“But thanks be to God, who always leads us as captives in Christ’s triumphal procession and uses us to spread the aroma of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are an aroma that brings death; to the other, an aroma that brings life. And who is equal to such a task? Unlike so many, we do not peddle the word of God for profit. On the contrary, in Christ we speak before God with sincerity, as those sent from God.” 2 Corinthians‬ ‭2:14-17‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“Stop trusting in mere humans, who have but a breath in their nostrils. Why hold them in esteem?” Isaiah‬ ‭2:22‬ ‭NIV‬‬

This is the vision of my prayer this morning. As those who are perishing run to hide themselves from God’s wrath, we who are saved through Christ run towards him!

He sees us clothed in the righteousness of his son! He knows us by that pleasing aroma of Christ and he welcomes us into the folds of his garment!

We run to take shelter under the protection of his wings!

The Lost, see the talons of his outstretched Claws as he swoops down like an eagle of death!

But we are not involved in the judgement of the world! We plea from under his robes for mercy, and indeed we beckon one and all to run into the tower that is Christ Jesus!

The righteous wrath of God upon the rebellious and arrogant of the world is sure! Just as sure is the mercy, love and grace of his son, and so we who run to him are safe!

Read Isaiah 1 and 2! And realize that we are God’s children the ones whom he has spent our lifetime reaching!

Have you felt the pressure of his hand as a loving father that disciplines his child?

“Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ, To God’s elect, exiles scattered throughout the provinces of Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia and Bithynia, who have been chosen according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, through the sanctifying work of the Spirit, to be obedient to Jesus Christ and sprinkled with his blood: Grace and peace be yours in abundance. Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls.” ‭‭1 Peter‬ ‭1:1-9‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Run into your brother’s arms, into the arms of the Lord who calls you his Friend.

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Step I    Dream Avoidance

If you sense your dream is coming alive again Lie down until the feeling passes
Tell yourself about all past failures, and lie down until the feeling passes Think of all your shortcomings, and lie down until the feeling passes.

Don’t Dream your Dream No More . . .

A Little South West of Boise Idaho, There lives a certain Indian, and his wife the Eskimo

This Indian has no legs, and
his wife no eyes you know, Their life’s quite pleasant and satisfactory you know

Their child never knew them any other way, it’s just the way they always been, It really ain’t no problem, not to him you know.

Down in the garden beneath the big oak tree, Underneath the grass and dirt are his legs and her eyes you know

The child’s never seen ’em,
he don’t know they’re even there
The child’s never known ’em any other way, it’s just the way they always were you know

This Indian and his wife have a pleasant life, they’ve long since forgotten they ever ‘ad ’em,

No dreams,

no legs,

no eyes,

you know.

December 4, 2000

The Back Story

Back in grade 2 there was this other boy in class

He had made the fist in such a way as to have one knuckle protruding out further than the other 3, and the thumb packing them all in tight. He said something about me and him, outside, and I was dead ☠️. Now what I need to emphasize here is that I absolutely had no idea what I’d done to deserve the honour is his invitation. I’m 57 years old now, and the only scenario that works for me is that he’d learned this new way of punching somebody on the head, and he picked me to inflict it upon. This makes more and more sense to me as I’ve gotten older because I’ve been frequently underestimated.

The next thing I knew, we were surrounded by all the other kids, shouting for me to punch him. I had him pinned to the ground, I took their advice, and he came up bleeding, was it over?

That was a Lincoln Elementary School, our family moved a little further north of there, just enough to change schools, but not recreation centres.

Between grade 5 & 6, I was at the swimming pool with my older brothers, in the summer time, the pool was packed. We were playing hide-n-seek. Suddenly coming up out of the water, in the shallow end, he got his revenge! The kid from grade 2! He punched me in the face. I guess it was over now.

By Grade 9, I was going to a private school that was 20 km away from home. There he was, sitting across from me, at the back of the bus. I guess I’d been staring at him, while I mused about our mutual past. He hadn’t changed much, I had however, I was quite a bit bigger than him.

“What are you looking at, faggot!”

Yup, he hasn’t changed at all.

I smiled, of course, realizing that it was my turn to punch him in the head.

I got off that bus.

Nobody was looking, and so I didn’t either

Silt drifts steadily downward over the course of time

Layer, by imperceptible layer

Covering those relics of sunken hopes and dreams

Covering over hurts and wounds

Some days, my mind drifts back in time, for one reason or another

Peering down from high up amid the surface waves of the now present future’s bliss

I see some kind or other of a curiosity sticking up through the new, soft, ocean floor

A deep breath, and quick dive down to get a better look, & the silt unsettles; the water all around turns cloudy, and my eyes go blurry, I get all bleary eyed

I no longer know which way is up!

Thank God bubbles always go upward, I just followed the bubbles

Reaching the surface, I jump free, and gulp the air greedily, my head hits the pillow, and I eagerly drift back into my dream

I’m finding analogies and word pictures are merely facets of the whole. None suffice on their own to describe the dynamics of human experience.

I was delighted to get this response from someone I’d written to.

One thing about poetry is the effort to allow the indescribable part to remain while being able to truly put at least part of it into words

Back Story

In Grade 9

Wait, I should probably mention grade 7
I was bullied
I think maybe it was something that I said
I just remember:
He grabbed me by the throat
Lifted me off the ground, and
Told me that I was dead
I broke free, I guess, somehow, and ran to the teacher
My parents pulled me from school,
I ended up going to a couple of private schools…

…for 8th grade it was a one room school in the basement of a Southern Baptist church, and that’s a story for another day.

Which brings us to Grade 9

That was a full size private school, all the way across town, a 45 minute bus ride away from our house.

There’s a scene I remembered today, when Brock Heubner called me stinky, you know, as a nickname.

He and I were part of a group of kids that hung around together; I thought of them all as friends.

Besides school work,

We did stuff like to skip school to go to the corner grocery store that had the pinball machine, or to the other Mom and Pop grocer nearby, where Brock was able to cash cheques he stole from his Dad’s business, to buy cigarettes…

…but like I was mentioning, there was this one day where Brock gave me the nickname, “stinky”

I went home that evening, found a plain white T-shirt, cut a few holes in it, front and back, then circled each hole with a thick black felt marker. On the back, in the centre of the shoulder line I wrote in big bold letters,

STINKY

And wore it to school the next day

All the others in our gang loved it!

They begged Brock to give each of them a nickname, too!

I remember Brock giving me an indication that he wasn’t pleased with this result.

Every once in a while I feel this empty, nothing-more-to-give feeling

A thought comes into my head:

Just hide away

Wait and see if anyone notices you’re gone

This can often last up to half an hour

Imagine going shopping, and you’re hungry
You push along through the aisles with your shopping cart
As you see something that so moves you, it’s placed in the cart

When you get to the check out, you realize that you are going to have to explain what you’ve bought to the wife, and so, lots of things are removed, and a few things remain, and perhaps a few will be stashed in a part of the car that she won’t find until after you’ve eaten it.

This is what it’s like to muse about the meaning of things that come from my heart, until I’m done my musing.