Kate and Tommy Reprise

In Springtime, they wander through the flowers, walk in meadows, long, happy hours.  “A year this June,” Tommy said, “in yon church we will be wed.  You’ll meet me at the garden gate.  My carriage comes.  Don’t be late!”

Summer’s languid afternoon found Kate and Tommy on the ground, the picnic blanket spread, their hungry bodies to be fed.  “Not yet,” said Kate, “Mama counseled me to wait.  The pleasures of wedded life to be shared by man and wife.”  “I’ll wait 'til then, don’t be late.  Meet me at the garden gate.”

That Fall needles on the ground from dark green pine trees all around.  “Here, Love, lie with me on the duff.”  “Oh, Dear One,” said Kate, “That’s not enough.  I’ll hold and keep you evermore after we exit the church house door. I’ll meet you at the garden gate.  And, oh, Tommy, don’t be late!”

Winter's winds now harshly blow as Kate walks alone through the snow.  Her heart, though is far away for on this cold December day Tommy’s ship is hast'ning home and nevermore shall Tommy roam.  His last words to her had been, “Don’t be late; I’ll meet you at the garden gate."

And at June’s first full moon breezes aloft softly croon.  Kate in gown of white shimmering in evening’s light was waiting at half ‘til eight at end of lane, at the garden gate.

The moon is high, no longer evening; bright, starry sky.  Tommy’s horse and shay have not appeared this summer day.  Mama comes to hold Kate’s hand.  The girl sobs, “I don’t understand.  He said he’d meet me at garden’s gate; promised he would not be late.”

“Kate,” Mother said, her voice severe, “Each mid-June you have stood here.  Tommy’s ship went down, you know.  It’s time for you to let him go.  It’s now been eight long years.  Get up, sing again, and dry your tears.  Tommy cannot meet you at the gate; life marches on, and you’ll be late.

©2015 David W. Lacy

Are We Any Better?

Isaiah's Song of the Vineyard (Isaiah 5) is a lovely poem expressing God's loving treatment of his people (the vineyard) and yet the vineyard produces wild grapes (sin and rebellion).  The message becomes a prophecy of punishment for a people who have turned from God.*

This passage from the middle of the song which pronounces woes upon the wicked was certainly intended for the leaders in the Judah of Isaiah's day, yet might it not be instructive for us yet today?

"Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil;
that put darkness for light, and light for darkness;
that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!

Woe unto them that are wise in their own eyes,
and prudent in their own sight!

Woe unto them that are mighty to drink wine,
and men of strength to mingle strong drink:

which justify the wicked for reward,
and take away the righteousness of the righteous from him!" (vv. 20-23)

Incidentally one of my favorite passages in the song appear in verse eight:
  
"Woe unto them that join house to house,
that lay field to field, till there be no place,
that they may be placed alone in the midst of the earth!"

Crowded populations, no place to find solitude.  Sound familiar? 

Grammarian at work:  "a people that is" vs. "a people who are."  There is some history at work here and a choice has to be made.  My first draft used the first form, the final draft the second.
 

The Preacher and Silly Matt

My father was a preacher who practiced his calling for seventy years.  It goes without saying that he prepared hundreds of sermons.  I have written about this a bit in the past but where I want to go here has to do with the papers he left behind.

I have file cabinets filled with notebooks in which he had stored his sermon outlines, clippings, anything germane to his interests, and that encompasses much of life's quirks, oddities, and yes, triumphs.

Several years ago I started to transcribe Dad's sermon outlines.  After a good number had been done I realized at some point that I was never going to complete the task.  I drifted on to other things and now I am hard pressed to recall even where the digital copies are stored.  Do I even still have the drive on which I stored them?  I am not as well-organized as some people are.

A few days ago I opened the bottom drawer of a four-drawer file cabinet and pulled out one of the notebooks it contained, one I had not gone through before. Yes, it contains sermon outlines, but also some odds and ends of this and that, including this little verse entitled "Silly Matt" which I remember having heard my father recite:

I feel so exceedingly silly,

I say what I shouldn't to ought.

My mind is as frail as a lily

'Twould break with the weight of a thought.

I am so exceedingly lazy

I neglect what I oughtn't to should.

My notion of work is so hazy

That I couldn't to toil if I would.

Fits Like a Glove

Every night when I begin to pray

I ask the Lord to help me say

How sorry I am, for mistakes I made

As I went about my busy day.

I ask for the will to forgive

Other people with whom I live

When others hurt me thoughtlessly

That I won't repay revengefully.

To help me do my best in every way

And look to God, He will repay

So many times I need some love

And His love always fits like a glove.

1 Peter 4:8: And above all things have fervent charity among yourselves: for charity shall cover the multitude of sins.  (KJV)

Gifts From God, Grace JoAnn Harrison Lacy, copyright 1995, 2014.  By permission of the author.

Shadow

My Shadow

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.

He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;

And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow—

Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;

For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,

And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.

He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,

And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.

He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see;

I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,

I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;

But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,

Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

Source: The Golden Book of Poetry (1947)