In Search of the Prince of Peace

 Some folks are so broken, much time and resources they do take

Time with them is exhausting, from such efforts we need a break

There are those who like to argue, they have venom in their veins

Their souls cannot find satisfaction unless they hold the reigns

Some neglect truth and justice, bound by the pace of status quo

Squelching hope and progress, leaving souls to wither and plateau.

 

Yet into this world of darkness came a great glorious light

Illuminating fear and blackness with a beam shining bright

Stepping into the confusion, devilish minds did deploy

Overriding deep division, increasing faith, love, and joy

Lifting burdens from our shoulders, rough and heavy was the freight

Giving courage to the weary as we struggle with life’s weight

 

This strength and light came through a child, from a woman he was born

A son with God’s genetics, heavens gift to a world forlorn

He came to give counsel, teaching us to walk paths that are right

He came as the savior, to forgive and redeem from sin’s might

He gave us this mission, to tell the world of his work and love

Spread the story of salvation, of eternal life above

 

As we continue earth’s journey, filled with sorrow, grief, and death

Dealing with pain and conflict until we take our final breath

When our hearts seem heavy, when there is no jingle in our soul

By grace through faith look to the Christ child, keep heaven as our goal

While on earth love and serve him, until the time of our release

Then We’ll gather in the throne room, and worship the Prince of Peace

Blessings found in Mourning

 

Mourning occurs because we have lost something. Our losses might be precipitated by mistreatment, misunderstanding, mistakes, mishaps, miscalculations, misplacement, misdeeds, and various other misconstrued events of life. If we lose something of limited value we don’t mourn very much. But if we lose something that is really important to us the grief may seem almost unbearable. The shock factor alone may open a furrow so deep that it engulfs part of our life burying it forever. We are going to lose things as we travel the rugged winding roads of life. Those losses will sometimes rip things from our souls that cannot be replaced. No matter how hard we try there will be pieces of ourselves that we cannot find. When that happens, we mourn.

In full knowledge of this certain predicament Jesus made this promise “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matt.5:4). To be clear, this promise is to people of faith. The promise is to people who out of desperation will seek God. Our ears must not be shut to the voice of God. Our eyes must be open in order that we may see the hand of God at work. Our minds must be receptacles willing to receive new insights from God. Our hearts must be permeable so that we can be saturated with the love of God.

We cannot obsess about the unfairness of our mourning no matter how true that may be. Rather we must use our mourning as an opportunity to reflect and readjust and reprioritize for the future God is developing for us. The cause of our mourning occurred in our yesterdays. But the promise of comfort is experienced in our todays and tomorrows. “Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes in the morning” (Ps. 30:5b).

When we mourn, we find comfort through new discoveries about ourselves and God. The Lord corrects aspects of our thinking that are wrong. He tweaks our understandings of truth and solidifies our grasp of his eternal values. We find comfort because the Lord is always doing something brand new in our lives. Jeremiah wrote “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness” (Lamentations 3:22-23).

We find comfort in the midst of mourning as the Lord instills new ambitions within us. Mourning presents us with new opportunities that we should not squander. In our sorrows the Lord may give us visions for new avenues of ministry. In his grace he provides comfort to us and we are able to join his tribe of wounded healers.  

We find comfort because of new perspectives. We come to realize that we are not the only person who has suffered loss. In the process of mourning, we find comfort as we learn to focus less on our pain and more on helping others solve their pain. We become less attached to this world and we grasp for the hope found in the next world. In mourning we are comforted because the past grows dimmer and the horizon of heaven gets closer. The past is bitter but heaven becomes sweeter and sweeter as the days go by.

Seeing the Crowds

Jesus spoke a simple message of hope to people and provided practical help by healing their diseases and afflictions. So, the crowds gathered around him. The crowd in one town would follow him to the next town until soon the crowds were very large. The crowds that gathered were filled with sick, afflicted, and oppressed people.

The setting for the Sermon on the Mount is revealed in Matthew 5:1. “Seeing the crowds, he went up on the mountain, and when he sat down, his disciples came to him”.

Jesus always saw the crowds. He saw them not just as gathered masses of humanity but as sheep in need of care. Jesus went up on the mountain not in order to get away from the crowds but so he could observe them. From the vantage point of the mountain Jesus and his disciples could view the crowds for what they were. They were people in need of love, grace, mercy, and instruction. To the government, business, and religious structures of their society they were just tools, instruments to be used to enhance the desires of the power structures under which they lived. But to Jesus they were human souls created in the image of God. The crowds would have siphoned emotional energy from Jesus yet they strengthened him because in them he saw his purpose for being in the world. He had come to work for justice in the present world and provide the path for salvation that would ensure eternal life in the world to come. On the mountain, with his eyes on the crowds and with his disciples gathered around him, Jesus posturing himself as a teacher “sat down”. The disciples stood in the position of learners. Jesus began unfolding truths about the character they needed to possess and develop if they were going to emulate him and fulfill the purpose to which he was calling them.  

We do not know how attentive the disciples were or how well they understood. Our real concern should be how much attention we give to the teachings of Jesus and how well we follow the instructions. 

He Opened His Mouth

Matthew 5:2 tells us that Jesus “opened his mouth and taught them”. What followed were the profound teachings of the Sermon on the Mount.

Many people open their mouths yet teach us nothing of value. Profound lessons do not just erupt from our voices. They must first be processed in a sound mind. They need to be filtered by a righteous heart.

Many people open their mouths and teach us falsely. They are either ignorant of truth or deniers of truth or maybe just plain liars. The motive of their heart is to de-rail truth by manipulating facts or deceiving the audience by withholding information. Corrupt minds and vile hearts will never compose and propagate truths that lead to wholesome societies and upright behaviors.

When Jesus opened his mouth, he taught with clarity. Without apology he taught divine truths that his mind had processed and formed into language that simple humanity could understand. He spoke not just words of truth but thoughts that were ripened and seasoned with wisdom. When Jesus spoke, he did so with a heart filled with love, compassion, fairness, and concern. The words of his mouth and the meditations of his heart were found acceptable in the sight of God.

The teachings that came from the mouth of Jesus are not easy for us to adopt and assimilate into life. In fact, it is pretty tough to follow the teachings Jesus unfolded in the Sermon on the Mount. Some of them may seem unpalatable to our depraved psyches. But the words of Jesus reveal the expectations he has for those who desire to follow after him. He leaves no doubts as to how we should structure our lives.

When Jesus opens his mouth, we need to take it as truth. We may find it necessary to meditate in prayer with him about the details. It may be prudent to engage in questions and discussions with our fellow believers to get a better understanding of how we can apply his teachings in practical ways. But the principles set forth by Jesus are clear. They are not up for negotiation or amendment. When Jesus opens his mouth, the proper response is to listen and to obey what we hear.

 

The difference Between Passing Through and Passing By

We love to sing the old familiar song “This world is not my home I'm just a passing through, my treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue, the angels beckon me from heaven's open door and I can't feel at home in this world anymore”. The song jingles in our head and flows from our lips and gives warm thoughts in the heart as we think of the beauties of heaven, the loved ones who are already there, and the thoughts that we will one day dwell there also. I understand the sentiment. But if we are not careful we can be so busy focusing on our heavenly destination that we lose sight of the journey that has been set before us. We rush through life oblivious to the sights, sounds and stories and situations around us. We are headed to glory but we forget the gospel encounter that is enabling us to have the hope of glory. In doing so we fail to communicate the doctrines of grace that will help others join us in glory.

Jesus did not make the mistake of just passing through. In Luke 18:35-43 we read the story of Jesus and the blind beggar. The blind man was sitting beside the road cobbling together a living by the only means available to him. He was begging. He could not see but he could hear and feel the commotion of the crowds and he inquired about what was going on. The people told him “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by” (Luke 18:37). I submit to you that there is a measurable difference between passing by and just passing through. Jesus demonstrates what that difference is.

When you are just passing through you take the easiest route. You take the interstate and by pass the towns and crooked roads and the crowds and congestion. You want to get through the territory and make it to your destination as soon as possible and with limited stress. But when you are passing by you take the interesting route. Jericho was a less than desirable town and there was a road that went around it. But Jesus did not avoid Jericho but ventured right into the middle of it. He waded into the thick of the crowd where he could touch them and feel their pulse. He heard their stories. He saw their struggles and recognized their pain. He stopped and engaged in conversation with the people. His followers did not understand his concern and methods. When the blind man cried out for mercy Jesus’ disciples tried to silence him and blockade his access to Jesus. But Jesus stopped amongst the masses and asked that the man be brought to him. The disciples and the crowds saw the blind man as a freak to be shunned but Jesus saw him as a man in great need. The disciples were in passing through mode but Jesus was in passing by mode and so he stopped and engaged in a dialogue with the blind man.

The blind man was desperate and lonely and needy. When asked what he wanted Jesus to do for him he answered quickly and clearly “Lord, I want to see. It has been a long time since these eyes have functioned. Let me recover my sight”.  Jesus said ok. “Receive your sight”! The man’s vision was recovered and he followed Jesus around the rest of the day, glorifying God, telling people what Jesus had done for him. And all the people who saw it began giving praise to God.

We live in a world that is blind in a multiplicity of ways and for a myriad of reasons. They need the touch of Christ. They need the power of His mercy and grace. They need the gospel that loves and the gospel that saves and the gospel that heals. They are not going to encounter that gospel if we just pass through. But if like Jesus we will take the slower difficult road and pass by and stop and engage them with the power of the gospel, lives will be changed. Jesus himself does not walk physically upon this earth today. But we do. While we do let us tell the story of Jesus and administer the help and forgiveness that Jesus has to offer.  

 

 

Coming and Going

Coming and Going

"Life is about coming and going". That is what my cousin Bill said at his mother's funeral yesterday.  I wrote that down (actually I typed it into notes on my iPhone).

My Aunt Bertie was my mother's sister. She was 86. She had raised five children and worked and volunteered at a variety of things. She and Uncle Ken had been married for 69 years. She had done a lot of coming and going. But she had spent the last twelve years in a nursing home. Alzheimer's had ended her coming and going. But that did not keep her husband Ken from coming and going to her. Twelve years of coming nearly every day to the nursing home to see his wife. Twelve years of going back home to an empty house. Nor did it keep her children from coming to and fro to visit. Coming to make sure she was taken care of and then leaving to take care of the other responsibilities in their lives. I am sure there were times that the coming and going was difficult and probably a few times they asked why. But some things you just do because it is the right thing to do. You come and you go because that is what life is about.

So yesterday we gathered for her funeral. To be honest I argued with myself a little about whether I should go or not. I had not seen her in a long time and I did not know my cousins very well. It would be a long trip and would my going really be that helpful? But her children had come to both of my parent's funerals and some of them had even made the trip to Virginia when my niece died. I had been honored by the care and concern demonstrated in their coming and going. So I decided that I wanted to go and I determined that I should. Though I had not yet heard my cousin Bill say it, I guess something whispered in my ear that life is about coming and going.

So I went. Brock who is always up for a trip came with me to keep me company. We shook some hands and hugged some necks and caught up on a few people. We shared a few memories and sang some of my Aunt Bertie's favorite hymns. We celebrated the life she had lived and we rejoiced in the heaven she now enjoyed. Then we left.

I am so glad that I came. There are some things we just need to stop and go do, because life is about coming and going.  And you know sometimes we get so busy with the comings and goings of life that we forget that life is about coming and going.

Funeral Visitations

My folks went to a lot of funerals and visitations for funerals when I was growing up. Many times I was privileged to participate in these functions. The first time I remember being at a funeral home was when my maternal grandfather Morgan Williams died. My dad picked me up in his arms and took me to the casket. As we stood there he gently explained to me that though it looked like he was sleeping that he had died. He told me that we would not get to see him any more after that day. But that my grandfather had gone to heaven and he was ok. I was five years old at the time and I guess that is about as much information a five year old boy can process. I remember many times when I was growing up that my dad would be called upon to serve as a pallbearer at a funeral for some family member or a neighbor or someone at church or even for someone that he barely knew. When this happened my dad would rearrange his work day and take care of this task. Without knowing it I think my dad was teaching me the lesson that when death occurs you have to deal with the inconvenience and stop long enough to respect the dead and express love to the families of the dead. When my dad died I rode to the cemetery in the hearse with the funeral director and he recounted to me the many times my dad had helped with a funeral by being a pallbearer. And that was just one funeral home! As my parents aged their funeral going activity increased. I would call them and ask them what they had been doing and they would tell me what town they had gone to for a funeral and whose funeral it was. I told them I thought they had found a new social outlet! My dad said "well son, that's what you do when you get older and your friends begin to die".

I have been to a lot of funerals and funeral visitations myself. I have delivered the eulogy at more than 300 funerals. I have stood in long lines and waited my turn to shake hands with or put my arm around a loved one and express my appreciation for the deceased and offer my condolences. I hoped that my brief moment by their side was helpful. But often I have wondered if it made a difference or not. When my dad and mother died I stood at sentry by their caskets and greeted each person who came through. I don't think I missed a one. And I discovered that each person who took the time and made the effort to come to the funeral home brought joy and comfort to my soul. Their presence and their words were a precious gift that I treasured.

I think I am coming to the point in life when like my dad and mother I may be going to more funerals. Not because I have a professional responsibility but because I have friends who are dying and loved ones of friends who are dying. Does it make any difference to touch base with friends and family at times like this? Maybe I am old fashion but I think it does. Visiting the grieving and helping people bury their dead may or may not be a spiritual activity. But it is one of the most human and neighborly things we can do.

One Glad Morning

Two years ago today I received a phone call from my brother informing me that our Dad Larry Cloyd had died. I was not surprised. Dad had spent a lot of time in and out of the hospital over the previous years. He had numerous health problems. When I saw him two months earlier his breathing was labored and his mobility was limited. I had plans to see him again in another two weeks. But the Lord took him home before I got there. Dad lived in an assisted living facility and he liked it there. On the morning of Sept. 5, 2013 he got up and rode his scooter down to the dining hall. He enjoyed a good breakfast and joked around with a couple of his friends. He then rode his scooter to the elevator and went up to visit the nurses and get his medications. He joked around with them as he always did. He rode his scooter back to his room and within 5 minutes he had pressed his medical alert button. The nurses came quickly but he was gone. His soul had left his large, old, and tired body and flew off to glory. His favorite song was “I’ll Fly Away”. I can see him now standing around the piano taping his foot and singing with gusto “Some glad morning when this life is o’er, I’ll fly away; to a land on God’s celestial shore, I’ll fly away. I’ll fly away oh glory, I’ll fly away. When I die Hallelujah by and by, I’ll fly away”. On the glad morning of Sept. 5, 2013 that song became a reality for him.

I cannot imagine a better way to go. Dad enjoyed eating. And he enjoyed being around people. He left this earth with his belly full and his heart full. How you going to beat that? But I feel the void every day of not having him here. He was a good dad who fulfilled his responsibilities in life, took his faith seriously, and had great pride in his children. I love you Dad.

Sifting Through the Shavings

My Uncle Raymond McWhorter lived to the ripe old age of ninety-five. Actually he was my great-uncle being married to my grandfather’s younger sister Ann. Together Raymond and Ann raised five children, all of whom went on to live successful, productive, and honest lives. Uncle Raymond did a lot of things in his life. He was deputy sheriff for a while and made an unsuccessful bid to become sheriff. He drove a school bus and ran a gas station for brief periods of time. Mostly he was a farmer and he always had a truck that enabled him to pick up a few extra dollars hauling for neighbors and others who did not have a truck. Uncle Raymond lived slow and easy never getting overly excited about much. That is probably what made him a good trader and such a good at handling cattle (and maybe what helped him to live so long). When I knew Uncle Raymond he would go to the stockyards two or three times a week. I guess he practiced what we called “pinhooking”. Meaning that he would go to the sale barn, buy a animal or two from those bringing cattle to market, in the hopes of reselling them at a small profit perhaps even that same day. Or maybe he just went to the stock yards because it was a good place to loaf and catch up on the news. I knew Uncle Raymond as a kind and gracious man who was always willing to help a family member or neighbor. He took an interest in people, even if you were a great nephew who was just a boy. Now Uncle Raymond had his vices. He smoked a lot of Lucky Strikes. He was known to have sampled his share of Kentucky Whiskey (though I have to say I never detected any evidence of that). For leisure he loved to fox hunt and would stay out all night with his dogs and buddies enjoying the sport. Sometimes he would have to spend the daylight hours rounding up his dogs. He would sooner sleep in a lawn chair in the yard, day or night, than he would sleep in the house. But if that is the most harmful thing you can say about a person you really don’t have much to say. That is particularly so when these habits are accompanied with a persona of kindness and charm.

Uncle Raymond was not a churchman. But that changed one Sunday afternoon when he was in his mid 60’s. Upon testimony and encouragement given by a family member he gave his heart to the Lord and that very day was baptized into Christ and joined the fellowship of the Mt. Carmel Christian Church. To the surprise of a lot of folks he became a faithful worshipper of the Lord Jesus. As Aunt Ann aged she developed Alzheimer’s. When this occurred Uncle Raymond blossomed into a gentle and compassionate caregiver. For two years he barely left her side tending to her every need. When it finally became necessary to transition her to a nursing home he still made the trip every day to see her.

After Aunt Ann passed away Uncle Raymond re-married. Stories get a little twisted sometimes but here is the way I heard it: One of Uncle Raymond’s old fox hunting buddies had died. Uncle Raymond called his widow one day and said “I am looking for a wife.  Do you want to get married”? She said “I don’t know I’ll have to think about it”. Two hours later he calls her back and said “Well did you think about it”. The details are probably a little different than that but he and Mary did get married and enjoyed several years together before she passed away. Sometime before she passed he had also buried one of his sons.

I stopped to visit Uncle Raymond one day not to long after Mary had died. His eyesight was failing him. But I found him sitting under a shade tree whittling. He did a lot of that because there were enough shavings under that tree to fill a garbage bag. I enjoyed visiting with him. I asked him a few questions and then waited and listened to his careful drawn out responses. It took time to listen to Uncle Raymond. He was not going to give you much quick. He was not going to give you any information he did not want to tell you. That is the way he always was and that part of him had not changed with age. He said something to me that day that I have reflected upon quite a bit. He said “I don’t know why I whittle, I don’t make anything. I just whittle. It is just something to do”.  I guess if you live to be ninety-five and all your friends are dead and gone, you have buried two wives and one son, and your eyesight has failed and you are not able to do much and you are limited in where you can go, finding a shade tree and whittling is an ok thing to do. But I think he did make something. He made shavings. And as he whittled he looked down into those shavings and remembered and relived and reflected on his life. Each shaving he whittled from those sticks of wood was part of his life story. In that pile of shavings were his memories of joys and sorrows, people and places, events and ideas. In that pile of shavings were his thoughts of who he was and who he had become and who he would become in that glorious place he would go when his life on earth was over. Uncle Raymond kept most of his thoughts close to his vest. But if I had the opportunity to sift through that pile of shavings I think I might have his whole story.

Forty Year Reunion

In the spring of 1975 I graduated from Scott County High School in Georgetown, KY. That was 40 years ago. They held a big reunion this past week end but I did not go. I have not been to any other of my reunions either so I am certain my absence was not a surprise to anyone. With the exception of one person I have not really kept any contacts with my high school friends. It has been much too long to make any real connectivity now. Besides I work every weekend and I live a lon...g way away. So the time and expense would be much too great for a rendezvous with people I barely know. Besides I am not that good at parties. I had lots of good excuses. So I ignored the invitations and pleas to come to the reunion and decided to let high school remain a distant experience from the past. In recent years however I have re-connected with a few of my classmates via facebook and somehow I got added to a group called Scott County High School Class 1975. The morning after the reunion people started posting pictures and I got curious. I did not recognize some of them. Of the ones I did recognize I was a bit relieved to discover that I had survived the 40 years as well as most of them had. There were 152 of us in that graduating class. I was saddened to discover that 16 of those have died. Surely in this age of modern medicine that is way too many. I mean I am only 58. That is not old is it?

That got me to thinking about the brevity of life. Indeed I have way more years behind me than I can expect to have in front of me. When this life is over there will be a glad reunion in heaven and I plan to attend that one. Indeed God has put eternity in the hearts of mankind. But since life is brief I want to live well and do something of significance while I am here. The British missionary C. T. Studd wrote a famous oft quoted two line poem: “Only one life, ‘twill soon be past. Only what’s done for Christ will last”.

Reynold's Family Cemetery

On Thanksgiving Day, 1950, my Great-Grandfather John Cloyd died. The ground was muddy and it would have been difficult to make the trip to the Cloyd Cemetery. So my grandfather went in search of a closer place to bury his father. He went first to the Farris family who owned the farm next to him. They understood the predicament but told him that they wanted their cemetery to remain just a family plot. My grandfather said thank you and walked a little further to the next neighbor, the Reynolds family, who agreed to let our family bury in their family cemetery. I was not there but knowing my grandfather as I did I expect his response was something like “much obliged” accompanied with a promise to do “our part” in the upkeep and expenses of the cemetery. So on a cold November day our family made the procession from the family farm and home to the Reynolds Cemetery where we buried my Great-Grandfather. Come spring, in keeping with his promise, my grandfather bore the expense and labor of building a fence around the cemetery. Nearly three years later the family made the same trip for my Great-Grandmother Sally Cloyd. Then on Mother’s Day, 1957 my first cousin Vicky Lynn Cloyd, born just 3 months before me, died when I was but six weeks old. In June of 1964 my Uncle John Bowyer, who was married to my Grandfather’s sister Flo was buried in this place. The following year McKinley Cloyd my Grandfather’s half-brother was buried there. Then in June of 1967, Aunt Flo was laid to rest beside her husband. By this time the Cloyd family had carved out a section of the cemetery. It would be nineteen years before we took one of our loved ones to this place again. But on a cold February day in 1986 I gave the eulogy and led the procession as we buried my Grandfather, Charlie Cloyd. Sixteen years later, in 2002, I did the same for my Grandmother, Ada Cloyd. Six days shy of a year later I did it again for my Uncle Thurman. This week our family gathered at this place for the 10^th time. This time we buried my cousin, John Charles Cloyd. That makes five generations of Cloyd’s that are buried in this plot of borrowed land. The stones around us witnessed the names of two others who will someday join them.

So for us the Reynold’s cemetery is hallowed ground. The name above the gate does not bear our name and it does not belong to us. But we have kept my grandfather’s bargain and we have done our part and thus lay claim to a corner of it.  It is precious soil. For now ten times we have disturbed this clay and laid the bodies of our loved ones in it and then closed up the earth again. The Cloyd family treasures this spot. Here we have grieved as our tears have watered this patch of earth.

Laid Out in a Straight Row

Brock and I just got back from a walk in the cemetery. I noted that the graves were all lined up in a straight row. Maybe that is why the heart monitor shows a straight line when a heart stops beating. It occurs to me that I am destined to lain out, flat and still, in a straight row. That is death. Some people suggest we live that way. And some folks do. But since I will have forever to lay flat and still in a straight row I prefer to live with a few zigs and zags and curves and swirls. I choose to do a few things contrary to the norm and explore things out of the ordinary. I want to take a few risks and sometimes just land wherever the wind takes me. I might die sideways or upside down. But so what? There will be someone there to pick me up and lay me out in a straight row.

What is Love

What is Love?

                                                                   Brent Cloyd 2015

Love is a kiss

            A prelude to the dreams we hum
            A postlude of what has become

Love is a wine

            Intoxicating heart and soul
            Over the mind it gains control            

Love is a song

            A melody to remember
            Forever a burning ember

Love is a light

            Dispelling darkness in the night
            Keeping hope of morning in sight

Love is an ointment

            Soothing discomfort through the years
            Healing our wounds, calming our fears

 Love is a nourishment

            A meal giving comfort and strength
            Encouragement for the day’s length

Love is a refreshment

            An oasis along the way
            A cool drink at the end of day

Love is a Faith

            Bearing hope in the worst of times
            Always waiting to hear the chimes

Love is a Jewell

            A dangling necklace of fine gold
            Staying the same as it gets old

 Love is a perfume

            A fragrance seeking our favor
            An aroma we can savor

 Love is a curtain

            Protecting our secrets and pride
            A shadow where we can confide
 
Love is a banquet
            An emotion to celebrate
            A good reason to Decorate

 Love is a banner

            Appreciating our worth
            Expressing our value on earth

Love is a flower
            A lily growing from the pond
            Beauty that expresses our bond
          
Love is a voice
            A call to the places we roam
            An invitation to come home 

Love is a guardian

            Protecting us from things that spoil
            Watching over the fruits of our toil

 Love is a rock

            In whose cleft we obtain refuge
            Granting us strength for battles huge             

Love is a covering

            A quilt hand pieced with perfection
            Stitched with peace, hope, and affection         

Love is a garden

            A soil where our lives can take root
            A fertile place producing fruit         

Love is a spice

            Amending the ordinary
            Bringing taste to the contrary

Love is a tree

            A gentle breeze providing shade
            A place for the stories we’ve made
      

Love is a seal

            A room that captures and confines
            A lock that holds us and refines

 Love is a comfort

            A shelter from the wind and cold
            A blanket when sick and old

Ole Jacks

On Tuesday I had seven hours from the time I arrived in Anchorage from Pilot Station, AK where daughter lives until my flight back home to Illinois. So I left the airport, took a cab to downtown and explored a bit of the city. I visited a museum and then walked down the street to the mall. I visited every floor but I am not a mall kind of guy. I left the mall from the 5^th Avenue exit. I immediately saw a sign that read “Fur Alaska”. I found my way across the street and entered the shop. There I met “Ole Jacks”. That is how introduced himself when I asked his name. He said I used to be “young Jacks” but now I am 80 so I am “Ole Jacks”. The store appears a bit cluttered. One whole wall is covered with newspaper clippings and pictures from times past. Jack himself is sitting in a tiny passage way between two counters partially hidden by a stack of magazines. We begin to visit and he tells me his story. He is native Alaskan. He has lived here all his live except for the time he worked for President Truman during the Korean War. When he came home he went in the fur business trapping and buying furs, selling some and making others into clothing. He got his pilots license so he could travel into far away and remote places in the Alaska interior to buy furs. Alaska is God’s country he tells me at least a dozen times. “Ole Jacks” is good at what he does. I am guessing that fur coats are his specialty. He has made fur coats for Presidents Ford and Reagan and for a Japanese president and for former Soviet President Leonid Brezhnev. He proudly shows me a picture of Brezhnev wearing his coat in the presence of President Ford. “If I can measure a man I can make it fit” he says. He asks about where I am from and what I am doing in Alaska. I tell him I have come to visit my daughter who is a teacher in Alaska and he is interested in how she is doing. We visit for probably 20 minutes. I am pretty sure I cannot afford one of his fur coats. He must know that as well because he does not try to sell me one. Before I leave he says “I think you are a salt of the earth man from Illinois”. I am thinking this man is a salt of Alaska’s earth. I have traveled a lot of places and what I enjoy most about travel are the people I meet, often by chance encounter, along the way. Cab fare from the airport to downtown cost me $40 but meeting Ole Jacks is far more valuable than that. If you go to Anchorage you ought to stop in at Fur Alaska 329 W. 5^th Avenue. Maybe Ole Jacks will be there.

Dancing with Life

When my daughter was a daisy girl scout her troop had a father-daughter dance. No moms allowed. Just dads and their five and six-year old daughters. She bought a new dress and put ribbons in her hair. I bought her a corsage. I put on my best suit and on a Saturday night, on the eve of Sunday morning, we went to the dance. One of the deacons from my church was there with his daughter. We gave each other a gloriously devious grin and we held our daughters in our arms and we danced. I could show you pictures to prove it. But all the proofs I need are the lingering images of my daughters smiling face. That is the only time I ever took my daughter to a dance. But we have done a lot of things together. In those times I tried to teach her how to dance the dance of life. I sought to show her how to dance to the tune of God’s call on her life. She is all grown up now. Her professional career has taken her to the plains of western Kansas and to the ghettos of Mississippi. This fall she will venture into the bush country where she will teach school in the Native American village of Pilot Station, Alaska. People ask me, don’t you worry about her going that far away? Well yeah, but I am her daddy and I worry about a lot of things. But I would worry more if she did not dream and work to bring those dreams to fruition. When opportunity presents itself I do not want her to sit it out the dance. I want her to take hold of the adventures life offers. I want her to listen to the music that God places in her soul and dance to it! Life is not about sitting at the corner table and sipping sodas. It is about getting out on the dance floor. So get dressed for the dance girl! Extend your hands and partner with the opportunities in front of you. Let the Lord put his hand on your waist and follow His lead. Dance!

A Faithful Servant

I just sneezed. Immediately my 28 year old autistic son Brock  got up from his chair and soon he was standing beside my desk with a box of Kleenex. It is the same pattern every time Brock hears my sneeze. The pattern got started I guess a couple of years ago when I sneezed and then asked Brock to get me a Kleenex. He graciously performed the task. Every since that time whenever I sneeze he will stop whatever he is doing, go to the bathroom and come back with the box of Kleenex. Sometimes I try to stop him by telling him that he does not need to do or that I do not need a Kleenex. But there is no stopping him. If he hears me sneeze he is off to the races to perform this service for me. He has been known to interrupt his meal or get out of bed at night to attend to my need. Service has become a habit for him. He appears to do it not just as a duty but with love and joy. The scriptures teach us that the greatest among us are those who serve others. I sure do have a great son.

But I am left to wonder this morning how difficult it seems for most of us to develop a pattern of being a servant. And when we do develop that pattern it often becomes a duty and drudgery rather than an exercise of love and joy. How easy it is to become weary in well doing. Being a servant is not the normal pattern of the general populous. Being a faithful servant is unusual. Yet we have been called to develop this attitude and to perform service to others. It is this rarity of becoming a servant that makes us great.

At Galilee

I walked one day where Jesus trod
In a village along the shore
I stood upon a sloping hill
Where he preached to five thousand or more

I ventured out onto the sea
Where Peter and John plied their trade
With mine own eyes I saw the place
Where Jesus taught and disciples made

I viewed the hills panoramic
Stoic, stately, still, and compact
From this backdrop He gave meaning
To faith, hope, and love so abstract

I recalled Peter and the others

When a fierce wind they had to face
Then came Jesus on the water
Reaching His hand of saving grace

I thought of how much in common,

Though it has been two thousand years
We have with those who lived in that day
How Jesus still can calm our fears

Jesus did not consider great
Those who held power in their hand
But had respect and compassion
For the weary who worked the land

I was there with many travelers

In their tears I discovered a clue
In each was a burdensome story
They had only told to a few
 

As I looked upon the marvel

I sensed a word to my hungry soul
Take my yoke upon your shoulders
Together we will reach the goal.

Somewhere Near Here

While traveling in Israel I wrote a poem and shared the poem with our group at our last devotional time in the Jerusalem.

In old Jerusalem near cross and sepulcher

Transgressors and confessors searching for a cure
Weary Pilgrims assembled in this place ornate
Guilty, broken, sad, sickened, from life’s heavy weight

Here we remember how our sin once did molest

How selfish deeds and hateful thoughts God does detest
Yet for us sinners Christ in love performed His grace
His sacrificial work makes this a holy place

Somewhere near here religion organized deceit

They drug him to the pavement to make his end complete
Somewhere near here truth was twisted, justice denied
Somewhere near here, misinformed, crucified they cried

Somewhere near here with cruel whip his back was beat

Somewhere near here Rome drove nails in Christ’ hands and feet
Somewhere near here the savior wore thorns for a crown
Somewhere near here the savior’s blood trickled down

Somewhere near here they punctured a sword in his side

Somewhere near here for our sin our blessed savior died
Somewhere near here, hanging shamefully on a cross
Jesus was sacrificed to restore human loss

Here listening to vile words the crowd did sputter

An announcement of forgiveness he did utter
Here on these grounds the lamb without blemish or flaw
Orchestrated the salvation the Father foresaw

The execution done His body was removed

The task was now completed, the Father approved
In a tomb near here his slaughtered corpse was encased
Still, dead, and buried, His accomplishments erased

For three days in the dark of the earth he did lay

While the Sabbath left His friends to mourn in dismay
But on the third day, somewhere near here, before dawn
There came a rumble and He awoke without yawn
 

Somewhere near here before the daylights detection

Breath was restored in mighty resurrection
The women and the disciples saw him near here
Then to more than five-hundred he dared to appear
 

I’m quite impressed with these walls and decorations

But they provoke neither joy nor celebration
For I’m on a journey to see the saviors face
And perhaps that’s the lesson of this wondrous place

For nails, nor cross, rocks, or cave can keep Jesus still

Resurrected our savior moves around at will
He will not be confined to places around here
But where ever we go our living Lord is near.

 

A Jar of Pennies

It was cold outside. Nevertheless I stopped long enough to stoop down and pick up a penny from the pavement. A penny is not worth much but I hate to walk by and leave money on the ground. I took it home and put it in my gallon jug of coins. It was just a penny. But it was a penny. Then I got curious to know how long it would take a penny to compound into some real money. I plugged these figures into a compound interest calculator: .01$ for 70 years at 10.83%. I chose 70 years, three score and ten, the number of “good years” that most of us can expect to live on this earth. I chose $10.83% because that was the annualized rate of return on the Dow Jones Industrial for the 32 year period between 1975 and 2007. That is a healthy rate of return, perhaps a little ambitious for a 70 year average, but not as optimistic as Warren Buffet might be. After inserting those figures I clicked “calculate” and discovered that a penny invested and compounded quarterly at 10.83% for 70 years would grow to $17.73. That is enough to take my wife out to eat at her favorite pizza restaurant. But of course she expects to go there more than once every 70 years.

But then I thought “what if I had a gallon jug of pennies”? I wondered how many pennies that would be. So I googled it and discovered that a gallon jar would hold around 50,000 pennies - $50 worth. Using the same figures of 10.83% compounded quarterly for 70 years I again clicked calculate. The results were a little more encouraging. My hypothetical jar of pennies invested for 70 years would grow to $88, 628.68. I think I will continue picking up pennies.

It occurs to me that life is somewhat like a jar of pennies. Maybe we even think of ourselves as being as common as a copper penny. Even if that were true, which it surely is not, we should be able to see that we have value.  And if that value is properly harnessed we can do wonderful things. There are two things that every person has in common in life. We all have time and we all have opportunity. We do not all have the same amount of time. We do not all have the same amount of opportunity. But we all have some measure of each. My life may only be a jar of pennies. But it is a jar of pennies. If we will learn to make the most of our time and take advantage of our opportunities life will compound into something beneficial.

Prayers and Premontions

In the 2000 my mother, Lois W. Cloyd, wrote a poem entitled “A Prayer for the Millennium”. The poem was published in a collection of poems entitled American at the Millennium: The Best Poems and Poets of the 20^th Century. I had forgotten about the poem until I came across the book this evening. Given the events that have transpired since these words were penned the poem feels like more of an antithetical premonition than a prayer. It leaves an eerie feeling in my soul.

 

No more children with nowhere to sleep,
No more children with no one to weep
When they wander alone and cold on the street.
America at the Millennium.

No more children afraid to go to school
Because someone, somewhere, broke the rule
With guns, causing violence, innocent blood.
America at the Millennium.

No more churches with pious airs,

More and more churches with members who care
What happens to people in their everyday world.
America at the Millennium.

 More and more Christians showing God’s love

And telling the world that Jesus came from above
To forgive us our sins and fit us for Heaven.
America at the Millennium.