The Coming Storm

 

 

 

It’s coming
(by R.P.Edwards)

“Take cover!”
Just won’t cut it
“Batten down!”
It just won’t do
There’s a killer storm a comin’
And it’s coming, sir, for you
So before this surly slayer
Comes surely cross your path
Seek refuge in the tower
That delivers souls…from wrath

The name of the Lord is a strong tower; The righteous runs into it and is safe.
(Proverbs 18:10)

At the time of this writing, Hurricane Irene is still in the process of chewing up the eastern seaboard. It’s a big’n.  Spanning hundreds of miles this slow mover blows hard and waters much.  She’s the talk of the news and many have and are preparing for her coming.  Following is what Mayor Ray Sturza told a Fox reporter.

“Our principle goal is not to lose a life. There’s no reason anyone should lose their life as a result of this. We know it’s coming. We’re implementing safety measures. But, it creates a sense of anxiety because it’s getting ready to turn your whole life upside-down if you live out here.”

The good mayor is the leader of the small town of Kill Devil Hills.  Located on the outer banks of North Caroline, said community is just a little south of Kitty Hawk; yes, of Wright Brothers fame.  Supposedly the Midwesterners spent some time there testing their gliders before the powered flight they are so famous for.

Anyway, just another centering thought.  It seems the collective “we” have enough sense to prepare for the coming hurricane, but, dear reader, the storm called “death” is also on the horizon; and it is definitely coming, unstoppably, for you…and me.  The remedy; the solution; the answer to this killer, however, is not a matter of our “doing,” not a matter of boards on the window, or running in the roadster, but it is a needful recognizing and reaching out to the one who has already “done.”  And that person; that strong tower; that one who has conquered the storm…is Jesus Christ.  And so, as the waters of death come closer; as it begins to lap at our feet, and then creep ever higher, threatening and promising to swallow our hopes, our dreams, our very life and soul; let us just do what those in the icy waves do instinctively.  Those whose trusted vessel has gone under and their mortal strength reveals its fatal unfaithfulness; let us just look to the compassionate rescuer nearby and cry out, “Jesus, save me!”  And then, as his hand is offered…just take it. Yes, take his hand…and live.

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It's all gonna burn

It’s all gonna burn
(by R.P.Edwards)

“It’s all gonna burn”
The fatalist phrase
Reflecting reflections
On ending…of days
That time in the future
The certain
The stop
When all fleshly fancies
Will sizzle…and pop
Yes, palaces, proud 

To the box on the street
The pompous and poor
Their atoms will meet
With keepsakes
And curtains
And four oh one K’s
All gone in an instant
In sulfurous waves
Yes
It’s all gonna burn
What you value…on earth
So cling to the thing
That gives heaven…it’s worth

“It’s all gonna burn.” A simple, almost thoughtless (though oceans deep) response.  “It’s all gonna burn.” Little more than a quip when spoken, yet laden large with tethers and tendrils that reach…into eternity.

I was sharing some small talk with my second oldest.  He, who has long had dreams of world travel and wanderings; as the end of his “anchored to home” education is finally approaching we delved a bit into his particular and peculiar…past.  You see, he was the child who would take things apart and, on many occasions…break them.  He, in the discourse, brought up the word “heirlooms” --as in being destroyed--and then I, as we continued to walk and talk, said the phrase.

Of late I’ve been quite occupied with the doings of my daily existence; the job; the things we use and rely on; the acquiring, and fixing, and finding; the much “stuff” that we stuff our lives with.  But, if I’ll pause for just a moment; pause and reflect upon that which lives within; upon that which is born from above because of the gift--the received gift of a Father’s love, and a Son’s substitution--well, then I remember that so many of the tangibles that we put so much value in here, are, in the light of forever…worthless.

You see, we really are more than just an evolutionary chance-baby.  We, each one of us, are so much more than the many gatherings of years.  And indeed, each one of us has a reserved invitation and place in the open arms of the eternal God. And, frankly, in the coming maelstrom…that’s the only safe place to be.  For, in the eventual “today,” everything we see with our natural eyes…will be no more.  Yes, “it’s all gonna burn,” but you, the real you; you don’t have to.  So, before your next project, or purchase, or all consuming pursuit, you just might want to take inventory…of your soul.  And, if it is found lacking in the eternal, fireproof stuff, you might want to check out the “link” on the side.  The one titled, “Of first importance.”

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Contingency Plans

 

 

The Contingency Plan
(by R.P.Edwards)

The contingency plan
A thoughtful thing
Preparing one
For what fate may bring
To be on guard
Against the new
To stay on course
The heading…true
But contingency plans
Too oft are slight
Forgetting that death
Must someday…bite
So, think beyond your daily breath
And think of He
Who conquered death
Then, stepping to the edge of land
Embrace the clouds
In His scarred hands

“Unflappable,” it was a word the young biologist didn’t use very often, but watching his “boss” methodically put together the cold weather gear (even as the life-sustaining generator sputtered its final gasp) and then explain the intricacies of the plan for survival (listing the doings of each prospective day, culminating in a final exit strategy should there be no break in the weather), well, unflappable fit…and it gave the neophyte a degree of comfort, though from all appearances…the situation was very bleak, indeed.  “Dr. Comstock,” interrupted the youngster after the elder laid out the plan for day six, “what if these contingency plans fail?  I mean, what if…”  “My dear boy,” said the old scholar as he grimaced a bit while slipping on the--a little too small--thermal suit, “What we do then…is die.”  There was a weighted pause as the good doctor pulled the sturdy brass zipper up to his adam’s apple (being careful to avoid his long gray whiskers).  And then, handing the other suit to his companion he, looking over the top of his dark rimmed reading glasses, asked, “You do know that you will die someday, correct?”  The others silence spoke volumes and, as the kindly instructor motioned for the youth to begin dressing, he added, “Well, I see there is one more plan…that I need to share with you.”

The other day I mentioned the (in my opinion) rather cold weather we were experiencing.  Those north of us would scoff at my hesitation, but the thought of my bike ride in frigid  temperatures…gave me pause.  I carefully donned my protective attire, being sure to cover any skin that would not fare well against a negative windchill.  Well, things went fairly well till the final four blocks.  At that point my glasses iced over, a low branch pulled back my hood, and the scarf I had over my face unraveled.  Nevertheless, I survived. 

Contingency plans.  Wise.  But when you know that an end is certain; well, shouldn’t the preparation for this finality…be of first importance?

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Black Friday...on Sunday

 

 

Desperation
(by R.P.Edwards)

Desperation
Moves the feet
When “longing for” and “finding”…meet
When constant torment
Sees the “stop”
When burning thirst
Perceives the…“drop”
But when conditions are unknown
Like silent cancer in the bone
Then desperation has no breath
No urge to move…and foil death
And so, O Lord, help us perceive
Our sinful state
And your heart…grieved
And then…the Christ…on mercy’s seat
Then desperation…move our feet

Black Friday; the day after thanksgiving when shopping deals, bargains, and savings drive untold thousands to the waiting aisles of the formerly placid sellers of things.  Be it the toy shop or the hardware haven, the known reduction of a few bucks…and here they come! 

Now, usually I avoid this feeding frenzy like the plague, but this year there was a personal element as my beloved spouse had garnered needful employment at an establishment known for a giraffe mascot and the universal lament, “I don’t wanna grow up!.”  Anyway, my honey was required to work her first ever midnight shift (doors opened at twelve, Thanksgiving night) and I thought it my least obligation to drop her off, and pick her up.  As we rounded the corner, nearly an hour before the floodgates opened, there they were…the thousands.  Wrapped completely around this not small building was a line, two, or three, or four deep (after all, who wants to go shopping alone?), all waiting to rush upon the prey.  My wife informed me that the flow was steady…all night.

So, I was thinking the obvious; they come because they have a need or desire to save some dough, to purchase a gift for themselves or someone else that they wouldn’t or couldn’t buy…before.  In other words; the perceived need…sends them to…the feed.

And so, since this is a Sunday post, the obvious connection is that we humans are in a terrible state; lost, separated from God, destined for destruction.  However, there is a provided, wonderful solution…Jesus.   If the universal problem were truly perceived, and the remedy understood;  every Bible-based church would experience an influx like the retailers on Black Friday.  May we who believe pray, and work towards this end.  For, brothers and sisters, like the sales after Thanksgiving, there is…a time limit.

That's what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below...and say.

Amazing Grace

Caution! Religious Content!

Grace
(by R.P.Edwards)

It’s hard to conceive
It’s rare to believe
Something for nothing
Just merely…receive
No earning
No striving
No works showing worth
No treasures of man
No toils of earth
There’s only acceptance
Repentance
…and done
The gift of God’s grace
The vessel…His Son

I was at work, sitting in the break room and, as I leaned back against the adjacent wall I leisurely propped my right elbow on the table, lifted my forearm and, for some reason, gazed at the fingertips. I noticed (although this was a nearly subconscious act) that all the nails were as you’d expect, except for the one attached to the little finger…it had a peculiar crease. “Hmm…curious,” was my response and, since none of the others seemed thus afflicted, I began a somewhat shallow reasoning exercise. “Perhaps it’s a sign of a deeper malady (as you get older you think of such things). Or, perhaps the result of an injury (I am a laborer after all).” And, as I pondered the “point,” I then began slowly scanning upward to the first knuckle…and then I saw it…the scar.

It was approximately twenty-five years ago, and I was a student at a small Christian college in Fresno, California. While there a manager of a turkey farm (ranch?) outside of town had pity on “we” impoverished married students. Here was his proposition: come to the farm, slaughter some turkeys, take home some grub. Sounded simple…but, oh, it was not. First of all, for this suburban soul, I was not used to being around a maddening crowd of white-feathered gobblers. And then there was the slaughtering process [the faint of heart may want to turn away]. We students (there were a handful) were each given a club-sized section of two by four. We were instructed to bean the hapless bird (particular ones selected by the judge; one per customer) and then apply the blade (provided) to complete the kill. Well, let’s just say my “technique” was lacking and, when all was done, I “did” end up with some choice turkey breast, but the foul was not the only one who bled that day. A turkey talon to the midsection produced a nasty scratch (never wrestle a desperate entrée) and my knife wielding cut he…and me. Thus…the scar.

Pardon the segue: Have you ever heard of the eighteenth century fellow by the name of John Newton? If not, I guarantee you that you’ve heard a song he wrote over two centuries ago…Amazing Grace. You see, although his later years were exemplary, honorable, devout; his early manhood was anything but. Described as arrogant and vile, for a time he even made his living in the cruel slave trade. However, through a series of events his eyes slowly turned to the Savior of his mother, and yielding to Him…an overflowing heart penned the words…”that saved a wretch like me.” Yes, in the person of the cross-bearer…he found forgiveness. And the lost…became found., and the blind…began to see.

Here’s my point: I fear in my intermittent railings against the sins of the nation, I may have placed an undue burden on the reader. Without apology I confess my belief that God’s blessing determines our nations future and, since nations do not have “souls”…their judgment is now. However, please allow me to remind, that it is not so for the individual. Like John Newton, and millions of others (myself included) there is a release of guilt, condemnation, torment…when our sinful lives are placed at the feet of Jesus. Whatever dreadful deeds we may have done (indeed, the scripture says “all” have sinned) God’s “Amazing Grace” is sufficient for complete absolution. Leaving, if I may, only a simple scar...devoid of the pain, and the horrible anguish of the moment and its consequences, it serves merely as a marker, a simple reminder of what was…and is no longer. Yes, God’s loving grace is amazing and, dear one, if you haven’t already, He’s there beside you…awaiting your call.

Thank you for your indulgence.