The Purpose Driven...Cat

 

 

Purrrposed
(by R.P.Edwards)

Here’s your purpose:
Start off frail
Cute of face
And dancing tail
A tiny fur ball
Soft and sweet
Play with string
And nibble…feet
Then quickly grow
And stake your claim
Never come
When they call your name
Endure the children
Torment the hound
Find a spot
You cannot be found
Look out windows
Take long naps
Sometimes on a human’s lap
Rub the leg
A loving schmooze
Then walk on faces
While they snooze
Receive affection
But give them pause
Will you purr?
Or hiss…with claws?
And rule the house
Till old and fat
That is your purpose,
Household cat

We have a member of our family that I’ve mentioned before;  smallish, charcoal gray, quirky, affectionate (sometimes), independent…the household cat.  I suppose one reason she enters the consciousness and conversation more than usual is that, due to a ground level scavenger (the dog) we had to place the “cat dish” on an elevated plain; which just so happens to be near the computer station.  And, since eating is a primary pastime, it’s not unusual for said feline to block the screen, trample the keys, and do the in your face antics that cats are famous for in order to receive attention.  Anyway, I was looking at this mewing marvel one day and realized that she accomplished her “purpose” beautifully.

Purpose; an oft used word of late.  Indeed, the title of today’s blog is a play on pastor Rick Warren’s popular work, “The Purpose Driven Life.”  I must admit, I haven’t read it.  However, I’m sure it’s insightful and edifying, like so many books I may never get around to.  But, concerning the subject, I am aware, as a Christian, that each of us in the body have a purpose and place.  A distinct niche that we, individually, are designed to fill…designed and placed by the Master himself.  And, although it is our tendency to sometimes place greater importance on the more visible gifts and callings (guilty) when we finally realize that all “ability” is from Him, then, when we fulfill our--though we may consider it inconsequential--individual purpose, well, that pleases…Him.  That’s what I want to do.  Don’t you?

So, here’s to purpose.  May the Lord help us all to discover ours…and to be content therein.  And may he also remind us that in all our “doing,” that sitting at His feet (remember Martha and Mary?) is indeed…the better part.

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Moral Equivalency

 

 

Moral Equivalency?
(by R.P.Edwards)

Moral Equivalency
What a Crock
Just listen to the eggheads talk
Dismissing murder
Shifting blame
Calling Day and Night the same
Their blather hinders
Muddies
Slows
Then heroes, first, receive the blows
And some will die from wounds so deep
All because of egghead… “speak”

The political science prof. bristled at the freshman’s assertion that there was somehow a difference in “moral standing” in regards to Israel’s strong reaction to--as the youngster put it--a terrorist attack.  “Mr. Jones,” said the tenured instructor, sitting back in his chair, hands behind his head, “I know you are a freshman, with an emphasis on “fresh” (a slight twittering from the class) but you will discover that here in the University, our level of inquiry and understanding is deeper than you and your Midwestern mind are accustomed to (a few more snickers from the seats).”  “But professor,” interrupted the transplanted farm boy, “the women and children?  The murdered women and children!”  The teacher raised his right hand for quiet.  “Enough, Mr. Jones!”  (there was a moment of silence as all focused on the figure at the front). “You will discover, young man,” continued the elder as he stood and reached for the chalk, “that things are not always as they seem.  In fact, I will show you how this particular incident is not black and white at all, but rather a distinctive shade of gray.”

We’re a few days distant from the Fort Hood massacre where thirteen (twelve soldiers, one civilian) were murdered by a Major Hasan, a Muslim terrorist in army fatigues.  As I discussed the incident with an acquaintance, he reminded me that the fallout was much more than the thirteen (make that “fourteen,” one was pregnant).  For each of these, no doubt, had loved ones and intimate friends that now must deal with a tragedy that could have been…avoided.  And you know, I can’t help feeling that some of the twisted morality, so prevalent in the halls of higher education (and thus the occupations fed by these tainted reservoirs) is partially to blame.  Indeed, the need to be politically correct and irrationally “tolerant” has put chains on our defenders, and blinders on their leadership.  And now…fourteen are dead.  And I wonder, how many more will die before we return to a standard of right and wrong, good and evil?  Yes, how many more will die?

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PC'd to Death

PC’d to Death
(by R.P.Edwards)

Now, don’t you dare
Connect the dots
There’s nothing there to see
Coincidence and circumstance
The hallmarks of PC
So just forget the pattern
Where murder is OK
And as your loved one’s laid to rest
You have a pleasant day

My wife greeted me with the information that the shooter was still alive.  Huh?  “Oh,” she continued.  “You didn’t hear about the shooting at Fort Hood?”  The answer: no.  I was doing that work thing.  Well, as everyone knows by now, a disgruntled army major by the name of Nidal Malik Hasan opened fire and killed twelve of his fellow soldiers before he was subdued by four non-lethal rounds.  And, this guy is a Muslim.

Yes, yes, I understand, we must not jump to conclusions.  After all, thousands of the Islamic faith have served honorably (so I’m told), and one bad apple is hardly representative.  But here’s my concern; I am troubled by the thought that in our zeal to be politically correct; in our rush to not offend or possibly “profile,” we may have allowed an already unstable individual to latch on to an outlet for his rage…which just so happens to have a “devout” Muslim label.  In other words, his faith connection may have given him an “out,” a justification for what civilized folk call homicide. 

So, what to do? Well, since we are inextricably tied to a conflict(s) in the Muslim sphere, it is only reasonable that those American servicemen who espouse said faith would undergo closer scrutiny.  The ACLU may balk, but perhaps if a little more unfettered analysis had been done, perhaps the thanksgiving holiday, just weeks away, would be a time of rejoicing…instead of tears.

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For Mark

The Step
(by R.P.Edwards)

The Step
Unthinkable before
Seemed somehow sane…a welcome door
A Step from constant, pressing dread
A Step to hopeful peace, instead
A promise hiding wreckage come
To all who love this tortured son
To all who’ve tried in vain to ease
The Step obscures all thoughts…of these
And so, with weeping, weakened will
I yield to thoughts…myself to ill
I yield my limbs to demon’s threads
While whispered wooings…praise the dead
And pausing ‘fore the Step I plead
“Oh, someone save myself…from me.”

A very long time ago…I was in a very dark place.  It was a place of sadness, despair, and ultimately…depression.  And I remember…the door.  As I recall, one day, thoughts of self destruction seemed…insane.  And the next, as if stepping into a room, “sanity” became redefined .  Well, obviously I’m still here, and though that brief time was indeed dark, I believe it was merely one step on a path of self realization.  A path that ultimately led to…the cross.  However, this piece is not about me, but rather a simple reminder that walking among us, beside us, are those who are wounded…and ill.  For, just as real as are infirmities of the flesh, so too are infirmities…of the mind.

Just yesterday I was talking to a coworker and he mentioned that one of my union brothers…had just committed suicide; the result of chronic depression.  Honestly, he could have mentioned a thousand names (a lot of people work at the steel mill) and my empathy would have been genuine, but measured.  However, he told me about Mark, and a personal note sounded.  You see, Mark hired in a mere seven days after me. And, from our joint labors I learned He was raising a child on his own and, even though we later went our separate ways (as far as internal vocations) his locker was so situated that, off and on, over the last fourteen years, greetings could be offered and reciprocated.  But now, after an apparent long struggle with mental illness…he is dead. 

I suppose the reason for this offering is, in part, a memorial to a troubled soul.  But, it’s also a reminder to the many that we are, ultimately-as has been said before- in the people business.  So, let us, you and I, become aware.  Let us dare to look beyond the cliché, and the polished facade, and see if the soul that resides…is troubled or not.  And, upon finding…let us reach in, if we possibly can…to aid.

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The Missing Link?

The Optimist
(by R.P.Edwards)

Grasping for straws
Sifting for specks
Got to keep searching!
Can’t give up yet!
We know it’s here somewhere!
The proof that we’re slime
So, dig in the dirt, boys!
We just need more time!

Fran, the first year graduate student was very excited.  “Professor! Professor!” she nearly screamed in an ear-piercing crescendo as she stood, faced her mentor (who toiled in another trench nearby) and waved her soft-bristled fossil finding tooth brush as if a swarm of gnats were attacking.  “What is it, Fran?” said the rather ancient gray bearded doctor of anthropology as he used his ivory handled cane to ease his exit from the hole.  “Dr. Mandible! Dr. Mandible! I’ve found something! I’ve found something!”  Fifteen minutes later the good professor used the index finger of his right hand (having summoned the photographer) and, along with the added framing of the findee, he pointed to the partially exposed skull of a possible link between ape…and man.  “Do you have it, Jeremy?” he said, squinting up at the professional picture guy who lowered his high-cost camera. “Yeah, I’ve got it doc.  But if you ask me,” he said, reaffixing the lens cover, “it looks like a chimp’s chomper.  I’ve seen hundreds of ‘em.”

And so it goes: another “find” that sheds light on the origin of man.  You’ll have to excuse me…but I think its bunk, bologna, and frankly…wishful thinking.  Yes, yes, I can almost hear the ruffling of feathers as many prepare to espouse the undeniable “fact” of evolution.  But, the truth is, volumes of strong opinion…do not a “truth” make.  And finding some sort of extinct ape…does not a “link” make.  What it does expose, however, is the desperate need to prove existence without a creator.  For, as we all know, if there is a creator, then there is a responsibility to this entity.

You know, I’ve got a son who is a computer programmer.  I’ve seen this fellow toil, hour after hour, on intricate programs that need much intelligent manipulation in order to work.  And often, along the way, there are a myriad of “bugs” that have to be worked out.  Now, do you expect me to believe that the human genome (far more complex that our computer stuff) just kinda happened?  That chance mutation (remember, that’s the only thing that can do it) sufficiently messed with the old Atari…to turn it into a X-box? Please.

Listen, I know opinions are varied.  But to me it’s obvious.  Creation declares, “There is a God!”  Here’s a couple links you might find interesting:  Answers in Genesis    and   Institute for Creation Research  I double dog dare you to check them out.

Try!!

TRY!!!
(by R.P.Edwards)

Higher! Faster!
Further! Go!!!
Stretch the boundaries!
Ceilings…BLOW!
Climbing! Striving! Thinning air!
Casting weights of fear and care!
Left behind, the chains of “Can’t!”
Deaf to doubters draining rants!
FOCUS! FOCUS! PAST THAT LINE!!
ALL OR NOTHING!
NOW’S THE TIME!
YOU CAN DO IT!!
FLY! MAN! FLY!
YOU’VE RAISED THE BAR!!!
Your name is…TRY!

A bit ironic that I would begin this offering with a poem that appears to be the exact opposite of my “Minimalist” thoughts of a few days ago (Sept 30, I believe).  But…I was inspired by the gourd cannon.

Working the afternoon shift this week and, waking to the news (trivial, as well as tragic) I got a kick out of the fellows in New York state who have pushed “pumpkin chuckin’” to new (literally) heights.  Using air pressure and a very long barrel, this “big bertha” can toss the garden orb a cool mile! Dream it…and do it!  Or at least try.  It’s an entrepreneurial thing.  An American thing.  A pushing, pioneer kind of thing.

But, as for me?  I’m still the minimalist.  Still, for the most part, the bystander.  But I certainly can recognize and appreciate those with the need for speed, the drive for daring, the urge to surge.  And, with my small cheerleader exhortations…maybe they’ll fly just a little higher…faster…further.

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The People Business

The People Business
(by R.P.Edwards)

Be it widgets or windmills
Pliers or paste
Buttons or toupees
Hauling of waste
Building of buildings
Numbers to crunch
Serving the entrée
For supper or lunch
Pouring the steel
To sell as a sheet
Cleaning the hall
Where conventioneers meet
 Whatever you’re doing
Whatever for dough
Whatever your station
Be it tip top
Or low
The things that you sell
The items you’ve made
In eternities light
Will all fade away
It’s people, you see
The lasting…is there
A moment to touch
A moment to care
Yes, our business…is people
Whatever our trade
The heart…touching heart
That’s where profit…is made

“I didn’t come here to make friends.  I came here to make…money.”  It’s a phrase I’ve heard more than once in an industry that can sometimes be as hard as the product we produce.  But, the other day, having finished my seven day stint of “midnights” and, since I was a bit worn down, fatigued, vulnerable due to an unnatural schedule and poor time management, I, groggily making my way towards the escape hatch, passed on and received a pleasantry or two from coworkers I’ve know, after a fashion, for years.  Oh, sometimes our greetings are reflexive, but there are those times, when we are not rushed, or pushed, when a more in-depth wondering gives way to deeper questions and, with these, a deeper concern.  And I concluded, as I’ve known off and on from always…we are, no matter what we sell, or produce…we all are in (or should be, at least)…the people business.

Last night, as I lounged in the living room and others had gravitated to other rooms in the house, I wanted something to watch that could match my melancholy.  In short order I was lazily viewing the 1984 version of A Christmas Carol, starring George C. Scott as Scrooge.  And, it is in this rendition that his old partner, Jacob Marley, says it so convincingly.  “Business!  Mankind was my business.  The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business.  The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”

I hope, in these desperate times, that those who are able… would pause to look up from the ledger…and then refocus to see the heart of flesh that is on the other side of their decisions.  

And...God Bless us all…every one.

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