tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64366323551208408302024-02-08T04:55:51.449-08:00The ProjectsAlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00890427758109978385noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436632355120840830.post-26931946591154355182009-09-27T21:09:00.000-07:002009-09-27T21:18:28.332-07:00SpinCyclical spins push forth pull back<br />Topple the head and disorient drum and stapes<br />Forward pushing stubborn momentum<br />Spokes somersault into revolution never slowing to gather themselves<br />Inertial forces command the unwilling motion of the reluctant<br /><br />"Stop"<br /><br />Allow my bearings to find me<br />But wheels of motion only gain speed<br />Ever quicker, the centrifuge threatens to separate my blood parts<br />No control.<br />The spin controls me but can't control itself<br />Velocity reaches out and overtakes gravity<br />Portions cannont be held<br />Freedom finds them and they detach to begin linear flight<br />Structure crumbles; comes to rest in motionless fragments<br />Ruins of uncontrollable physics.Alanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00890427758109978385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436632355120840830.post-87725699920589740622008-09-23T19:50:00.000-07:002008-09-23T19:58:15.112-07:00Hope<em>White-knuckled fist grasping the very last knot</em><br /> <em>of the Great Braided Chord.</em><br /><em>Pain gathers at the tips of calloused fingers</em><br /><em> taunting and promising relief if they only let go.</em><br /><em>Tendon and sinew shred as shoulders burn</em><br /><em> and threaten to escape socketed homes.</em><br /><em>Weight of painful experiences gathered over time</em><br /><em> pulls at finger and fist and shoulder.</em><br /><em>Only HOPE keeps burning hands from releasing.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Reach out your hands and clutch the darkness.</em><br /><em> Brush it away and only more dark fills its place.</em><br /><em>Steps taken are unknown and unseen</em><br /><em> on this path whose light has long since extinguished.</em><br /><em>Trip and stumble on those obstacles placed</em><br /><em> specifically for your feet.</em><br /><em>Fear is crippling the long unknown walk</em><br /><em> into uncharted places of uncontrolled danger.</em><br /><em>Only HOPE motivates the next dark step.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>What choice do we have?</em><br /><em>Letting go of the rope assures our destruction</em><br /><em> and standing still and alone in the dark is no life at all.</em><br /><em> But, there is always HOPE.</em>Alanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00890427758109978385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436632355120840830.post-67740363310734916112008-04-24T20:45:00.000-07:002008-04-24T21:17:10.417-07:00PursuitLately I've felt the weight of knowing that the majority of things I've been striving for and working towards will not last more than a decade and will break or rust and end up in the garbage. Even knowing this, I still work just as hard for these things. This is my attempt to explain. Hope it makes sense.<br /><br /><em>The pursuits of my heart chase after mere things.</em><br /><em>Whatever value inherently exists within these trinkets, </em><br /><em>I terminate on the wind-blown desires of my fickle imagination.</em><br /><em>My soul aches for divine communion.</em><br /><em>Yet, in response, I reach for the absurd and mundane.</em><br /><em>Efforts to pacify the inward hunger by misdirection and slight of hand,</em><br /><em>only serve to increase the unquenched appetite and distend my starving spirit.</em><br /><em>What healing would it bring if only I heard a single word from You?</em><br /><em>What fullness would I gain from a vision of my Savior?</em><br /><em>What warmth would accompany a slight hint of Your life-giving breath?</em><br /><em>Where can I go to find that which sustained those ancient men?</em><br /><em>I thirst for Your guidance.</em><br /><em>But my evil soul flees from Your presence.</em><br /><em>It kidnaps and carries me on its broad shoulder of stubborn conceit</em><br /><em>as I strain to reach back and call out for Your rescue.</em><br /><em>Greed and selfish desire hold me hostage.</em><br /><em>The self imposed chains of worldly pursuit have anchored me to this immovable stone.</em><br /><em>I cannot break free from my junkyard prison.</em><br /><em>My only hope is in Your release.</em>Alanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00890427758109978385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436632355120840830.post-43093608759608243782008-02-06T21:44:00.000-08:002008-02-06T21:55:20.173-08:00Form Prayer 1NT Wright talked about prayer in <strong>Simply Christian. </strong>He wrote about form prayers being effective and the current trend in Christianity of folks thinking that a prayer has to be completely original in order to be acceptable to God. I tend to hold to the opposite belief. There are prayers written by other dudes that can send me deep into the meaning of God's nature and help me focus on certain aspects of my life.<br /><br />This is a short form prayer I wrote in the last few days. I started thinking about all the things that went through my head when Dad was really sick. These thoughts were developed when I came to the realization that God might not have given my father Pancreatic Cancer so that he could beat it.<br /><br /><br /><em>Great God of evening and morning</em><br /><em>Keep this night from overtaking me</em><br /><em>And if I must face this darkness</em><br /><em>walk the unlit path before me.</em>Alanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00890427758109978385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436632355120840830.post-51433782213221742072008-01-14T17:03:00.000-08:002008-01-14T17:31:50.033-08:00Prodigal Returns HomeThe stench of my sin heralds my arrival from a distance.<br />Remnants of my companion swine.<br />Odor assaults you from the shadows.<br />Stalks you from the very places where I cursed your name.<br />Filthy dirt of foreign lands covers and cloaks my hands<br />Guilt gorges at the great banquet table of my sin.<br />Never satisfied, it hounds my thoughts and memories<br />and holds for ransom your great name.<br />Your gracious gift of sonship, waste it no longer on me.<br />For I have scorned your paternity.<br />Inheritance manufactured through blood and thorns and splinter and callous, you gave with joy.<br />I have trampled your gifts like sand in the street.<br />My greed driven thirst, unquenchable.<br />Do not run to meet me on the road<br />Preserve your righteous energy.<br />Save your rings and robes and livestock feasts for the sons who were true.<br />Save your affection for the worthy ones.<br />Give me only your feet to wash.<br />Reserved for your purpose is the balance of my life.<br />Use me in your service until my last breath.<br />A slave, no longer a son.Alanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00890427758109978385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436632355120840830.post-41604170805636765362008-01-10T18:29:00.000-08:002008-01-10T18:30:47.543-08:00Only GodOur God is the only God.<br />He gives breath in the morning and rest at night<br /> He brings the sun to its warming work and soothes the earth with its daily retreat.<br />He lays his hand of mercy on those who have rejected his presence.<br /> He protects the souls of those loyal.<br />For his name’s power grows when he shows mercy.<br /> And the faithful trust him through their pain.<br />Our God is the only God.<br />He gives freely from his abundance and his heart is open to all.<br /> He brings the rains of catharsis and the thirsty gain strength from his waters.<br />He lays his Child of Promise on the splintered altar of Redemption.<br /> He cleanses the hands of the guilty.<br />For his son is given in agony<br /> While the faithless targets drive the spikes.<br />Our God is the only God.Alanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00890427758109978385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436632355120840830.post-48592280921863517572008-01-10T18:25:00.000-08:002008-01-10T18:29:12.919-08:00BrokenAll creation is bent eternal.<br />The winds howl their chilled requests<br /> confused to the North and South.<br />The trees creak and crack and moan<br /> as ring upon ring upon ring surrounds.<br />The oceans project their rage with white crested waves and squalls<br /> in perpetual demand, “How Long?” “How Long?”<br />The birds sing a sweet verse and cease<br /> waiting as if response will free their song.<br />Scorched sand of uninhabited land cries out<br /> through visible waves of heat, “I thirst”.<br />The plates of earth shift and shake with violent collision<br /> laboring simply to find their footing.<br />Cancers perform their victory songs<br /> for multitudes of tear soaked faces.<br />Man is weary;<br /> hunted down by the fixed sum of his numbered days.<br />The gentle voice of liberation<br /> Whispers from the throne<br /> “soon. very soon.”Alanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00890427758109978385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436632355120840830.post-66941008887539191032008-01-08T20:01:00.000-08:002008-01-10T10:10:05.761-08:00Shopping Cart<span style="font-family:georgia;">My dogs run through their high quality "Science Diet" food quicker than Tom Brady and Randy Moss through a high school secondary full of one-legged defensive backs. Every two and a half weeks or so, they run out and I have to go to PetSmart. I like PetSmart over Petco because I prefer the mildly clever double meaning of PetSmart (Pet Smart or Pets Mart) over the lame slogan of "where the pets go". Earlier this week, I made the pilgrimage in the middle of one of the last shopping days before Christmas. </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Rolling by the entrance to Barnes and Noble, my mind filed through the Rolodex-like queue of books I'd like to purchase from my favorite volume bookseller. At any given point in time, there are 30-40 books of varying genre in this wishlist of sorts and I'm somehow able to keep a perpetual tally in my head. Somewhere between Odd Thomas (Dean Koontz is a personal hero of mine) and the new memoir by Clarence Thomas, a woman in the parking lot draws my attention and breaks me from my literary bliss. The woman is pulling a large bag of gourmet dog food out of her shopping cart and loading it into the back of her luxury SUV (I am aware of the make and model of said SUV but I do not wish to besmirch or indirectly slander the image of this manufacturer any more than a certain oft-injured Auburn Tiger.)</span><br /><br />The weight of the bag was sufficient to keep the cart stationary but its displacement set the shiny beast free to roam the vast parking lot savannah in search of prey. Seeing the incident unfold, I stopped my car about 50 feet away. As the cart began to creap away from the woman who had turned to put the dogfood in her car, I saw the thing slowly veer in my direction like a lethargic submarine in some dark deep ocean. I almost heard the slow whine sound that metal makes as it reacts to the intense water pressure of being far below sea level. The little joker had targeted me and was now increasing velocity to ramming speed.<br /><br />I saw the woman turn and as she realized she had a rogue cart, I got a glimpse of her face for the first time. Until now, her long dye treated blonde hair had concealed her age. I had assumed she was a 40-something housewife whose husband was no doubt a successful lawyer; a trial lawyer. Now that I had my first real look at her, I'd guess she's at least 70. Her eyes, sunken deep in their sockets, were dressed in immense amounts of shadow and liner. The skin on her face, although perfectly bronzed in color, was loose and pinched into leathery wrinkles from years of either tanning bed sessions or 3 week Summer trips to Cabo where she would spend 14 hours a day on the pristine beach. She was wearing a dark jacket with a collar made from the pelt of some rare vermin, jeans that were disgustingly form fitting and a pair of trendy light brown boots that rose from her ankle to the bottom of her denimed knee.<br /><br />If she had immediately reached for the cart, she would have been able to get at least one paw on it. Instead, she chose to fling her giant black leather purse into the back of her SUV before giving chase. By now, the cart had turned my way and she began to lumber towards it. The old girl moved pretty well...for an old girl. She quickly began to make up ground and it appeared she'd be able to tame the metal mustang. That is, until she slowed down.<br /><br />I could see the wheels turning in her head. Upon realizing that she was closing in, the woman slowed her speed in order to decrease the chances of looking foolish in front of complete strangers by falling on her tail. As if playing with some confused lab rat, coaxing the thing all around the cage with a nice piece of Gouda, the cart suddenly began to speed up. I immediately looked to the pavement in front of the cart. My eyes took on some kind of magical property that allowed them to zoom in and dissect angles and I saw the gentle grade of the sloped parking lot increase into an incline slightly steeper than a molehill. The cart was now traveling downhill.<br /><br />Panic blanketted the woman's face as she thought for the first time that this cart, this metal beast of burden, might just be able to outrun her. As she made eye contact with me, I saw her look of sheer panic slowly turn into an undeniable expression of apology. She had given up! Surrender. The cart, somehow sensing her weak energy, acquired a new gear of speed, determined to make her remember the day that she had been beaten by the little shopping cart that could.<br /><br />Always the warrior, I turned my steering wheel directly into the path of the victor of the recent race. The collision was deafening. The deep gong of initial contact followed by the dancing sonic chime aftershocks got the attention of the entire county. Birds were spooked from their telephone line perches. Dogs stopped barking and babies hushed their crying. Miles away, the lions and monkeys and llamas at the zoo stopped whatever it is that lions and monkeys and llamas do all day to simultaneously look to the sky in wonderment as if to exclaim "What the?" All the earth is silent.<br /><br />The woman walked up to my driver's side window with her hands covering her gaping mouth. I think she almost expected me to verbally berate her and then hit her with a crowbar. Before I could get my window rolled all the way down, she began with profuse apologies. I told her not to worry about it because my Japanese sedan was tough and could take a few licks. The woman, who had a surprisingly dulcet voice, continued to apologize but with a much more relieved tone. She assured me that there was no dent or scratch as she gathered her cart and dragged it back up the hill to her vehicle. I imagined the cart with its tail between its legs and ears drooped in shame.<br /><br />As I parked and began to enter the store, a man with a Ricky Ricardo (Cuban, I guess) accent smirked at me and whispered, "Luke out for dose roonaway carts. Veddy sneaky." I laughed harder than I had intended as a pimple faced kid in dire need of a haircut asked me if I'd like a cart.<br /><br />"Do you have one with brakes?"Alanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00890427758109978385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436632355120840830.post-91247878917196159902008-01-06T21:56:00.000-08:002008-01-10T10:07:31.429-08:00Image of the Unseen GodCol 1:15. This and the several verses after it, are pretty fascinating. Paul writes about Jesus being the visible manifestation of the God who cannot be contained by the laws of vision.<br /><br /><em><span style="font-family:georgia;">I once was lost out in the cold</span></em><br /><em>Jesus died to find my soul</em><br /><em>What once was broken, he made whole</em><br /><em>Image of the unseen God.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Giving up his princely throne</em><br /><em>Jesus left his Heavenly home</em><br /><em>Chose to face the cross alone</em><br /><em>Image of the unseen God.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Author of redeeming grace</em><br /><em>Jesus came to take my place</em><br /><em>Now I long to see his face</em><br /><em>Image of the unseen God.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Reconcile my heart again</em><br /><em>Blood of Jesus, cleanse within</em><br /><em>Present me holy, free from sin</em><br /><em>Image of the unseen God.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Jesus, Light to the darkness</em><br /><em>Shine so we can see the Father's Love.</em><br /><em>Jesus, image of holiness</em><br /><em>Clear our eyes to see the light of God.</em>Alanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00890427758109978385noreply@blogger.com2