I have known fear, perhaps not as some have known it but many know fear one way or another, at one time or another, to such an extent that it cripples, paralyzes the soul. We think we have security in this world until one day we are rudely awakened from our pipe-dream. Security in this world is but an illusion. When our disillusionment comes, its comrade-in-arms is often fear. But that disillusionment needn’t be our enemy. In truth, it can be a friend in disguise.
Nor do we need to fear as though there is no such thing as true and sure security, for then we would be prey to a lie, to our own destruction. There IS a sure security for those who will avail themselves of it.
My fear rides me like a stern rider
Rides his horse.
Unless I run his pace,
His spurs dig deep my sides.
I think blood flows at times…I’m sure of it.
I scarcely dare to think, to pause
For fear I have a rider
Who will not show me mercy
Who will not grant me pardon
Who will not make a move
To relent, to ease my pain.
“Run!” he says. I run.
“Faster!” says he. I go faster.
“Faster isn’t good enough! You’ve had it!”
I think that if I drop,
I have sweet release.
He whips me as I fall.
Fear is not afraid to beat a dead horse.
He seems to relish it, delight in it.
The compassion of fear is tyranny,
His patience only scorn.
He takes the meat and feeds it to minks,
And then I think, “Aha!
There is rest in the mouths of minks,
Fear has no torment there!”
Until I find that my rider
Is possessor of minks as well.
He rides the minks
And feeds them me.
Fear holds all in Hell,
And when he skins the little ones
And sells their hides for gain,
Scarcely do the buyers know
They’re clothed with fear and pain.
Lethbridge, August, 1984
We are all in need of help. But is it the noun or the verb we need? Woe is me! How can this be? Where is that help I have sought? Nothing but wretched know-it-alls Come to disturb my thought - and my peace. Peace? What peace? What am I saying? Who am I trying to kid? If this is peace then give me war And I shall rest and sleep and snore. Time passed on and matters grew worse. I soon lost all that I had. My friends had gone their merry old ways, My family too was gone. My business failed, uncertainty prevailed; I slowly began to wrestle with myself For a change. What's this? A knock? A tiny knock? I haven't had a knock since that beggar came by! I wonder who it might be? Eh? A whimper? A sniffing? A sobbing? More trouble! Add fuel to the fire! Is there no rest for the wicked?! I opened the door and there stood a boy, One hand over his eyes and one on his knee, From where trickled blood to my doorstep! Sir! the lad cried with tear-stained face, I stumbled and fell just in front of your place. I have nobody to help me. Are you a doctor or someone to bind my wound? Angered at first at the gory mess, I nearly chased him away. But though I knew I was only a laborer, He had flattered me with his question. Fancy me a doctor!? “Lad, you have saved your knee,” I thought. “Oh, very well, come in, come in. We'll see what to do with your wound.” I bound up his leg and sent him away, Not...
It is already a wonder that the word "leisure" still exists in our vocabulary. Its manifestation has become scarce, its original nature obscured. Leisure today is rushed toward, through, past and entirely missed. We are in a sea of drowning souls panicking, frantically grabbing for safety, pulling any and all rescuers down with them to death and hell. Only there will the hustle and bustle of this world cease even as the land of Israel finally enjoyed its sabbaths once the population was removed into foreign captivity. Go a little faster, busy man. There isn't enough time, not nearly, To do all you would like to do. There are only 70 years in a life, 24 hours in a day; A third of those waste away; Sixty minutes in an hour, Not enough seconds in a minute To accomplish, achieve, attain. Find a faster way, a better way, A short cut to get what you're after. Give less to get more; Get more by giving less. Time is money and money is time. Hear the rhythm of the stamping feet, Tempo speeding, sound increasing, Over the mind to reign. Grab here, run there. Does haste make waste Or does waste make haste? Horde your riches, busy man, Or do you know where they are? Pride is a merciless lord; The Joneses must not get ahead. Bigger and better is the code And the mode and what a load! Grab an upper to keep you going; Take a downer to slow you up. What?! A downer to slow you up? Dare I say it? Wait a minute! A downer to slow you up? ...
The ways and thoughts of the spirit of the Lord are far higher than man is ever willing to acknowledge or can imagine. This work had the crucible of a man with above average intellect who was rather impressed with his powers as well as impressive. What a blessing it would be to see a man set aside his strengths both real and perceived and take on the "weakness" of Christ. I have yet to see a man of high intellect do so. But isn't it written that God chooses the foolish things to confound the wise? Men dwell on different planes. There are those who are subterranean, Less than animals; They will not use even their bodies as they ought. There are those who dwell on lower ground, Their bodies they use acceptably well But no more can they receive. Then there are those who have taken to the hills. They have sought the higher ground Of mind and intellectual things. And with the powers of mind Both given and honed, They have awesome works achieved. Yet there is higher ground still. There are snow-capped peaks of the spirit Where the air is cold and thin, Where the traveler is rare, Where few would care to come, Yet the vista is supreme. Satisfied with the planes below, Ignorant of the plane above, Each on his own level thinks There is nothing better, nothing more. Come up higher, man. You've a long way you can go. But put aside the weights of assumptions, Vanities, arrogance. Put away pride and foolis...