Lost …. I need direction.
Wheels spinning throwing mud.
I’m idle . No momentum.
I’m standing chewing cud.
A ship that’s dragging anchor .
Full throttle surely sinks .
As storm waves take it over.
Abandoned to the drink.
The rut, it just gets deeper.
This course too much a strain.
Ill gladly take the bit Lord.
If you’ll grab hold the reins.
The path we take in life is full of open doors,
and as Gods creature of free will they are all ours to explore.
Some will end in darkness, some will end in light.
How is it then that we can choose to take the one that’s right?
Some are easily ignored, our conscience steers us clear.
Others scare us to the core, though they are the ones we should draw near.
Then there’s those that seem to fit though darkness lurks inside.
I tell you friend these are the doors from which we all should hide.
Now were imperfect creatures and so were sure to take
a darkened door from time to time in decisions that we make.
I think the things to think of when were in this darkened space.
Where was it last we saw the light? How can I get back to that place?
For a door that’s dark when going in glows bright when walking out,
and the sooner that we turn around the simpler our route.
So.. What is this light I speak of and how is it I can be
assured the path and doors I choose are bright as bright can be?
The light I speak of is my Lord. Jesus is his name.
He freely gave himself for us so that we can be looked at without blame.
No darkness can be found in him. He is perfect glowing light.
Soon all creatures big and small will bow down at his might.
So it is I have decided to place my trust in Him.
To study of his teaching. To run away from sin.
The Bible is my roadmap, Jesus is my guide.
No door through which he leads me hides darkness deep inside.
I know that I’ll face struggles for this He has for-told,
but the treasure that He leads me to is worth more than all the gold.
Heaven is what I speak of, to see his shining face.
To bow down to his glory, to feel his warm embrace.
For now though… I’m in my earthly home. There is work that I must do.
To follow along the path he laid. To spread his word to you.
And so I wrote this little poem of open doors and lights.
Of choices that we all must make, and knowing which ones right.
Lastly here is the question. Which door will you choose?
The door to light or darkness. The door to win or lose.
I like the thought of pickled biscuits
although they don’t make sense.
I suppose they are about as logical
as shade from a barbed wire fence.
Logical … now there’s a word that
sometimes makes me cringe.
A preset set of boundaries
a beginning and an end.
I think logic is a damn fine thing
if you live inside a box.
The thought it can bring comfort
make borders where there’s not.
Id just assume to think of things
as questions yet unsolved
than to put them in the category
“not to be resolved”.
For had folks stayed inside a box
and not bothered to invent
wed surely have no cures at all
to diseases we lament.
I doubt there’d be a lightbulb
there’d surely be no cars.
Lets find a cure to cancer,
lets take a trip to mars.
Explore this world in which we live
to find answers to our problems.
Look outside of logic.
make the tops the bottoms.
As for pickled biscuits
don’t tell me that we can’t,
and the shade from that old barbed wire fence
feels just fine to an ant.
In yesterdays Sunday preaching
a point was simply raised
about the center of Gods will
compared to how we spend our days.
Now that got me to thinking
as I drove to work this morning
would the me that Jesus sees
pain his heart or bring him glory.
I must confess my answer
to this question that was raised
does not thrill my heart at all
in fact it brings dismay.
As a Christian my mentor should be Jesus
My walk should follow his
to study of his teaching
my life to freely give
What then can I do
to right this wayward march
to turn my arrow towards the bull
to fix my wretched heart.
The answer lies within my failings
to which my hand has penned
I lack in study of his word
this rip I first must mend.
For he calls us all to know him
and he loves us every one
our earthly lives are filthy rags
and still he sent his Son.
My sins in life are many
yet he bore them all for me
His life on earth perfection
still they nailed him to the tree.
They… 2000 year old scape goats
yes. Physically they put Him there
but my sins are equally responsible
Lord, I gave you that cross to bear.
I may as well have held the nails
or drove them through Your flesh.
I may as well have thrust the spear
or neglected Your thirst to quench.
And still You love me any way.
You’ve known me from the start.
You’ve seen my inner workings.
You truly know my heart.
I pray Lord that this heart you know
brings more joy than pain.
I pray it is a heart you use
to bring glory to Your name.
My Lord I owe you everything
I’m nothing without you.
I’ve tried to do this on my own
and I don’t have a clue.
…..Lord I need You!!!!!!!
A horrible thought just came to mind
of a world without a pig.
It’s surely a fitter for the handiest critter
for variety and taste. Can you dig?
Lets start with bacon.
Wonderful bacon..
Wonderful, amazing bacon…
Words can’t describe how I feel deep inside
about the pigs most delectable part.
It spits and it spatters as it fries without batter.
My goodness, just the thought warms my heart.
I take in the smell like the wind in a sail
for it’s surely the pigs top legacy.
I dream of a bite with a crunch of delight
as my teeth settle into pork ecstasy.
Now. Onto the chops.
Pork chops..
Goodness me, fried pork chops…
One can only hope of a fortune which holds a portion
as golden they sit on a plate.
Their bully perfume infiltrate the room
just driving ones heart to elate.
The heavenly flavor my tongue yearns to savor
before it comes out of the grease.
Beside turn-up greens or boiled cabbage and beans
this surely my hunger will cease.
Don’t forget the ribs.
Yes pork ribs..
Baby back pork ribs…
Over coals of mesquite it sends joy clear down to my feet
to see a rack there on the pit.
As glaze takes them over the wafting aroma
cause my taste buds wanting to fit.
They promise a taste as they lovingly baste
My heart it beats with delight.
Tender, sweet, salty my beverage is malty
good heavens this pairings just right.
They are all so good.
There are so many ways..
To dice up a porker to eat…
From sausage to ham, pork roast or spam.
Why you can even pickle the feet.
It scares me to ponder of losing this wonder
of glutenous tasteful delight .
As these thoughts cross my mind my heart yearns to dine
on a banquet of pig parts tonight.
My hands are strong and useful.
They gather work and play.
Sometimes their torn and ragged
from the stresses of the day.
They feel, they touch, their steady.
though calloused they are gentle too.
Give them a job they are ready.
My bidding they will do.
The right one is my favorite
its surer than the left.
It writes, it throws, it shakes your hand.
It’s the one that loves a test.
….Now this causes liability
for because its use is greater
this surely means it holds more sins
than its slightly lazy neighbor….
I know its shook in anger.
I’ve felt it clinched in hate.
Its turned through pages dirty.
Its left an open gate.
Its struck. Its broken beauty.
Withheld from those in need.
It’s cursed you through the windshield.
Its scattered harmful seed.
It reeks of half my failures.
this hand that plucks the strings.
On trial I’m judge and jury
Its fate this question brings
It’s both beautiful and ugly
This hand with which I write.
To praise the hand that holds the pen
……or cut it off in spite..
Its been a hell of a rough few days. The stresses of running a business and trying to make it not only viable but profitable push constantly. Debt is a slippery slope and it might only take a small miss step on my part or something as unpredictable as the weather to get a person sliding the wrong way. I miss the days where I went to work, did my job and let someone else worry about juggling all the junk.
On tiptoes … in neck deep water.
Ahead dry land I can see.
Behind the depths of the ocean.
To the beach I must go to be free.
The slope there I’m hoping is gentle.
No potholes or cuts in the floor.
I’m weary from all my past swimming.
Lord. Please let me make it to shore…
Consider Jesus.
Remember the blood he shed.
Only through him to the father.
Sacrificial lamb, triumphant over death.
Sinless teacher, Perfect Savior, Returning Conqueror!
He sat there and glared through the windshield.
Eyes wide, dreaming, his mind filled
of journeys he’d make
rough rambling roads he might take.
Dad snapping this picture his heart thrilled.
The smell of raindrops
like sweet perfume from heaven
deep breath smile exhale.
Buck Verde 