Sleep - a poem

Sleep

It is night that brings most dread

Body tired, day is spent

All the possibilities

That will never see daylight again

If this is all there is

Why do I even want to wake

The daily frustration of hours wasted

Now just haunting memories

If this is all there is

There is no need for morning

It only comes to mock my

Hope of more to come

But there is more … much more

Today was just a taste

Bitter or sweet

It is only a lesson learned

The hope of something more

Causes the sun to rise

To introduce the day

That could bring more to my world

There is more, because of THAT day

When all that was lost

Died once for all

To bring life forevermore

So now each day has promise

That Life will be found

Where before there was dread

Now joy

Night still comes

So morning can bring anticipation

Of finding that

Which is seeking after me

So sleep …

© 2013 Kurios Books. Written by Dudley Harris (September 6, 2013)

Turning ...

I remembered a song from years ago by Randy Stonehill titled "Turning Thirty". That was a tah-dah moment for him I guess. I've had a few tah-dah days in the past few years. When I turned 45 (I think) I began to contemplate how old my father was when he died. I was only nine and, to me, my father was old. As it turned out, my father was about 42 when he died. I suddenly realized how young he really was. I began to imagine how my children would have been affected if I had died at 42. How would things have turned out for them.

Then, even more recently, I began to contemplate how old my mother was when I started college. I was the last of the kids at home. When I moved onto Samford's campus my mom moved "home" to Hanceville, AL, to live in the Little House my father built when they were first married. I was 18 at that time and I thought my mom was old. I imagined her moving to the mountain to spend her last few years on earth. She was 52. I see now why she re-married. She was still a young woman with a lot of life in front of her.

I just turned 54 today. It's amazing to think how different age looks when you are looking forward, and then backward. My parents were both "old" when they hit the milestones mentioned previously. Now I see how "young" they really were.

I don't feel old. It's not until I look in the mirror that I realize I am aging. On the inside it seems like just yesterday that I was running with my friends at West Birmingham Christian School; Rusty, Jeff, Joey, and Jimmy. It seems like just a few years ago I spent night after night talking with my friend, Ed, until 5 am, knowing I had to get up at 6 am to go to school or work.

I still remember the lyric and melody to all of the songs I sang with Windborne, traveling with some of the greatest guys you could ever imagine; David M., Kevin, Rick, David S., Larry, Bobby, Barry, and a host of others I can't remember at the moment.

If it weren't for the many pictures I have of my children showing their progression in age I would not believe that they are now grown; each of them beautiful individuals, pursuing life with abandon. I find myself positioned in the bleachers cheering them on, hoping they find everything that they want out of life.

Then today, I had another tah-dah moment. Out of nowhere I had an epiphany of one aspect of my life that, until now, I had never realized. All of my life I have had music as a hobby. When I was in college I sang with Windborne. When I started my career in computers I served as a part-time music guy everywhere I've been: East Side, Word of Life, Paulding, and Agape. In 1997, my dream of one day being in full-time vocational ministry became a reality. My "hobby" was now my job!

I just realized this today, at 54. I have been doing for 15 years what I dreamed of doing for most of my life, and had never really given it much thought. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but it hit me like a ton of bricks.

So, what's next? Now that I'm doing what I love, what else can I do as a hobby? I'm going to start kicking the tires on a few things and see what the Lord my have for me in addition to what I'm doing. I'm excited to see what might develop.

Regardless of your age, never stop dreaming! You will always be "turning ..." but that doesn't mean it's over. Consider it a page, not the back cover. Write on each page as much as possible. Write small or write large, but fill each page with everything that will fit on it. Once you "turn" you can't go back. This is not a call for regret, but a call to redeem the time.

I'm just glad I'm still "turning ..."

What Are Policemen Made Of?

I found this while browsing through old newspapers at the Florence-Lauderdale Library. I thought it interesting that it published just 3 days after my dad died while serving the people of Birmingham, AL.

What Are Policemen Made Of? (Florence Times/Tricities Daily, May 7, 1969)

Don’t credit me with this mongrel prose; it has many parents; at least 420,000 of them: Policemen.

A policeman is a composite of what all men are, a mingling of saint and sinner, dust and deity.

Culled statistics wave the fan over dishonesty and brutality because they are “news.”  What that really means is that they are exceptional, unusual, not commonplace.  Buried under the froth is the fact: less than one-half of 1 percent of policemen misfit the uniform.  That’s a better average than you’d find among clergymen.

What is a policeman made of?  He, of all men, is at once the most needed and the most unwanted.  He’s a strangely nameless creature who is “sir” to his face and “fuzz” behind his back.

He must be such a diplomat that he can settle differences between individuals so that each will think he won.

But … If the policeman is neat, he’s conceited; if he’s careless, he’s a bum.  If he’s pleasant, he’s a flirt; if he’s not, he’s a grouch.  He must make in an instant decisions which would require months for a lawyer.

But … If he hurries, he’s careless; if he’s deliberate, he’s lazy.

He must be first on an accident and infallible with a diagnosis.  He must be able to start breathing, stop bleeding, tie splints and, above all, be sure the victim goes home without a limp.  Or expect to be sued.

The police officer must know every gun, draw on the run, and hit where it doesn’t hurt.  He must be able to whip two men twice his size and half his age without damaging his uniform and without being “brutal.”  If you hit him, he’s a coward; if he hits you, he’s a bully.

A policeman must know everything – and not tell.  He must know where all the sin is – and not partake.

The policeman must, from a single human hair, be able to describe the crime, the weapon and the criminal – and tell you where the criminal is hiding.

But … If he catches the criminal, he’s lucky; if he doesn’t, he’s a dunce.  If he gets promoted, he has political pull; if he doesn’t, he’s a dullard.

The policeman must chase bum leads to a dead end, stake out 10 nights to tag one witness who saw it happen – but refuses to remember.

He runs files and writes reports until his eyes ache to build a case against some felon who’ll get dealed out by a shameless shamus or an “honorable” who isn’t.

The policeman must be a minister, a social worker, a diplomat, a tough guy, and a gentleman.  And of course, he’ll have to be a genius … for he’ll have to feed a family on a policeman’s salary.

Easter Communion

Easter Communion

The One in whom they had all placed their hope was dead. It was surreal. They all hoped when they awoke then they would realize it was all a dream. The Master could not be dead. He was the essence of life! How could life be dead? How could one who raised the dead allow His own life to be taken from him?

But Sunday morning came anyway; the first day of the week. The disciples were still hiding in fear of their own lives being threatened. The women, Mary Magdalene, out of whom Jesus had cast seven evil spirits, Joanna, the wife of one of Herod’s stewards, and Mary, the mother of the disciple named James, referred to as “the less”, and others, which may have included Susanna, went to minister to Jesus by anointing his dead body with spices.

Why would they do this? First of all, it was their custom to anoint the body with sweet smelling spices. But I believe the real reason was that ministering to Jesus had become normal to them. They did this during His ministry years. It had become their life! What else was there to do?

So, they made their way to the tomb, I’m sure, in tears. They were greeted at the tomb by two strange men with shinning white clothing. “Jesus was not there. He is risen!”, they were told. The women rushed back to tell the others what they had seen, but they did not believe them. They thought it to be idle tales. He was dead! You saw Him on the cross. You saw them take His lifeless body away.

After hearing the report from the women and giving their replies, two that had been with the disciples decided to get on with their lives. They set out for Emmaus to return home and start over. They, too, had forsaken all to follow the One they believed to be the Christ. But now that He was dead it was time to move on.

A stranger appeared as they walked. Cleopas and Simon could not believe this man didn’t even know what all had been going on in Jerusalem. They told the stranger how Jesus had claimed to be the Messiah, and that the Jewish leaders along with the Romans had put Him to death. As a matter of fact, some of the women had even said He was alive! Silly women.

The Stranger, who was Jesus, asked them, “Didn’t He tell you that all these things were going to happen?” He then went over it again, beginning at Moses and the prophets, explaining it all again. When He joined them in a meal at their house their eyes were opened and they realized it was Jesus in their midst. Jesus vanished from their presence.They immediately went back to join the other disciples to tell them that He was indeed alive!

While they were still telling their story Jesus appeared. Instead of being overjoyed with seeing Him, they thought He was a ghost!

Now, these events all seem a little strange to our 21^st Century minds. Why didn’t Jesus go to the temple and announce His resurrection? Why didn’t He immediately go back to the disciples and put them at ease? Why was it difficult for men who had walked with Him every day for years not even recognize Him? Why wouldn’t Jesus himself greet the women that came to the tomb? He received from them regularly during his time of ministry. They had supported Him with their goods. It would seem only right that He would receive them now.

There’s not much given in scripture as to all of the “whys” regarding the days after the resurrection. We know from Hebrews that Jesus had to ascend to heaven to apply His own blood on the “real” mercy seat to atone for the sins of mankind; to pay once for all the debt created by the first Adam’s fall.

We also learn from Paul in Ephesians that Jesus “ascended to heaven, but also descended to hell”, where He took back the keys of death, hell, and the grave that satan had gotten from the first Adam. Redemption was now complete!

So why not some fanfare? I believe this: so that it would be by faith, and not by sight. His birth was accomplished the same way. No big royal welcome. No parades to announce His coming. In the same way that He came, He now was going to leave. Appearing to those He loved, and that loved Him; telling them good-bye. Then, leaving the rest to them.

And now, here we are; a group of people, believers, 2000 years later still telling the same story. The cup and the wafer, and our faith.

My question today is this: of all of those mentioned in the resurrection story, which one are you? Mary Magdalene, or one of the others, that keep doing what you do “for the Lord” regardless of whether He is dead or alive? Are you Peter, who denied that he ever knew Jesus, but then rushed to the tomb when he heard Jesus might be alive? Are you Cleopas or Simon, that enjoyed the good run they had with Jesus, but moved on after they thought He was dead? Perhaps Thomas, who wanted to see the scars Jesus bore in His body before believing He was Messiah?

I find it interesting that there are many people named in the telling of the resurrection story. Then I looked at the meaning of some of them.

Joanna (Jehovah-favored)

Peter (rock)

Cleopas (father of glory)

Thomas (twin, or to be complete)

I believe the names were just the Holy Spirit’s way of expressing through the writers that God’s fingerprint was all over the activities of the days following the resurrection.

Your salvation is dependent upon whether YOU believe. Mama’s faith will not get you to heaven. The legacy of a father that walked with God will not provide for your salvation. We have a choice to make. Will you believe today? Do you believe?

Process vs. Event - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“Sow a thought and you reap an action;

sow an act and you reap a habit;

sow a habit and you reap a character;

sow a character and you reap a destiny.“

Ralph Waldo Emerson

            I do realize that this book is contrary to so many self-help books that are out there. “Focus only on the moment.” “Take that first step; the rest will follow.” I do totally concur that finite thinking is needed to get out of a hard place. Sometimes you can’t even imagine the next step. The first one seems so impossible. However, if we choose to live life only looking at the next step, never taking time to look up and see the direction in which we are travelling, we could find ourselves in a much worse place than where we are now.

An event is like the number 4 or 9. By itself it really has no significance. But when you realize that 4 is the number between 3 and 5, and 9 is the number between 8 and 10, you begin to see the significance in respect to what came before and what will come after. A pattern emerges that can be useful to us. Another mathematical illustration is the Fibonacci sequence: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, etc. At first glance it looks like a random sequence of numbers. After further evaluation you find that adding the previous 2 numbers derives the next number in the sequence. Even that does not fully explain the significance of this particular series. You see, as the sequence approaches infinity, the ratio between any number and the next one in the series approaches 1.619, or what is called the Golden Ratio.

The Fibonacci numbers are Nature's numbering system. They appear everywhere in Nature, from the leaf arrangement in plants, to the pattern of the florets of a flower, the bracts of a pinecone, or the scales of a pineapple. The Fibonacci numbers are therefore applicable to the growth of every living thing, including a single cell, a grain of wheat, a hive of bees, and even all of mankind. Consider the following:

·                              The distance of the navel to the feet times 1.618 is the height.

·                              Distance of the fingertips to the elbow is 1.618 times distance of the wrist to the elbow.

·                             The width of the two front teeth over the height is 1.618.

·                             The length of the face to the width is 1.618.

·                             The windpipe divides into a long and a short bronchi. The long bronchi is always 1.618

                times the short bronchi.

This is not a treatise on mathematics. However, you can clearly see that the position a number has in a given sequence gives a whole new meaning to the number.

The same is true for events. An isolated event cannot be fully understood or appreciated until you look at it in the context of the process. The Christian life is a process. Sure, there are events along the way. Being born again is an event. Being baptized is an event. Taking communion is an event. Prayer is an event. It is only when the events become part of the process that we begin to find fulfillment and growth.

The ultimate goal of a Christian is to become Christ-like. That is not an event. There is no experience at the altar that will make you Christ-like; it can only bring you a step closer in the process. We do not live the Christian life by seeking “events.” It is only when we commit to the process of allowing the Holy Spirit to “direct our steps” that we will find ourselves on the path to becoming like Jesus. It is a daily choice of taking up our cross.

For the most part, events just happen. That’s the modern culture’s mantra: live and let live. Go from one event to the next hoping that each encounter will somehow be better than the one before and will eventually lead us to a better life. That is not the way this world works.

Look at the laws of thermodynamics. If left alone things tend to degrade, to slow down, to die! The only way for things to improve is for energy to be applied. When that energy is applied in a particular direction objects respond accordingly. They go where they are directed, at the speed in which they are motivated to move.

This is life as a Christian. By allowing the Holy Spirit to “move” us in the direction that He desires for our life, we wind up in a better place than if we had just drifted along without purpose.

This is the life of process! Events still happen; things like prayer, worship, fellowship, and Bible study. We still have life encounters; some planned, some not planned. But as we journey through the events we need to take time to pause, reflect, repent, adjust, and adapt to the Lord’s purpose and continue the process of becoming like Christ.