The Wind That Blew Through Ever Vernal Gardens

Sitting down to right a post,

I thought about what mattered most

For me to write about.

I swiftly come to the conclusion

That it would merely cause confusion

If I tried to force it out.

For a topic to be good to me

It must come most naturally

And not be contrived and artificial.

Too much structure, too much planning

And you'll find your post is spanning

The lands of Bland and Superficial.

A poem, then, would be the key.

No structure in this post you'll see.

Because it just ends.

Like this.

Quiet Beauty

Tonight, and some of this morning too, I guess, I sat outside alone in the dark. You might think this is a very strange thing to do, and maybe it was. But I enjoyed it, and here's why: it was beautiful.

"Beautiful? What are you talking about? It was a cloudy, winter night. No stars, not leaves, no light." 

But there are many different kinds of beauty. Tonight, because it was cloudy, the trees stood out in stark silhouette against the clouds. I thought it was a very beautiful thing. It was very still, and very very quiet.

Then every so often, a light breeze would come through and stir the silhouettes. Gently they would rock, back and forth. The sound they made was the gentlest rustle, the kind that could only be made on a winter midnight. Beautiful to see. Beautiful to hear.

We live in a very beautiful world, you know that? Everyone knows about sunsets, sunrises, waterfalls, and mountain views, but how many other beautiful things are out there that we haven't seen? Quiet things, like watching bare trees dance against a cloudy winter sky, or the whisper of dry leaves in the wind.

The Artist who painted this world hid masterpieces everywhere.

A Masterpiece

I was in the woods for a few hours this afternoon and thought about writing a poem about it. But then I realized that the real poetry was being there. So if you want to read my poem, go outside.

Iron

You've heard the question, "What are friends for?" more times than you can count. Probably all of those times, it wasn't asked expecting an answer. But let's ask it for real. What are friends for? I know. I read it somewhere.

"A friend loveth at all times. And a brother is born for adversity."

Proverbs 17:17

That's what friends are for. That's what your brother, your family of God is for. A friend loveth at all times. Not just when you're feeling good and it's easy and convenient. But all of the time. No matter what. No matter what you say or do, they love you. But they especially love you when you are troubled, when the adversary has worn down your walls until they crumble and then kicks you while you're down. This is what your friends were born for. This is when they can truly step up and be more than people you talk to and see movies with. This is when they can be friends. True friends. This is when they can rally around you and hold you up, give you words of encouragment, advice, or just listen and say nothing at all. It's what they were born for!

What an amazing thought to know that there are people born to help you through your hard times.

But you think this brother of yours is pretty good? I read something else, too. About a friend that is closer than a brother. Because these friends you have, in spite of how wonderful they are, have one little flaw. They're human. They're sinners. That means they mess up sometimes. But this Friend...this Friend doesn't have that problem. You see, He's perfect. And even though you might run into something where even your closest friends are at a loss, this Friend always knows what to say. He always knows what to do. He knows everything. He cannot fail you. He's not the failing type. 

And as if Himself was not enough, He saw fit to give you the other friends that you have.

So the next time someone asks you what they're for, now you know.

Thank God for them.

Waterfalls Upsidedown

We human beings really are creatures of habit, aren't we? Take pants, for example. Now don't get caught up in the mindboggling question of exactly what a pant is and how we can have a pair of them (like underwear...and pair of underwear? I only have one on...and what forms of that word do you use? Pants makes sense. One pant, two pants, a pair of pants. But underwear? One underwear, two underwear, a pair of underwear? Underwears Underweari? Ok, I need to follow my own advice...)

And way, take pants. That's a figure of speach. If you have physically taken a pair of pants at this time, you can put them back. Especially if they don't belong to you. What I meant, you literal, pants-stealing person, was consider pants. I almost always put them on right leg first, then left leg. Always. It's just the way things are. But this morning, I did something very strange: I put them on left leg first! At first, I was scared. I didn't exactly know what was going on, it was all so strange and new. I felt off balance...disjointed. But, eventually I got over it. Everything started to feel alright. After all, putting your pants on left let first really isn't wrong, it's just different. I felt like my horizons had been expanded! Like I had subtley shifted my perception of life. What other strange and wonderful things would happen to me today? If just putting my pants on differently could have this sort of effect, what would happen if I brushed my teeth left-handed, or shaved with my eyes closed?

Later on, with toothpaste and blood all over my face, I reconsidered my decision to change up my morning routine in this way. I have decided to continue putting my pants on right leg first.