-written by my sister

Just Be Led

 

On a dusty road in the morning dawn,

A young man strode along,

His steps were wide, his gait was sure,

And on his lips a song.

He sang of the place many miles away

Where by the eve he would be,

And in his mind an image he drew

Of the place he wanted to see.

And so he walked and walked some more

And soon the sun drew high,

He wished for relief from the noonday heat,

From the great ball of fire in the sky.

Then rounding a bend, relief he saw,

In the form of a wooded glen.

and a stream that laughed through mossy rocks,

As if to invite him to come in.

The dusty road still loomed ahead,

And the sun still fiercely shown,

So he started down the shaded path,

His song a happier tone.

He traveled along for a mile or more,

Enjoying this pleasant new way,

Until the woods grew strangely dark,

And the trees began to sway.

He glanced about as shadows danced,

and the wind whipped to a gale,

and knew by himself, without any aid,

his mission was going to fail.

Then blindly, as he stumbled along,

An old rotten log he found,

So he sat to take a break from the wrath

The storm had brought all around.

But wait! What was that?

He stared out in the night,

And off in the distance, around a bend,

He saw a flickering light.

Sure enough, the light drew near,

and with it came into view,

a man old and worn, with long white hair,

and a hat tipped slightly askew.

He said not a word, but in his eyes

Kindness and care could be seen,

And he motioned to the man on the log,

To leave this desolate scene.

The young man wondered where they would go,

If the edge of the woods they could find,

But he followed as close to the lamp as he could,

And stayed just one step behind.

Then after what seemed like an endless time,

But was just an hour or two,

The storm began to break apart

And the sun began to beam through.

“What can I do?” the young man said,

“To repay what you did for me,

I was so very lost back there,

And nothing I could see.”

The old man smiled, and waved his hand,

“You followed,” is what he said,

“And that’s the most important thing,

Just to let yourself be led.”

The House Down The Road

Once in its life, the house down the road,

Found itself full of life,

with children and dogs,

And parents and friends.

And never a hint of strife.

 

But sadly those days, they came and they left

And now the house sits alone.

With porches bare,

And shades all drawn,

And the door, held shut with a stone.

 

Up in the attic, birds flutter around,

While out in the yard, grass grows tall.

And cars rattle by,

But nobody stops,

To give the old house a call.

 

So the days go past, and the years slip by,

And somewhere someone does roam,

And I wonder if ever

A quiet thought comes,

Of the house, they used to call home.