Real Life and The Movies

Every once in a while I have to unstring my bow and do something just for the fun of it. This is it for May.

Why can't my life be more like the movies,
With a script and a plan and a plot,
And beautiful people who're glamorous and groovy
And drive fancy cars and big yachts?

They know the ending before the beginning,
While I'm mostly up in the air
As to what's going on, if I'm losing or winning,
Or if anyone else even cares.

I own a Dodge Neon, not a beemer or caddie,
And I've never had an affair.
For all of the money I've paid to my dentist
My teeth are nowhere pretty as theirs.

They walk through the picture to sweet background music
As they go on a jaunt or a cruise.
The only sound I ever hear when I'm walking
Is from gum that has stuck to my shoes.

Their waists are so thin you'd think they eat lettuce,
While I lose the battle of bulge.
They expertly shoot Uzi's and Colts and Berettas,
While I generally feel like a cludge.

If I shot a gun I'd just shoot off my toe,
Or my foot or something far worse;
And I'd probably have some ugly old so-and-so
Instead of Gwyneth or Renee for a nurse.

Every problem they have is resolved in a minute,
Or at least by the end of the show,
While I look at my problem and know I can't win it
Until hell is all covered with snow.

In the movies their computers always boot in a flash
And they know all the passwords they need.
I have so many passwords I can't remember them all,
Just the effort makes my brain start to bleed.

In the movies they shoot a scene over and over
Until they get it just so.
But I only get one chance, and moreover,
I have to do it with only nine toes!

Iraqi Pics

Go to John Upperman's blog to see some pictures of Iraqis you won't see on the news or in the papers:

http://uppermansblog.blogspot.com/

Comunidad

Last night at Comunidad ("Comunidad de las Naciones," or "Community of Nations," our latino church plant) there was a dinner and awards for the ESL graduates and the church. We had a terrific time of fellowship over burgers with all the works (grilled outside) and desserts. In our service we inaugurated our new congas and I was tapped to play them. I got rhythm, but not technique; my hands were red and sore half way through the first song. Come back, Micah, we need you!!!

The brand name on the congas was "Caliente;" very latino. Then some astute person noticed they were made in Thailand!

Some new folks came, drawn in by the ESL class.

We sang "I'm Trading My Sorrows;" the ESL staff sang in Spanish and the latinos sang it in English - at the same time!

It's a thrill to watch this little church grow, to see men and women becoming grounded in the Spirit and the Word, to see fellowship bonds forming and people finding something of real value. The latinos have all the same problems we do plus more, and they work more days and more hours. They have a refreshing honesty and down-to-earth manner about them and it's a pleasure to be among them. Even though I'm fluent in Spanish, I had many cultural stereotypes and I've watched them all get shattered as I've come to know these people.

If you're able to visit at 6:30 on Sunday evening or 7:30 on Wednesday evening, please drop by; there will be someone to translate.

The Burning Bush

How many bushes had Moses seen
On the back of the desert where he had been
For forty years? But then there'appeared
A bush that burned, and Moses feared.

This bush the BRANCH, that Moses saw
That fateful day; he stood in awe
And turned aside to behold the tree-
To listen, to look, to hear, to see.

For forty years he'd worked and toiled
In the dirt and dust and the sun that boiled.
Then in an instant God's hour had come;
Moses became God's chosen one.

Do you feel in a wilderness,
Forgotten by God and in distress,
Your vision gone, your dreams and plans
Scattered like the shifting sands?

You're not forgotten - God sees you there;
He's put you just exactly where
He can work your soul like clay.
He has a time - there'll come a day,

But of a sudden, and not far hence,
You'll hear His voice and turn to whence
Spake clear that voice, and see Him there
And He'll tell you what, how, when, and where.

Serve Him in the wilderness
In every trial, in every test;
And when comes heaven's chosen hour
He'll send you forth in faith and power.

You'll be tempered by the fire,
Gone the anger, gone the ire;
A gentle spirit, a heavenly frame,
And you'll go forth in Jesus' name.

One Thing

"Salvation is free - everything else costs" (Wade Taylor). Let us have a single eye unto the Lord, that the price may seem as nothing for the inestimable prize which is set before us.

"In the year that King Uzziah died
'Twas then I saw the Lord."
In Isaiah's time of loss
'Twas then he heard His word.

And thus it is that sorrow brings
The thing that seemed most lost,
And thus we reign through suffering
When we have paid the cost.

"I count all things as loss," said Paul
"That I may know this Christ."
The things that once were gain to him
He lost for risen life.

The goodly merchant seeking pearls
Sold all he had for one.
Oh, woulds't thou have a precious pearl?
Sell all for Christ, the Son.

For one thing only matters most,
One thing worth all the rest -
To know Him as we're known by Him -
This is the highest and best.

"One thing have I desired of God,
That one thing I pursue,
To behold the beauty of the Lord,"
Said David; what say you?

He is the treasure in the field,
He is the treasure rare,
For which we sell all that we have
And find that He is there.

Lift Up Your Heads, O Ye Gates.

"If so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together." (Rom. 8:17)

"And the twelve gates were twelve pearls; every several gate was of one pearl." (Rev. 21: 21)

"Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in." (Psalm 24:7)

I have long felt that we are the city of God, and the gates are for His entrance into that city. It is through suffering that we come into His purposes and reign together with Him. As the pearl is wrought from distressing circumstances, even so our suffering yields glory. This poem brings it all together.

The pearl - a treasure of great price;
But wrapped within it's hidden life
Is a tale that sorrow brings -
A treasure wrought through suffering.

In the darkened ocean deeps
The oyster there its vigil keeps,
Content until a grain of sand
Lodges in its chambers and

Beomes an irritating source
Of trouble and vexation sore,
Of bother and distress and pain
'Til it must alleviate the strain.

It then surrounds the grain of sand
With the white pearl substance and
Brings from pain a comfort there,
Creating thus a treasure rare.

And we, the children of the Lord,
Fnd that trouble oft' affords
A time to call upon His name
When in distress we are, or pain.

And glory, thus, from suffering,
Becomes our rallying cry and theme.
Our comfort is His Presence fair,
And, oh, 'tis pleasant to be there.

And thus the gates of pearl are made;
Oh, ye gates, lift up your heads!
The King of Glory shall come in,
And thus through suff'ring we shall reign.

God, You're Good

My daughter wrote this - it's worth sharing.

God you're good.
If you give me what I deserve, you're good,
If you withold it from me and instead, bless me with grace, you're good.
If you provide for me, and give me peace, you're good,
If you take it all away and leave me frustrated and humiliated, you're good, you're still good.
If you bless me with sleep and health, you're good,
If you sit with me through waking hours and sickness, you're good, you're still good.
If I see your promise in this lifetime, you're good,
If it greets me at heaven's gates and not a minute sooner, you're good, you're still good.
I trust your nature, your name, your promise,and your will,
Because you're good, you're still good

Press In

The story of the woman with the issue of blood can be found in Luke 8:43. I once had the privilege of hearing C.M. Ward, the great Pentecostal preacher, preach on this story. He surmised that the woman, who could not press through the crowd in her weakened condition, must have then crawled through the crowd on her hands and knees; why else would she have touched the hem of His garment, except she were down that low? I incorporated that thought in this poem.

She said in her heart "Oh, if only
I could touch just the hem of His robe,
I'd be well, I'd be whole, and completely
Would stop all the blood that has flowed."

She'd spent all her money on doctors;
No better was she, but indeed,
She was worse for they never could help her;
And so she continued to bleed.

Then one day she heard Jesus was passing
And went out to where He would be.
But she found that the great throng was pressing
The Master; she hardly could see

The One who she knew that could heal her,
The One whose sweet touch she so craved.
The crowd was all thronging about Him,
And she knew that if He were to save

On that day that she'd have to be bolder
Than ever before she had been;
And so, in her weakened condition
She took hold and began to press in.

She struggled past women and children
And folks who were stronger than she,
Past seekers and beggars lepers,
And then she fell down to her knees

And struggled past people who kicked her
And spat on her as she crawled by;
She had to, just had to, see Jesus,
To see Him or else she would die.

At last she finally had reached Him
And stretched forth her hand to His robe,
Immediately sensing His virtue
And receiving His power as it flowed.

"Who touched me?" cried Jesus, "'tis someone
With faith and with such a great need;"
"Everyone," said His disciples,
"Everyone's near You, indeed."

"Woman," He said as He saw her,
"Such faith has gained your reward."
That day she knew that she always
Would remember His kind, gracious words.

And oh, let us press into Jesus,
Past all that would hinder and hold,
Past religion and habit and custom,
And tradition and doctrine so cold;

'Til we touch Him! Oh, let us touch Jesus,
For we'll find in Him all that we need;
He only, He ever, can help us,
And we'll find that His grace will exceed

All of our prior expectations
And all that we've ever been told.
Just one touch will change us forever -
Let us press in and be bold.

The Good Shepherd

Perhaps some day we'll know how very much He loves us. Maybe this little poem will help in that realization.

I am the lost, lonely, poor little lamb
Jesus came looking to save;
So far away had I wandered that day,
I am sure I'd be now in my grave

If the Shepherd had not left the others alone
To come and to look for me there.
So frightened was I, I could do naught but cry,
And he heard my sad cry as a prayer.

Oh, why had I wandered so far away?
Why had I gone on my own?
The grass looked so green and the meadow so fair,
But I ended up there so alone.

A delight to the eye were the things I had seen,
They were such an attraction to me;
They called out to me and they beckoned me on
And I blindly went where they did lead.

But the beautiful sights that seemed such a delight
Turned to thorns and to thistles so sharp;
Then the rain and the cold and the fog took a hold
And imprisoned me there in the dark.

My flesh had been torn by the briars and thorns,
I was lonely and hungry and cold;
I wanted no more than be found and returned
To where I had strayed from the fold.

O'er the wind as it howled came a sound to my ears
I'll remember for eternity;
Through the rain that was falling my shepherd was calling
My name, he was searching for me.

"Here am I, here am I," was my faint, feeble cry,
"Over here in the thicket so sharp;
Here I am, here I am, your lost, little lamb -"
He was coming to me in the dark.

Then at last I was found as o'er the rough ground
He came up the mountain so steep.
I looked and I saw with wonder and awe
The wounds in his hands and his feet.

Then I saw in the rain all the blood and the pain,
All the anguish he suffered for me;
For me who was lost he had paid such a cost
For my freedom and my liberty.

I scarcely could stand so he reached out his hands
And lifted me up to him there.
Wrapped in his embrace, I looked on his face,
And saw there not raindrops, but tears.

"I have found you at last, through the storm and the blast,
I have looked for you both low and high.
Come, let's go home, my dear, precious one,
And we'll never more part, you and I."

Then he carried me along on his shoulders so strong
And he sang me a song on the way -
"Thou art mine, I am thine, and in me you'll find
All you'll need for now and always."

Oh, he loves me, I know, but how is it so,
That one so unworthy as I
Could merit like this the joy and the bliss
Of being thus with him so nigh?

Why should he care to look for me there
In the terrible place I had strayed?
To leave all behind and seek me to find?
Why pay the great price that he paid?

Oh, 'tis love I've heard of, that comes from above,
That sent him out looking for me;
'Twas love on a cross that paid all my loss
And set me eternally free.

Now the Shepherd and I dwell together for 'aye,
I'll nevermore, ne'er go astray.
I am His, He is mine, forever entwined,
Together for now and always.