In Memory of Dee

Riding on thoughts today... head is filled with memories of a cousin who passed six years ago today.
He was a cowboy with every fiber of his being from hat to boots and everything in-between.
Dee was a rowdy one.
My mother remembered a little nephew who would rope a stuffed toy and wrestle with all his cousins til they had more than they could stand. Never still for very long. She told of how he'd gotten hold of a bottle of baby aspirin as a child and chewed up the whole bottle full... then as grandmother tried to rake the pills out of his mouth, he bit her finger. They had to give him some epicac syrup to get the aspirin back up. Poor fellow. He was a boisterous little handful when he was little.
I remember him as an older cousin of mine. He and his brother Bob were always doing something.
I don't recall him ever being inside too much... except for meal time.
Then he'd be back out on horseback, or in his pick-up, or running the greyhounds chasing rabbits, or doing one of a hundred jobs that the ranch needed done.
Always in motion.
His skin was forever tanned, his hands calloused and rough, and he wore jeans, boots, hat and a shirt usually covered with whatever he was working on that day.
He had sort of sleepy looking eyes, dark hair and thick black eyelashes to the envy of every girl.
Usually he was smoking with a cigarette casually hanging from his mouth.
It was all just part of who he was.
I recall a few times when he'd stay in the house with all the little cousins.
He played a few games of checkers with grandpa and maybe watch a little football on TV.
But mostly, he was outside.
I think Dee was most in his element there.
Under the wide Texas skies, wind in his hair, riding his horse chasing after a calf or steer with a rope in hand.
Highly skilled in roping. I remember as a kid when I used to go and visit my grandparents, he would be there and would rope me as I walked through the living room.
Never missed, much to my disappointment.
I sure miss him.
Odd how you miss a person a little more with each passing year.
Somehow I thought as time passed, it would lessen the missing, but it seems to have gone the opposite direction.
I remember the funeral as if it was only a month ago.
We drove to Silverton on Friday night and got there to see my daughter Kimberly playing in the band with a little group of college kids who came from Texas Tech in Lubbock to watch the Silverton Owls take on the Kress Kangaroos. The whole town was buzzing with the Goin' Band coming to their game.
At grandmother's house we saw cousins and relatives from everywhere.
My cousin Bob, Dee's brother, had not slept in days.
The two of them had always been buddies... never too far away from each other.
And now...
The two Sons of Thunder had been separated.
No more rodeos or riding together, or swimming or practicing roping... no more anything.
Dee was always quiet in a crowd, but put him on a horse, and he was poetry in motion.
He and Bob had been around horses and cattle all their lives.
Probably put in a saddle before they could walk.
I can't remember how many summers my sisters and I spent up there on that ranch just watching the two of them rope and ride.
How I loved them for all they could do.
I was some uncoordinated city kid just standing at the fence amazed.
But somehow, they loved me as the greenhorn I was.
I was hesitant to go back at first. I'd grown fat and older...
And yet as I walked into the room with all my relatives, I was overwhelmed by all the warm hugs and hearty hellos and a dozen people gathered around me waiting to catch up.
How foolish I was to forget the love there just waiting for me to walk in the door.
I didn't want to leave.
But finally it was very late, and I would not take a bed away from the family members who were more closely related to my cousin.
So we drove over to Plainview and stayed in a hotel.
We got up the next day and drove back to Silverton to be at the Baptist church at noon.
The church was full of Dee's relatives from both sides of the family. It was hard to tell who was family and who was not related, but one of his friends. All looked so close to the same. As natural as cousins on every side.
I saw my uncle Walter there, Dee's dad. He looked nearly untouched by time.
Maybe a little more silver in the hair he had left, maybe a couple more wrinkles, but the same smile and quiet gentlemanly manners I'd always known. A little older. A little more tired.
He wore an older, gray, western-cut suit which seemed to be almost a part of him.
Walter was born in the old house out there on the ranch. He said his mother died there. Said he guessed he's be there until he died too.
The service started and it was simple and beautiful.
There were flowers arranged with Dee's saddle and horse blanket and a lariat on top of the casket.
Seemed to be sleeping there among us, thick eyelashes closed forever in rest.
His har was still dark as a raven, but bits of it had lightened due to all the years under the sun.
His resemblence to Walter was striking. Older. More aged.
His typical black cowboy hat was on top of his hands.
At the bottom of the casket were his boots surrounded by more flowers.
Beside him sort of sticking up at an angle from the side was his fishing pole with flowers and vines all twined around it.
It was beautiful, but seemed out of place to see him lying there so still and quiet.
The service began with one fellow doing the eulogy.
It was pretty good, but he was kind of new and nervous.
A second fellow came up after the first, and he seemed to know everyone better.
He talked about Dee's life with his mom and dad and his brother and sisters and grandmother.
He said, it's not natural to lose your son, brother, nephew or grandson like this... but then he spoke of the comfort we find beyond what this life has to offer us.
Very fitting. Dee was never one to try and live beyond the rustic cowboy he was inside.
Nothing fancy. Nothing dressed up. Plain and simple.
Lastly, an older cowboy gentleman stepped up with a guitar in hand.
He sang
And then he sang Beulah Land
Simple.
Guitar and song.
Nothing else.
Just like it was supposed to be... the way Dee would have wanted it to be.
Just like him. Simple, plain cowboy.
And as he was singing it was thundering and raining too.
Nearly seemed as if it was planned the way the thunder would sound just after the preacher said something fitting, and how the rain stopped as the casket was loaded and while we went to the grave site.
And just as we'd gathered around with the last words, it began to sprinkle again.
During the talking it would thunder now and again and I'd smile thinking of Dee riding by us all again on his new horse in the clouds with lightning in the skies... hooves thundering past us as he rode on the wind.
It was less a good-bye, and more a see-you-later.
I can hardly wait.
Miss you Dee.
Ride on.

"I'm kind of homesick for a country

to which I've never been before.

No sad good-byes will there be spoken,

and time won't matter anymore.

Chorus:

Beulah Land, I'm longing for you

And some day on thee I'll stand.

There my home shall be eternal.

Beulah Land... sweet Beulah Land.

I'm looking now across that river

to where my faith is gonna end in sight.

There's just a few more days to labor,

then I'll take my heavenly flight.

Chorus."

"Oh the place where I worship is the wide open spaces,

built by the hand of the Lord.

Where the trees of the forest are the pipes of an organ,

and the breeze play an amen chord.

Oh the stars are the candles and they light up the mountains;

mountains are altars of God.

Oh the place where I worship is the wide open spaces

built by the hand of the Lord.

There's a carpet of green and a sky blue roof above

And I'm welcome there alone or with the one I love

In your heart take a good look; if you follow the good book.

You're sure to find your reward

Oh the place where I worship is the wide open spaces

built by the hand of the Lord."

Visitation

Back seat travel

sitting next to my sister

watching the trees fly by outside my window

like a forest going by on a very fast train.

Sleepy thoughts floating in and out

between daydreams and reason.

Huntsville.

An eternity away to nine year old me.

I watch the window

stare up into the sky

and wish I could fly

Free and happier than anything

to taste the clouds

and feel the wind blowing against my face

while smiling like crazy

because

I can fly.

I wake up and we're almost there.

The car stops at another red light.

I'm a little scared of whatever is up ahead

We pull into the drive and I wish I could shrink away inside my seat

until I'm invisible.

Guards stand watching in towers higher than the trees in my neighborhood.

Arms folded.

Eyes searching everything.

I can see their rifles shining in the hot afternoon sun

My heart beats so hard I'm afraid they can hear it.

The fence in front of me stands taller than my house.

Great loops of barbed wire give a cruel looking razor sharp, man-eating shine.

I look away quickly, and hope they won't ever tangle me

The guard we talk to speaks like he's a part of the fence.

He's like the wall.

No smiling in his eyes.

No nonsense in his voice.

He looks at me like he's reading another empty chapter

in a very long and hard book

that he wants to put down

and stop reading.

I'm too afraid to give him a smile or a wave.

So I just look back at him with a very wide-eyed, wondering look

trying not to do anything wrong.

We park a long way out.

It takes a long time to walk across the hot black parking lot toward the building.

Like the fence and the guards,

it looks enormous.

It stands like a giant brick box against the sky

as if it's trying to keep us all out

even the sunshine and the air.

Holding mom's hand tight as we start up the sidewalk

imposing

the doors don't want to let us in

the walls and bars don't want to let anyone out

I hold my breath as I walk inside.

Faces...

mean ones

tired ones

sad ones

angry ones

hungry ones

they all turn and look at me

Eyes tell me a story behind each person

some are sad

some are old

some full of hate

and others are only very tired

they look to see who the door let in

inside of their caged in world

made of glass, wire and steel

Fences and walls

inside of the giant box filled with guards

I feel small and afraid

and I wonder why we have to come here to see my Daddy

My sister is braver

She walks tall and unafraid

She acts like she can't see them looking

walking straight past the lady with the stroller

following mom like she's another grown up.

I look at the floor and keep up with her tennis shoes

I don't want to look up anymore.

Hard folding chairs line the room

with a counter full of little windows made of screen wire and glass

separating the whole room down the middle

groups of men sit on the other side of the windows

sitting and talking with us on the outside

guards stand at each side of the wall

and one sits in the middle between the two separated window aisles

He watches the men with folded arms

and stares at them, and us, all the while.

Daddy is behind the glass.

I see him come from outside of the hallway.

He looks different

but he has his same smile.

His eyes smile at me

and look tired around the edges.

He tries not to show it.

But I think his eyes are sad too.

He sits in front of the window.

And puts his hand on the glass.

It's like a game.

I put my little hand up to the glass too.

His hand is much bigger.

I smile and for a moment

I'm not afraid.

My sister talks first to Daddy.

She's older than I am and she's got a lot more to say.

School, the new house, new church, new friends...

Daddy smiles and then says to wait just a minute.

He goes up and gives the guard some change

and buys us sodas.

Puts them on the little ledge at the guard's post.

Then tells us to go and pick them up.

They are for us.

We walk down and wait, afraid to ask.

The guard stops being a wall for a half a minute

as he smiles and hands us the sodas.

Then goes back to his folded arms

and staring like a watchdog.

We play small games

whatever we can

on either side of the glass between us

Watching Mama and Daddy

they talk and smile some

and wipe away tears and talk some more.

It's not as good as a hug,

but the guards and the wall won't let him past.

So we put our hands again on the glass

and press them together there as long as we can.

Too soon, another guard calls time.

He stares like a wolf ready to bite somebody.

Daddy says he loves us, be good, listen to Mama.

And then he says good-bye

I think there were tears in his eyes.

Mama tries hard not to cry.

She watches as he leaves the little room

going down the hall

behind the caged-in bars.

Then we all turn away and leave for home.

I sleep nearly all the way there

waking now and then to stare up at the moon

wondering and staring

waiting for an answer to be spelled out in the stars.

The forest turns black and the sky to dark blue velvet.

while the trees fly silently past the window

like giant black bars made of iron.

I fall asleep and dream of flying over the big brick box

past the guards and razor wire

until I find my Daddy

where we both fly away together

soaring over the prison like a bird

and smiling like crazy

because we're free.

Closer to Heaven

The broken hearted

are closer to Heaven

than those who are sure of themselves.

Angels speak

to those who are lonely

in whispers of hope on every breath.

Tears that fall

leave a path

that only God can follow.

Solitude is that place

only one step away

from the footsteps of Jesus.

At the time of our greatest need

He is there.

In our time of deepest sorrow

His unseen arms hold us

closest to his heart.

Our hearts long for that home

where we have never yet stood.

We are homesick

for a place we have never seen

and have never been...

but are aching to go.

In our loneliness

we find the creator

of all

who awaits our weary souls

to look for Him.

Solitude is God

with no other one to equal his being.

Does he alone wait for the time we have to spend with him?

Does he feel as alone as we do

while waiting for us to seek His face?

Broken Horseman

Broken horseman of the plains

'neath winds blowing wild,

rest awhile your weary soul

Heaven's newest child.

Son of Thunder riding fierce

A fast and raging storm

Lightning-skilled with lariat

Pursuit in blazing form.

Raven-haired wrangler, our beloved

Dark tanned by Summer's sun,

Lying 'neath the ground below

Another trail's begun.

Your earthen-shadow left behind

Dropped there by Heaven's door,

Like an old shirt or pair of boots

That doesn't fit anymore.

Gone the steers and horses now

All ridden, roped and tied,

Safely pastured, penned and placed

Beyond that great divide.

Weary cowboy, rest your head

On Zion's blissful grounds,

Lift up your eyes to sights unseen

And ears to sainted sounds.

No mournful lowing cattle call

Nor restless wild-eyed steed

But ranchers, ropers, riders all

From earth fly long-last freed.

And when your eyes have seen their fill

Of Heavenly splendors untold,

Close them fast and think of those

Who you in their memories hold.

And on the shores less fair than those

You walk with old wounds healed,

They wait the Day of Reunite

Where all shall be fulfilled.

And while your ravaged body lies

Beneath the prairie's sod,

We who remain sing hopeful prayers

And breathe our sighs to God.

Until that day which never ends

Shall dawn where all is new,

Those of us on farthest shore

Shall often think of you...

When lightning flashes in the sky

And billowing thunder rolls,

We'll smile as in our hearts you ride

With other cowboy souls

The Sweet Truth

Sad thing...
how little we know the people around us
how we assume who they are by what we see
judge them before they even open their mouth
put them on trial before we even discover their own private history
we don't know their pain
their suffering
their childhood
the failed relationships
the loneliness or isolation
we know nothing about what sorrows they have known
and yet in a single glance
they are seen, weighed and declared unfit
with our own reckless discrimination


If I am overweight, I'm never given a chance
some people only see "obese"
they take one second to see me
and immediately sum me up
on the scales inside their head
and I am simply a lump of fat
unable to utter a single syllable in my defense
and already I'm on the chopping block
they look at me and say "she's lazy"


I think it's unfair to not even get to know me
leaving my history unread
like a dusty book on a shelf
that nobody ever believes is interesting enough to pick up and read
the old saying about not judging a book by its cover...
yeah
maybe that's me


I've faced a lot of fear in my life
fear of people...
people can be cruel
even when you're a kid
especially when you are poor
even more when you are kind of awkward
or if you have to move to another town
and face a whole new school
and you come to a bigger city
from a small town with a funny name
and then sprinkle some shame on there
like your dad being in prison
and your mom has to work all the time
and you are so broke
your mom doesn't even have lunch money
and you're eating weird things
like a cold corn dog in your lunch box
or a boiled egg and a cherry tomato
or maybe another jelly sandwich
'cause the peanut butter is gone
or maybe you eat nothing but the heels of the bread
because the jelly and peanut butter are both gone
or maybe you don't even have bread
so you just go in there and wish you had a lunch
while everyone stares at you and asks questions..
It was easier when the school campuses were open at lunchtime...
at least I could pretend to go home and eat...
nothing so embarrassing as having to explain why you aren't eating
not to mention the clothes...
sneakers bought a size or two too big
that way I could wear them even longer
I think my least favorite ones were that horrid green
kind of avocado
whatever it was called,
I must have worn those shoes a long time
it seemed like forever
funny now when I look back
tragic, and yet a funny twist
the ugly shoes matched my wretched coat
ugly green with big gold buttons
big and fuzzy like a teddy bear
I must have looked like a small furry monster child
green shoes and horrible green coat
I recall the pain and shame I felt
sitting at the baby-sitter's house
being taunted and made fun of
relentlessly
by a brat of a kid
and his older sister
she was two grades older than me
the both of them
dancing around as I sat in the chair
in the middle of their living room
as they were singing a made up song
about my ugly coat
and him hitting me repeatedly on the head
with my own flimsy notebook
while I ducked and tried to cover my head
with my hands
tears streaming down my face
which was red with shame


I felt so helpless
there I was
supposedly being cared for
in their house
and while I was being tormented
the mother was not even aware
how evil her kids were
pure evil
they lived for nothing if not to torment and hurt
anyone smaller or more helpless than they
like wild dogs
prey on the young
the wounded
the hurting
or anyone different from themselves
I cried and that seemed to encourage them even more


I don't recall much else after I snapped
I was so angry
my sister just sat there and let them do it
I knew she was helpless
and could not stop them
but I was angry for that
her not protecting me
I was left to the wolves
nobody to offer protection


I exploded
I stood up and yelled at them
"I HATE YOU!!!!"
I don't know if I even took my notebook
but I opened the door and took off running
I ran and ran
up and out of that awful place
leaving the demons behind me
I screamed I never wanted to see them again
and cried and ran and ran
I ran to my little poor home down the street
it was empty
hardly even furniture in our cold little place
not much to eat
I think I made myself a piece of bread with sugar sprinkled in it
locked up the front door
and went out the back
up the road and down to the little gutter
behind the Dutton's house
and I crouched down there
wiping my eyes with my furry green coat sleeve
feeling very alone...


I never wanted to go back again
I was cold
and hurting
and angry
crying and trying to eat that stupid sugar sandwich
that stuck in my throat
and wouldn't go down past the lump there


I felt so betrayed
So humiliated
so wronged
an 8 year old child
out of place in the world
moved to a new city
strange and unkind
out of little Munday, Texas
away from everything familiar
no friends
no family that could help me
alone in the world


Daddy was in jail
I could not grasp what he had done back then...
I must have blocked it out after being told
or else I did not understand what I had heard
it's kind of common for children to ask "what?"
when they don't understand what they've heard
and then be told again in a louder voice
and they will simply say "Oh"
even though they do not really understand
I think it may have been like that for me
At any rate
there were no rescuers
no one to stand up for me
and I felt it down deep
I knew then I was an outcast
an outsider
a continual victim
and then and there, I took it to heart
Maybe the only thing that brought me comfort that day
had been the little sugar sandwich
maybe that is what sparked my relationship with food
in an unhealthy way
At any rate, food became what felt good
or what made me feel a little better...
it was associated with happiness
and even comfort


every birthday party meant ice cream and cake and all kinds of goodies
every Christmas meant fudge, divinity, pies, cakes and candy
every camp out meant hot dogs, hamburgers, barbecue and marshmallows
every Sunday meant some kind of snack in class
every weekend meant cooking out
every Thanksgiving meant turkey and dressing
every Halloween meant plenty of candy
every county fair meant candied apples and cotton candy
every holiday at school meant cupcakes, punch, coke parties, pizza parties or candy


and the love for me came
in candy coated goodness
plates full of happiness and joy
wrapped up in tin-foil inside a pie plate
or wafting through in the air around me
as pots and pan cooked on the stove
and something delicious baked in the oven
close my eyes and breathe in the smells
of heaven on earth


family get togethers
with warm pumpkin bread
and cakes and pies lined up in rows
everyone happy and talking and eating
a smile on the faces of everyone
maybe the only time I felt liked was when we were all eating
and eating and happiness went hand in hand
love and acceptance and feeling good
...all of that was tied forever with food


My sister came and found me at last
on that terrible, awful day.
I wasn't really all that good at running or hiding anyhow...
probably my stupid green shoes and coat that gave me away...
anyway, I was made to come back
to where the two demons were then forced to apologize
It seems the angry father giant had awakened
and he had punished the two with a pretty good spanking
(which was really the only reason they were saying sorry)
I heard their words and saw the tears in their eyes
but knew the tears were only anger at their dad
they secretly hated me because I had caused it
and I knew they would try to hurt me again
if ever I slipped up enough to give them the chance
(and I never did again)
I knew I should probably feel bad for them
for getting the spanking from the angry big man
but I felt only hurt and alone
even though they got spanked...
At least they had a dad there to spank them
mine was locked away
and I was stuck wearing ugly shoes and matching coat
and they could wear something better
so I had no pity.
Selfish of me...
but at 8 years old, maybe grace and forgiveness was not so easily understood
or maybe it was only then that I would understand what it might cost...
When you are so young and vulnerable and helpless
and you are taken advantage of...
perhaps only then, when it cuts so deep
and affects your life afterward
molding and shaping you into who and what you are
and will forever remember
maybe, that is when you can know best
how horribly hard it is to forgive...
You had done no wrong to cause it.
You were innocent...
the only crime that day was wearing ugly clothes
no fault of your own
you are poor
you wear what has been handed down to you...
And then you are wronged
you are discriminated against
you are made fun of
you are made an outcast for sport.
Forgiveness?
I knew right and wrong then
and I knew I had been wronged...
it hurt and I could not defend myself
Not without being beat up by those brats..
Ask me to forgive them then and there?
...and then what?
Would they have continued with the hitting and dancing?
Would they have slapped me and kicked me?
Would they have pulled me off the chair?
Pulled my hair out and choked me?
Would the whole family have joined in and killed me?
I was so afraid...


So I stood there as they cried alligator tears
and listened to the apology
"Sorry!" one blurted out among her angry crying
Looking down,
I just said in a very small voice, "It's ok."
The other one was made to be polite even more
"I'm VERY sorry." he lied.
"That's ok," I whispered, still looking down.
and they were forced to their rooms.
But even though I said it,
it was not ok.


I don't know what happened afterward very clearly.
I can remember their mother having to explain to my mom
I can remember my sister being mad at me.
I think she was embarrassed at the whole situation...
Maybe she was mad because I made her look stupid.
I don't know.
I know sometime after that
(I'm not sure how long)
we were given a key and told to go straight home
that my sister was in charge and I needed to mind her
and we became latch-key kids.


I was never so happy
Free from the demons
No more useless baby-sitters
No more of anyone laughing at my strange attire
No more waiting for mom in a strangers house
...even when she had to work late.
But home in my familiar living room
with mom's sewing machine
and the one rocking chair
and that black couch
and my stupid sugar sandwiches
and a newfound obsession with food
that would follow me for a long, long time


Thinking about it now...
I think the demons' mom was cooking dinner
she was probably having to scramble to make it happen
no way to watch wild children and do household chores too...
and the giant angry man, her husband,
turned out to be an alcoholic...
Very angry and looking for an excuse to punish his kids.
Maybe they needed the extra money watching us
or maybe she thought her kids could use some friends
(or targets for practice)
and maybe her hands were full
with the abusive husband
and ill-fated kids.
Maybe she was just trying to be nice to my mom
who had no husband
and had to work all the time
I wonder about them a lot now...


Years later, one of her sons would die in an accident.
Their family suffered a tragic loss.
I found out about it
and I was taken back to that scared 8 year old
cringing in the chair
hiding my head inside that coat
with my knees drawn up to my chest
wishing it would all end...
and I pitied them...
but still felt the shame and anger inside.


Later, I found out they had bought a little diner
where my grandfather used to take me
when he would visit us.
Sadly, I determined never to go there
it's image tarnished somehow
by the events of so long ago.
Even now when I drive past, too many thoughts
swirl through my head.
Can't bring myself to even drive past now.
So I avoid it and go blocks out of the way
to keep it from my view.
Out of sight and out of mind.


I've come to terms with my feelings now
Somewhat...
I do forgive them now
for all that happened...
I was hurt...
but maybe they were hurting too at the time
and afraid to allow anyone else to be happy
when they were so miserable themselves
They had to act tough
to mask the fact their father was a drunk
and abusive to them
and that their mother could not protect them
and ending up put the kids into that situation.
I do not blame anyone...
Fear makes us do strange things
reckless and wild...
appearing tough as nails
to keep anyone from seeing the real you
small and afraid
8 years old
and wishing to be normal
whatever that may be.


Maybe all we really want is acceptance
to be loved
no matter how ugly our coat and shoes are
to be a part of a family
where everyone is friend
and no one is foe
flaws are overlooked
fears are overcome together
where peace reigns at last
and there is no need to eat a sugar sandwich
to feel good.


Sadly, we only find short glimpses
of that ideal place
while we are here
in this world made of dust
which is laid in the lap of our enemy.
We struggle to fit in
when fitting in does not fit us here
for we are not home yet.
We search for Eden
and find it unobtainable.
We eat everything
unknowingly searching for the fruit
from the Tree of Life...
never realizing it is not to be found
in this place.
And we struggle to drink the living water
for it requires death of our hidden selves
change
the unfamiliar
so we run away
crying and saying I hate you
with a sugar sandwich in our pocket
and a lump in our throat
hurting like little children
which we all are inside
wishing to be found
and taken home
to that place where we are held
in the embrace of love
and acceptance
and peace
of those who love us
unconditionally...
forever.
...and nobody has to eat a sugar sandwich to find it.

Lifes Cuppa

Life's like coffee, bitter and sweet
sometimes strong, sometimes weak
and sometimes you just can't drink from that cup

Good when it's fresh and not when it's old
I drink mine hot, some like it cold
an you've gotta have it every day if you wanna get up

Can't have coffee if you don't put it on
gotta make some more when that pot's gone
Sometimes all that's left is just the grounds


Life comes in regular or decaf
sometimes we cry and sometimes laugh
In every day we face our ups and downs

Just for me He's made a brew
Don't fret, He's gonna make yours too
He knows who you are and what you need

And if your cup's not a cuppa Joe
Relax, your God is in the know
Brings you what is best in every deed

Whether it's tea, ice water or java
orange juice or nectar of guava
God knows everything you like or don't

The-Maker-of-the-Stars-Bucks, He's preparin
whatever your heart will soon be wearin
so drink in every drop of His will and won't.

Drink up!

What Its Worth

I can remember my dad coming in from a long, hard day's work
his hands all calloused and cracked, rough and hardened by working as a concrete man.
As a kid, I would stare at his hands and wonder why his were so different from mine.
Not just the size of them, although his were huge...
But the way mine were unwrinkled, uncalloused, not cracked and mostly soft, while his felt almost like they were made out of hardened clay.
I can remember his skin being so tanned and reddened by the sun, he looked like a giant freshly baked gingerbread man.
But I digress...
here's the actual story.

I can remember working a few times for my dad's home owned concrete business.
As a kid, I thought it would be fun to work some "real work" outside with my dad.
Little did I know what lay in store for me...
I found that though I liked the way the tools looked, they were more difficult for me to use than I thought.
Dad could lift a shovel full of huge pieces of broken up concrete and toss it aside like it was mere sand.
I tried to do the same, but when I'd fill up my shovel, I couldn't lift it.
So I had to scoop about four times more often just to achieve his same effect of a single shovelful.
The grubbing hoe was one mighty looking tool, but in my small hands, it would only yield so much result.
I picked and hoed and shovelled all afternoon long, trying to make my corners as square and deep as my dad's.
But try as I might, I could never seem to get my end looking quite right.
He would just smile and say, "You're doing a pretty good job for a kid."
Then he would come over to my side and even it up and fix it in a matter of about five minutes, much to my chagrin.
I would work until my muscles burned and I could hardly feel my arms anymore.
And he would be fresh as a daisy, not even breaking a sweat.
He'd stop a minute grab a drink of water, then stand there watching me work at it like a dog and just grin.
Then, at the end of the job, he would set up the forms and get everything ready for the concrete to be poured later, and we would leave.
Lastly, he would stop by a little convenience store and get us both a soda to enjoy on the drive home.
Interesting thing about working like that...
It changes your perspective on things.
Before doing all that hard work, I had wanted to get myself a set of paints and paintbrushes that came complete with a book full of pages to paint in.
It didn't cost a lot, but at that time we had very little spare money, so I knew better than to ask for it.
So after I had worked with my dad one particular afternoon, he gave me five dollars for working.
I stared at it in my hands. I was stunned.
I had my own money!
I was so excited.
I had plans for this cash. I wanted that paint set so bad I could practically taste it.
But the funny thing is...
When I got down to the store and got ready to pick out my prize, I took a better look at that paint set.
I paced back and forth and looked the box over up and down flipping it over and reading everything again and again.
And in the end, I bought it, but afterward, I was sorry I had.
It wasn't that the paint set had changed, it was the same little set I had pined after for so long.
But suddenly, the paint set seemed small and cheap.
I had worked all afternoon long to earn that five dollars, and the paint set cost me the majority of that.
And after I had painted a few pages, I found myself wishing I hadn't decided so quickly to spend it all at once.
I wished I had the chance to do it over and save my money instead of spending it.
Suddenly my time and effort seemed worth a lot more than a silly set of paints and brushes.
Real hard work makes you change your mind about what something is really worth.
And suddenly, it dawned on me... I began to understand why my parents didn't allow me to just go off and get any old thing I wanted with the limited funds we had. It wasn't worth it.
The money we had was earned by hard, backbreaking, sweaty, exhausting work.
Suddenly, my perspective changed and I began to appreciate things in a new way.
And isn't it the same way with our spiritual lives?
As babies in Christ, we tend to be selfish.
We pray for only our own things. We need this, we need that. We ask God to give things to us that we're actually capable of earning for ourselves, and we pout when we don't get it. We lose our faith and say in a babyish voice, "You just don't want me to have anything do you?"
But as we grow a little more and end up having to endure a few things by faith, we wise up and begin to realize the world does not revolve around our own selfish needs.
We have our eyes opened and begin to see the needs of those around us.
Our family, our friends, our acquaintances.
Then outside that to bigger and larger circles...
Others have needs in our own town or city we don't know.
Others in different cities and states on every side are in greater need than we know.
Many others around the world in various countries suffer indescribable inhumanities because they profess Christ as their Lord and Savior, and we have no idea of their suffering until our eyes are opened, and the world is brought into a different perspective all together.
Suddenly, the little selfish things I have asked for in the past seem very petty indeed.
And when I consider the full cost of my salvation, it is too great a price that was paid for it for me to use it selfishly.
Forgive me Lord.
I falter.
I fall.
I forget.
Remind me every day of those who are unable to freely speak of You.
Let me ever be reminded of those who are separated from their families, ousted from their communities, or taken away and tortured or even killed because they chose to follow You.
Keep me ever mindful that the world is bigger than I can see right in front of my eyes.
Daily let me walk in humility and the knowledge of how blessed I am to live where I do.
And Lord, let me stand up with this realization and do Your will as an instrument of You.
Shake me awake. Get me up out of my seat and into doing whatever it is You ask of me without hesitation.
Let me work for You every single day and rejoice at the chance to do it.
And thank You for every lesson in this life You've given me.
Keep teaching me, I pray.
Let me learn another lesson of Your heart and Your will each new day.
Break my own will, and make it Yours instead.
Let me walk down Your path instead of my own.