Howdy faithful readers. If you don't see an update for a few days it's just because I'm out of town until April 3rd and can't get to a computer to update my site. Don't give up on me though. Just check back next Saturday night and I'll have lots to share with you. Until then, remember to help mom in the kitchen and always drink upstream from the herd.
As iron sharpens iron,
Frank Carpenter
PS: In the mean time, sure would appreciate it if you'd click on my email link and send me note to let me know if you've been reading and what you think.
Saturday, March 27, 2004
Friday, March 26, 2004
Crossing the Jordan
Crossing the Jordan
Today, let us consider a lesson from the Old Testament. After Moses lead God’s people out of Egypt, across the Red Sea and through the wilderness, they came at last to the brink of the promised land. They were on the border of Canaan, which God had promised to them as an inheritance long before. This was the very fulfillment of the covenant God had made with Abraham. Moses chose twelve spies, one from each of the tribes of Israel, and sent them across the Jordan to reconnoiter the land. While two of the spies brought back glowing reports, ten of them returned whining about giants and fortified cities and the like. Needless to say, the people rose up and began to complain about how God had been unfaithful to them and brought them out of Egypt only to die somewhere else. These were the very same people who observed the plagues of the exodus, saw the Red Sea parted, followed a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, and ate manna from God every day. They were, as a nation, first hand witnesses to the miraculous power of The Lord of Hosts. But they just didn’t get it, and God sentenced them to another forty years in the wilderness, until the entire older generation had died off. They died without receiving the promised land, even though they had stood at the very edge of it. How many times have we come to a Jordan River in our own lives? We stand there, looking across at how beautiful it is. We sure would like to be there, but even in spite of having God on our side, we are still too fearful to enter that promised land. We choose to remain in exile because we haven’t enough faith in God to depend on His guidance and protection. In short, we view God as too small to overcome the big things in our lives. Have you found yourself standing at that very place in your own life? Before you turn to wander back out into the desert hit your knees, get some wise council, read the bible and take a second look at whether you can trust God enough to cross over. Wilderness or promised land? That seems like it should be easy choice. Take a deep breath and step into the river.
Crossing the Jordan
Once again, we stand at the Jordan
Looking over the promised land
God says, “Isn’t beautiful, take it!
I deliver it into your hands.”
Yet, we are afraid to claim it
We haven’t the faith to match our fears
So we turn back toward the wilderness
To wander out there for a few more years
We who have spoken so boldly
What must the Lord God think of us
When He hands us manna every day
But we never learn how to trust
We wail and beg for mercy
“Lord, there are giants in the land!
Surely, there must be another way.”
But we simply don’t understand
That our God stands ready to give us
Whatever we’re willing to claim
Yet His victory is reserved for those
Who will faithfully call on His name
So when you stand at the River Jordan
And the promised land lies in view
Step into the water and march across
For your God will deliver you
By Frank Carpenter ©
Today, let us consider a lesson from the Old Testament. After Moses lead God’s people out of Egypt, across the Red Sea and through the wilderness, they came at last to the brink of the promised land. They were on the border of Canaan, which God had promised to them as an inheritance long before. This was the very fulfillment of the covenant God had made with Abraham. Moses chose twelve spies, one from each of the tribes of Israel, and sent them across the Jordan to reconnoiter the land. While two of the spies brought back glowing reports, ten of them returned whining about giants and fortified cities and the like. Needless to say, the people rose up and began to complain about how God had been unfaithful to them and brought them out of Egypt only to die somewhere else. These were the very same people who observed the plagues of the exodus, saw the Red Sea parted, followed a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, and ate manna from God every day. They were, as a nation, first hand witnesses to the miraculous power of The Lord of Hosts. But they just didn’t get it, and God sentenced them to another forty years in the wilderness, until the entire older generation had died off. They died without receiving the promised land, even though they had stood at the very edge of it. How many times have we come to a Jordan River in our own lives? We stand there, looking across at how beautiful it is. We sure would like to be there, but even in spite of having God on our side, we are still too fearful to enter that promised land. We choose to remain in exile because we haven’t enough faith in God to depend on His guidance and protection. In short, we view God as too small to overcome the big things in our lives. Have you found yourself standing at that very place in your own life? Before you turn to wander back out into the desert hit your knees, get some wise council, read the bible and take a second look at whether you can trust God enough to cross over. Wilderness or promised land? That seems like it should be easy choice. Take a deep breath and step into the river.
Crossing the Jordan
Once again, we stand at the Jordan
Looking over the promised land
God says, “Isn’t beautiful, take it!
I deliver it into your hands.”
Yet, we are afraid to claim it
We haven’t the faith to match our fears
So we turn back toward the wilderness
To wander out there for a few more years
We who have spoken so boldly
What must the Lord God think of us
When He hands us manna every day
But we never learn how to trust
We wail and beg for mercy
“Lord, there are giants in the land!
Surely, there must be another way.”
But we simply don’t understand
That our God stands ready to give us
Whatever we’re willing to claim
Yet His victory is reserved for those
Who will faithfully call on His name
So when you stand at the River Jordan
And the promised land lies in view
Step into the water and march across
For your God will deliver you
By Frank Carpenter ©
Thursday, March 25, 2004
The Undone
OK, the past is the past and there’s no changing that. Likewise, far be it from me to assign any guilt thereto related to anyone but myself. Nonetheless, I think we all have a tendency to gaze off into the past and regret certain things. Often, those things will be what we meant to get around to ... and never did. Some of those regrets will be so insignificant that they are better laid completely to rest. However, many people (myself included) carry around the memory of several wrong turns we would like to backtrack and make a turn at. We have some worthy dreams and callings that, for some reason or other, never got pursued. It’s never too late. Does that mean one should abandon his or her family obligations to run off and join the circus? May it never be. Yet there are many course corrections which still could be made in order to shorten the “regret list.” Even for those of us who still haven’t decided what we would like to be when we grow up, there’s still time. Work-a-holic? Chronic procrastinator? Unfulfilled dreamer? Closet missionary? Someone who just wants to be a better parent or child? Don’t give up. Life isn’t perfect, nor will it ever be, but the saddest life is one where a person has given up completely. Sure, there are things we haven’t done, important tasks we never got around to. Perhaps we should transfer them from the liability column into the opportunity column and see where that takes us. For however deep the roots of the past may run, the future is still essentially a blank slate, an empty canvas. There is much yet to be done.
The Undone
The most wretched demons I have known
Are the deeds I have left undone
As the weeks and months and years have flown
Leaving countless things hardly begun
How many a lofty dream, like sand
In the hourglass of my days
Slipped through the grasp of my idle hands
Until it drifted completely away
The things I always proclaimed I’d do
The projects I meant to start
Mock me for failing to see them through
Breaking, as waves, upon my heart
What of the risks I dared not take
The unlooked for things not found
The noblest gestures, for heaven’s sake
Which I left scattered across the ground
Undaunted am I by what lies ahead
The future holds but little fear
Yet, over my shoulder ever lurks
Dreaded ghosts of wasted years
But I must look back, lest I forget
Those demons of things undone
And find resolve, through my regret
To keep from spawning another one
By Frank Carpenter ©
The Undone
The most wretched demons I have known
Are the deeds I have left undone
As the weeks and months and years have flown
Leaving countless things hardly begun
How many a lofty dream, like sand
In the hourglass of my days
Slipped through the grasp of my idle hands
Until it drifted completely away
The things I always proclaimed I’d do
The projects I meant to start
Mock me for failing to see them through
Breaking, as waves, upon my heart
What of the risks I dared not take
The unlooked for things not found
The noblest gestures, for heaven’s sake
Which I left scattered across the ground
Undaunted am I by what lies ahead
The future holds but little fear
Yet, over my shoulder ever lurks
Dreaded ghosts of wasted years
But I must look back, lest I forget
Those demons of things undone
And find resolve, through my regret
To keep from spawning another one
By Frank Carpenter ©
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Sand Castles
Today, I have chosen to dust off an old poem I wrote when my children were small. We live in a beach community and, consequently, my kids used to spend a great deal of time on the beach. One day I was watching them build sand castles and this poem happened. A cute little poem that captured the essence of a childish moment. However, when I came across it the other day I was suddenly stuck the implications to our adult lives. We grownups love to build houses and create comfortable lives around ourselves over the years. But as Christians, we know that the things of this world are, at best, temporary. Oh, they may last for years, even decades. Yet, in the end the waves of time and the tides of eternity will do their work and whatever we build will be finally washed away. God has so much more in store for us. Again and again, however, we find ourselves settling for sand castles. We must be careful what we are building, who we are building it for ... and if God will be honored by our actions.
Sand Castles
Upon the beach, at the water's edge
We build our castles there
Where imaginary knights of old
Stand guard o'er ladies fair
There, beneath the summer sun
For endless hours we'd play
Constructing kingdoms grand and fine
Which soon would wash away
By Frank Carpenter ©
Sand Castles
Upon the beach, at the water's edge
We build our castles there
Where imaginary knights of old
Stand guard o'er ladies fair
There, beneath the summer sun
For endless hours we'd play
Constructing kingdoms grand and fine
Which soon would wash away
By Frank Carpenter ©
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
Works of Art
Far too often I feel undone. Every area of my life has the look of a work in progress, with scaffolding and tarps strewn about and most of the finish work barely begun. Physically, spiritually, intellectually, I'm just not quite there. Do you ever feel that way? I think we all do. I have hope, however, that God has a plan for my life and that He will eventually complete me ... even in spite of myself if need be. I look at my life and I see a blank canvas, a formless block of stone or clay. Yet, when God looks at us He is able to envision the finished product of our lives. I'm not sure exactly what He sees in me, but apparently He has the idea that I am at least a fixer upper. That glimmer of hope is what keeps me going when I want to give up on myself or those around me. God just isn't finished with us yet. In the book of Ephesians the apostle Paul wrote that "we are His workmanship," while in the book of Philippians Paul also wrote that "He who began a good work in you will perfect it." Does that mean that I don't have to do anything? May it never be. Rather, we should forge ahead because we know that somehow God will find a way to conform our lives to what He desires of them. I heard a wise man say once that "if God is done with us we will assume room temperature," meaning that if we're breathing we are still part of his plan. Therefore, let us make those raw materials available to God. Let us present our lives as a canvas to Him. May our hearts remain supple and willing to be molded by his hands. Rest assured that whoever we are, that whatever we've done, God can still make a masterpiece of our lives.
Work of Art
We are the granite and clay of the Lord
He skillfully sculpts each heart
Shaping and molding us in His love
We are His works of art
We are the score and God the composer
Crafting so painstakingly
Every moment we live so the notes of our lives
Form a beautiful symphony
We are God's canvas and medium
Awaiting the work of His hand
Already complete in the Master's mind
Who will finish us just as He planned
He is the painter, the potter, the poet
The artisan of the heart
With the Lord, every life is a masterpiece
We are His works of art
By Frank Carpenter ©
Work of Art
We are the granite and clay of the Lord
He skillfully sculpts each heart
Shaping and molding us in His love
We are His works of art
We are the score and God the composer
Crafting so painstakingly
Every moment we live so the notes of our lives
Form a beautiful symphony
We are God's canvas and medium
Awaiting the work of His hand
Already complete in the Master's mind
Who will finish us just as He planned
He is the painter, the potter, the poet
The artisan of the heart
With the Lord, every life is a masterpiece
We are His works of art
By Frank Carpenter ©
Monday, March 22, 2004
Gentleness
Gentleness. Here is a word which speaks volumes, yet does it so softly that we barely even notice. It is one of those quiet words that evokes the strongest of emotions, like a whisper, which sometimes demands more attention than a yell. We live in a world ruled to a great degree by the strong, the outspoken, the driven, the prideful. However, the force of gentleness is the power of the common man. The noise of the media, of politics, of the public world is like that of the crashing waves that beat against the shore. But the quiet force of gentleness is more like the tide. It can move mountains. It twists steel. It softens and changes hearts, but it does so slowly. The ebb and flow of simple people serving one another is what really changes the world. The real heros of this world aren't action heros. The real heros hug and care and pray the ugliness of human existence into submission, one heart at a time.
Gentleness
There is a strength in gentleness
not often understood
But the power of a gentle hand
can do the greatest good
One should never underestimate
the kind and gentle man
Who can change with love and patience
what the cruel one never can
Many a bloody victory
was won by the iron fist
But victory over the will means naught
if the heart and mind resist
It is only the kind and gentle man
who wins the heart as well
In the end his love and patience prevail
thus many a tyrant fell
Brute strength and anger drive away
the real person inside
But the gentle man is a confidant
in whom others seek to confide
His willingness to listen
also gives him the right to speak
His words are not the words of pride
and are heeded because they are meek
Politics and history
belong to the selfish and strong
Who love the limelight and the power
and the masses follow along
But down at the root of humanity
are the real heroes of life
Who change the world one heart at a time
bringing comfort through trial and strife
Who heal and help and sacrifice
on the front line every day
They make the world a better place
to live and work and play
For it is the kind and gentle man
who accepts with arms flung wide
The ones who chance to cross his path
without the prejudice of pride
His contribution might seem small
to those who don't understand
But he is the salt of a hurting world ...
and the instrument of God's hand
By Frank Carpenter ©
Gentleness
There is a strength in gentleness
not often understood
But the power of a gentle hand
can do the greatest good
One should never underestimate
the kind and gentle man
Who can change with love and patience
what the cruel one never can
Many a bloody victory
was won by the iron fist
But victory over the will means naught
if the heart and mind resist
It is only the kind and gentle man
who wins the heart as well
In the end his love and patience prevail
thus many a tyrant fell
Brute strength and anger drive away
the real person inside
But the gentle man is a confidant
in whom others seek to confide
His willingness to listen
also gives him the right to speak
His words are not the words of pride
and are heeded because they are meek
Politics and history
belong to the selfish and strong
Who love the limelight and the power
and the masses follow along
But down at the root of humanity
are the real heroes of life
Who change the world one heart at a time
bringing comfort through trial and strife
Who heal and help and sacrifice
on the front line every day
They make the world a better place
to live and work and play
For it is the kind and gentle man
who accepts with arms flung wide
The ones who chance to cross his path
without the prejudice of pride
His contribution might seem small
to those who don't understand
But he is the salt of a hurting world ...
and the instrument of God's hand
By Frank Carpenter ©
Sunday, March 21, 2004
Out of the Depths
Yesterday I had the good fortune of being out on a boat in the ocean with friends. Even though we live near the sea, sometimes I will forget its even there for weeks at a time. However, during our time yesterday, I was reminded of how important the ocean is to me and what a critical roll it has played in my life. Even though I am a devoted sailor and grew up messing about on the bay, the key role the ocean has had in my life is as a factor of my conversion. Prior to that time I was a steadfast agnostic, but the ocean was the large, unexplainable force in my life. Perhaps I even worshiped it. It was huge, powerful, deep, and held the promise of someday leading me away on an adventure. So it was that I spent many a night of my early adulthood sitting on the rocks above Pirates Cove gazing out over the sea, especially if the moon was full. That was my secret retreat and whenever I came up missing I was sure to be found there. It was also the place where I had countless conversations with friends who were attempting to love me into the family of God. In the end, I believe God used the song of the wind and the waves to whisper into the deepest places of my heart and draw me unto Him. It was after one of those long soul searching nights down alone by the shore that I finally made a decision to ask Jesus into my heart. Each of us discovers, or rather God reveals, some kind of metaphor or connection in our lives which leads us one day into His fold. For me, it was the ocean. May such wonders of creation always speak to our hearts ... and may we respond.
Out of the Depths
I feel so very small sometimes
when I look upon the sea
Imagining its vast expanse
its awesome power and majesty
The sea was my one first true love
and the thing that I adored
The wonder of it pierced my heart
and brought me to my Lord
For I would not believe in God
or trust that He could be
However those who claimed I should
sought to prevail upon me
Their arguments were well rehearsed
and true enough, I deemed
But I required something more
I lacked the key it seemed
Yet, God called upon His advocate
the mighty sea I loved so dear
Which softened up my heart in time
and sought to draw me near
How many times He called to me
as I sat upon the land
In a thundering voice I could not hear
but longed to understand
Countless nights I sat alone
and gazed across the sea
So unaware that every wave
was God's own call to me
Yet God wore down my disbelief
as ocean waves might do
And brought me to the moment when
my life-long search was through
He piloted my restless soul
to quiet waters and a quay
Where He came aboard my empty heart
and promised He would stay
And now, all these year later
I pause to look out on the swells
And thank God for the choice He brought me to
for it has served me well
I thank Him for the beauty
and the power of the sea
From which He chose to reach out
and take hold of such as me
May I ever gaze upon it and
in so doing, see His face
Rediscovering His majesty
and the wonder of His grace
By Frank Carpenter ©
Out of the Depths
I feel so very small sometimes
when I look upon the sea
Imagining its vast expanse
its awesome power and majesty
The sea was my one first true love
and the thing that I adored
The wonder of it pierced my heart
and brought me to my Lord
For I would not believe in God
or trust that He could be
However those who claimed I should
sought to prevail upon me
Their arguments were well rehearsed
and true enough, I deemed
But I required something more
I lacked the key it seemed
Yet, God called upon His advocate
the mighty sea I loved so dear
Which softened up my heart in time
and sought to draw me near
How many times He called to me
as I sat upon the land
In a thundering voice I could not hear
but longed to understand
Countless nights I sat alone
and gazed across the sea
So unaware that every wave
was God's own call to me
Yet God wore down my disbelief
as ocean waves might do
And brought me to the moment when
my life-long search was through
He piloted my restless soul
to quiet waters and a quay
Where He came aboard my empty heart
and promised He would stay
And now, all these year later
I pause to look out on the swells
And thank God for the choice He brought me to
for it has served me well
I thank Him for the beauty
and the power of the sea
From which He chose to reach out
and take hold of such as me
May I ever gaze upon it and
in so doing, see His face
Rediscovering His majesty
and the wonder of His grace
By Frank Carpenter ©
Saturday, March 20, 2004
Praises From the Past
For a change today, I thought I'd climb off my ethical and relational soap box and just pause to observe a moment which touched me deeply. I attend a relatively plain, non-denominational church, but I appreciate much of the beauty and rich tradition of our religious heritage. Wherever I go, I love to poke my head into churches, especially old ones, and take in what they have to offer. On the particular morning of this poem I was in the town of Besancon, in France, and we wandered into a beautiful old cathedral. It was, like so many of its counterparts, a veritable museum of church history and imagery. As I took in the scene, it seemed as if I could hear the praises of our religious ancestors still echoing within the cavernous sanctuary. There are those moments when we seem to connect ... with the past, with the future, with other people and with God. That was one of those moments. My hope and prayer for each of us is that we will pause during key moments in our lives and be willing to let our experiences touch us deeply. Whether it's a sunset, a perfect tree, the song of a child, a poem, or merely a moment of blissful silence. If we approach lives with an open heart, then we may well hear the still, small voice of God whispering upon the breeze ... or through the rafters of an old church.
Cathedral Saint Jean
We stand, in awe, beneath the dome
Of Besancon's Cathedral St. Jean
Watched over by the saints above
Who share each fresco scene
The apostles look on knowingly
Their faces hewn of stone
With so great a cloud of witnesses
No believer is ever alone
The cherubim and seraphim
From every arch bring laud
That humble men may bow their knees
Before the holy God
Choirs from the ageless past
Still echo joyfully
Their voices etched into the stone
Sing out eternally
And even in the silence
In the vastness of this place
The voices of ten thousand angels
Sing out of His grace
I sit alone in one of countless pews
As have saints from countless days
Overwhelmed by how this vast cathedral
Echos back my praise
By Frank Carpenter ©
Cathedral Saint Jean
We stand, in awe, beneath the dome
Of Besancon's Cathedral St. Jean
Watched over by the saints above
Who share each fresco scene
The apostles look on knowingly
Their faces hewn of stone
With so great a cloud of witnesses
No believer is ever alone
The cherubim and seraphim
From every arch bring laud
That humble men may bow their knees
Before the holy God
Choirs from the ageless past
Still echo joyfully
Their voices etched into the stone
Sing out eternally
And even in the silence
In the vastness of this place
The voices of ten thousand angels
Sing out of His grace
I sit alone in one of countless pews
As have saints from countless days
Overwhelmed by how this vast cathedral
Echos back my praise
By Frank Carpenter ©
Friday, March 19, 2004
Welcome Hugh Hewitt linkers!
Yesterday, Frankly Speaking was added as a link on Hugh Hewitt's blog roll under "God Squad." That's great news because it will allow me to reach more people. I've added a link back to Hugh's site so be sure to check it out as well if you haven't been there before. I have also added a better link to email me with. Give it a try-I'd sure like to hear from you and know what you think, especially if you're a new reader! It helps to know who's listening and it also provides encouragement to keep writing. Until then, stay tuned for more.
The Sword of Silence
Far too often we catch ourselves saying too much and wishing we could take back the words spoken. That theme has certainly been well explored. My thoughts today, however, wander over towards the side of saying too little. There are so many things that people need to hear us say. Besides the obvious "I love you" so often withheld, folks just need to know our feelings, the details of our past, our political views ... the truth. That can, of course, be a frightening thing and our world is filled with people who hide behind being the strong, silent type, being a martyr, simply avoiding conflict, you name it. Yet, we do a disservice to those whom we interact with when we choose to withhold too much of ourselves. There are certainly times not to speak out of courtesy, or to avoid betraying a trust. Truth must also not be employed as a vicious weapon. On the whole, however, we hold back too much and some folks will go to their graves with far too much left unsaid. They seem willing to let their marriages or other relationships be destroyed in order to avoid the discomfort of speaking their minds. We are social beings and were built to express our thoughts and feelings to others. It's just plain old good therapy as well, for all parties involved. So let's consider what we have been holding back. What is it that our spouses and children have been waiting to hear? What have we withheld from our parents or friends? Now, take a deep breath and take the plunge into better communication.
The Sword of Silence
Perhaps more potent than speech itself
is the elusive, unspoken word
Sometimes the cruelest message we convey
is the one which goes unheard
How much love, how much compassion
have been withheld, and so denied
By those who could not find the words
or buried them with pride
How many a child, a spouse, a friend
has waited in vain to hear
The words of approval they needed so
the very words they would hold so dear
Instead, they receive the silent treatment
which cuts through their hearts like a knife
Bringing pain no spoken word could bring
and crippling them for life
Even the difficult words cry out
to be laid on the table and shared
For we do a disservice to those we love
whenever the truth is spared
We tend to avoid the issues which
cannot be easily discussed
Yet, averting conflict in such a way
is also a breech of trust
We need to say the uncomfortable things
otherwise, they can never be solved
Silence is merely the coward's shield
to make progress we must get involved
Don't be the strong and silent type
or too shy to speak your mind
We need to say what we really feel
to do otherwise is simply unkind
But we also need to hear ourselves
say the words we fear so to speak
For a heart, unburdened, withers with time
growing cold and hard and weak
Just as we must do what has to be done
we must say what has to be said
Our feelings and thoughts, left unexpressed
might just as well be dead
So don't hold back, be bold and speak
the first word is the hardest part
A clumsy word from an honest heart
isn't much, but it's a start
By Frank Carpenter ©
The Sword of Silence
Perhaps more potent than speech itself
is the elusive, unspoken word
Sometimes the cruelest message we convey
is the one which goes unheard
How much love, how much compassion
have been withheld, and so denied
By those who could not find the words
or buried them with pride
How many a child, a spouse, a friend
has waited in vain to hear
The words of approval they needed so
the very words they would hold so dear
Instead, they receive the silent treatment
which cuts through their hearts like a knife
Bringing pain no spoken word could bring
and crippling them for life
Even the difficult words cry out
to be laid on the table and shared
For we do a disservice to those we love
whenever the truth is spared
We tend to avoid the issues which
cannot be easily discussed
Yet, averting conflict in such a way
is also a breech of trust
We need to say the uncomfortable things
otherwise, they can never be solved
Silence is merely the coward's shield
to make progress we must get involved
Don't be the strong and silent type
or too shy to speak your mind
We need to say what we really feel
to do otherwise is simply unkind
But we also need to hear ourselves
say the words we fear so to speak
For a heart, unburdened, withers with time
growing cold and hard and weak
Just as we must do what has to be done
we must say what has to be said
Our feelings and thoughts, left unexpressed
might just as well be dead
So don't hold back, be bold and speak
the first word is the hardest part
A clumsy word from an honest heart
isn't much, but it's a start
By Frank Carpenter ©
Thursday, March 18, 2004
The Rock
This world we live in offers so many attractive things to cling to. It beckons, promising love, power, security, peace, enlightenment ... seemingly all that we could desire to make our lives complete, and more fulfilling. We have perfected the art of promotion so that what which is offered to us has the full benefit of advertising and presentation. Countless options float through our lives on a daily basis, each promising something different. A man or woman trying to discern what is best to follow, where to place his or her faith, can have easily become confused. In fact, everything looks so good that it can be difficult to select wisely from the myriad of choices. Where should we place our trust, our faith? The bible is clear that the things of this world are, at best, temporary. Stuff wears out. Houses burn down. The stock market crashes. Even people, sadly enough, often come and go, regardless of their vows or commitment to one another. When we choose the things of this world for the foundations of our lives we run the risk of having all that we have built be swept away by the inevitable storms of life, like the proverbial man who built his house up on the sand. In contrast, those who build their lives on faith in Jesus Christ have a firm foundation which will stand through the storms of life. He is a rock whose strength can be counted upon. Furthermore, such a foundation will last beyond this life. When you find yourself adrift, with your faith and strength waning, don’t reach for the driftwood that this world has to offer. Rather, put your faith in Jesus. He is the rock.
The Rock
A host of debris and flotsam
Will float through each man's life
Which may seem to offer a hand hold
But are scattered in times of strife
For the angry seas of circumstance
Are merciless in their ways
Smiting even the stoutest timbers a man
Might cling to on stormy days
Only the rock can support him
When the ebbing tides rush in
Any other foundation is folly
Like spring ice, grown tired and thin
Only the rock can withstand the force
That this world will bring to bear
On the fools who plunge into the depths
And, so often, are caught unaware
But the man who stands firm upon the rock
Has a foundation both strong and sure
He shall not be swept away
And what he builds there will endure
By Frank Carpenter ©
The Rock
A host of debris and flotsam
Will float through each man's life
Which may seem to offer a hand hold
But are scattered in times of strife
For the angry seas of circumstance
Are merciless in their ways
Smiting even the stoutest timbers a man
Might cling to on stormy days
Only the rock can support him
When the ebbing tides rush in
Any other foundation is folly
Like spring ice, grown tired and thin
Only the rock can withstand the force
That this world will bring to bear
On the fools who plunge into the depths
And, so often, are caught unaware
But the man who stands firm upon the rock
Has a foundation both strong and sure
He shall not be swept away
And what he builds there will endure
By Frank Carpenter ©
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
The Unforgiving Minute
Life is an endless series of moments, of minutes if you will, and many of them come with choices to make. They will consist primarily of small, seemingly insignificant choices, but some will turn out to be life changing ... even life defining. The secret, therefore, to living a life of honor, value and significance lies in the management of those choices. For every choice counts and move us in a particular direction. I love the end of Rudyard Kipling’s classic poem “If” which concludes with the words:
“If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds worth of distance run
Yours is the world and everything that’s in it
And, what is more, you’ll be a man, my son”
That “unforgiving minute” can take many forms, but as the sands of the hour glass slip through our fingers we must make decisions which will betray our true selves and shape our destiny. Regardless what we have said about ourselves or our beliefs, those choices we make moment to moment shall tell the story of our lives. Like gentle adjustments in the wheel of a ship, they direct our course and even seemingly minor corrections can make the difference between a safe passage and a disaster. There are potentially bad choices which we can back away from or easily correct, yet some will come along which must be bourn for a lifetime. So let us choose carefully, lest the unforgiving minute should catch us unawares. Let us seize each moment, each minute, and make it count.
The Unforgiving Minute
It matters little what folks think
Or how we compare with the rest
In the end, a man must prove himself
When it comes his time to test
For there are moments in each life
When words are simply not enough
When the mettle of a man is tried
And life will call his bluff
Then he finds himself come face to face
And standing all alone
Before the things he fears the most
And his true character is shown
When all his days and months and years
Shall finally culminate
In the unforgiving minute
Which is dealt each man by fate
That moment when he proves himself
To be either false or true
To that which he has long professed
And stood for hitherto
That single unforgiving minute when
His whole lifetime comes to bear
Showing him, at last, triumphant
Or pitching him into despair
Is the moment each man dreams of
And the moment each man fears
The sudden, unforgiving minute
Which defines him all his years
By Frank Carpenter ©
“If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds worth of distance run
Yours is the world and everything that’s in it
And, what is more, you’ll be a man, my son”
That “unforgiving minute” can take many forms, but as the sands of the hour glass slip through our fingers we must make decisions which will betray our true selves and shape our destiny. Regardless what we have said about ourselves or our beliefs, those choices we make moment to moment shall tell the story of our lives. Like gentle adjustments in the wheel of a ship, they direct our course and even seemingly minor corrections can make the difference between a safe passage and a disaster. There are potentially bad choices which we can back away from or easily correct, yet some will come along which must be bourn for a lifetime. So let us choose carefully, lest the unforgiving minute should catch us unawares. Let us seize each moment, each minute, and make it count.
The Unforgiving Minute
It matters little what folks think
Or how we compare with the rest
In the end, a man must prove himself
When it comes his time to test
For there are moments in each life
When words are simply not enough
When the mettle of a man is tried
And life will call his bluff
Then he finds himself come face to face
And standing all alone
Before the things he fears the most
And his true character is shown
When all his days and months and years
Shall finally culminate
In the unforgiving minute
Which is dealt each man by fate
That moment when he proves himself
To be either false or true
To that which he has long professed
And stood for hitherto
That single unforgiving minute when
His whole lifetime comes to bear
Showing him, at last, triumphant
Or pitching him into despair
Is the moment each man dreams of
And the moment each man fears
The sudden, unforgiving minute
Which defines him all his years
By Frank Carpenter ©
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
A Monkey's Uncle
Today, I delve into an arena which is certainly outside the area of my expertise. I approach the issues of evolution not so much from a scientific standpoint, but from a faith standpoint. I know what God's word says. I know that He has the power to do what He says ... and that's good enough for me. I submit, therefore, my satirical take and the subject. If you have wrestled with someone on this issue, perhaps the following poem would serve as a light hearted ice breaker to reopen the subject. It's also great for sharing with high school biology teachers. Anyway, I respectfully submit the following, which I hope may entertain as well as educate.
A Monkey's Uncle
When it comes to evolution
I'm never sure what I should think
Am I made in the image of the Lord
Or am I a missing link
Is my form, somehow, transitional
From chimps to something grand
Am I a monkey's uncle or
The work of my Creator's hand
Am I here at the top of the food chain
Because a God has willed it so
Or just by natural selection
How's a primate supposed to know
If his species is an accident
That cell mutation caused
Is there meaning, is there purpose
Or are there only Darwin's laws
Am I superior to all the other
Beasts, both deaf and dumb
Or just a talking ape who lucked out
When he grew opposing thumbs
Hey, since I'm the only animal
Who can think the thoughts I do
I'd like to think that there's a God
Who designed both me and you
That we're not just descended
From some egg or worm or spore
That crawled out of a murky ocean
On some ancient, slimy shore
I really hate to be the one
Who chops down the family tree
But someone's always trying
To make a monkey out of me
By Frank Carpenter ©
A Monkey's Uncle
When it comes to evolution
I'm never sure what I should think
Am I made in the image of the Lord
Or am I a missing link
Is my form, somehow, transitional
From chimps to something grand
Am I a monkey's uncle or
The work of my Creator's hand
Am I here at the top of the food chain
Because a God has willed it so
Or just by natural selection
How's a primate supposed to know
If his species is an accident
That cell mutation caused
Is there meaning, is there purpose
Or are there only Darwin's laws
Am I superior to all the other
Beasts, both deaf and dumb
Or just a talking ape who lucked out
When he grew opposing thumbs
Hey, since I'm the only animal
Who can think the thoughts I do
I'd like to think that there's a God
Who designed both me and you
That we're not just descended
From some egg or worm or spore
That crawled out of a murky ocean
On some ancient, slimy shore
I really hate to be the one
Who chops down the family tree
But someone's always trying
To make a monkey out of me
By Frank Carpenter ©
Monday, March 15, 2004
The Least of These
Like so many other people, I Live in a very safe little corner of the world. My little corner is isolated from much of the pain, poverty and suffering that occur every day. In fact, distracted by my own problems and responsibilities, it’s easy to forget about all the dreadful things going on throughout the larger world, even nearer at hand than I care to admit. I simply choose not to think about such things. Even though God has so richly loved and sacrificed on our behalf, we tend hoard our love and save it only for those who will be sure to love us back. However, the example of Jesus was to love all people and sacrifice and their behalf. If we are to follow His example, we need to smash the walls of glass which we have built around ourselves and step out into the larger world that so needs us to carry His love into it. In point of fact, in God’s economy at least, we have no right to waste our time, talent and treasures on ourselves. It’s time for us to remove the blinders we choose to wear in our everyday lives and step out in love on God’s behalf. We are His voice. We are His hands. We must be His love to this hurting world.
The Least of These
I know that look, the look of pain
I've seen it time and time again
In the eyes of children on the street
And people who just need to eat
I've seen it on the tired and old
Whose lives were spent on fool's gold
And lonely people everywhere
Who simply want someone to care
It's the face of poverty and need
Of famine, flood and tyrant's greed
The face that haunts me in the night
And even in the broad daylight
Imploring me to stop and care
Instead, I pass and blindly stare
Ahead, to comfort and security
And away from those who so need me
My pristine little world is safe
From homeless beggar and starving waif
But not from God, whom I asked in
Whose voice I hear above the din
Who pierces hardened hearts like mine
And melts the ice of stubborn minds
And calls me to reach out and care
For those in need and in despair
For Jesus feels every tear
He knows each pain and every fear
Those with hunger, heart ache and disease
Jesus knows the least of these
So if I turn my back on them
I have, in fact, done so to him
For only by the way I care
Will people know that God is there
Lord, break my heart and bend my knees
That I may love the least of these
By Frank Carpenter ©
The Least of These
I know that look, the look of pain
I've seen it time and time again
In the eyes of children on the street
And people who just need to eat
I've seen it on the tired and old
Whose lives were spent on fool's gold
And lonely people everywhere
Who simply want someone to care
It's the face of poverty and need
Of famine, flood and tyrant's greed
The face that haunts me in the night
And even in the broad daylight
Imploring me to stop and care
Instead, I pass and blindly stare
Ahead, to comfort and security
And away from those who so need me
My pristine little world is safe
From homeless beggar and starving waif
But not from God, whom I asked in
Whose voice I hear above the din
Who pierces hardened hearts like mine
And melts the ice of stubborn minds
And calls me to reach out and care
For those in need and in despair
For Jesus feels every tear
He knows each pain and every fear
Those with hunger, heart ache and disease
Jesus knows the least of these
So if I turn my back on them
I have, in fact, done so to him
For only by the way I care
Will people know that God is there
Lord, break my heart and bend my knees
That I may love the least of these
By Frank Carpenter ©
Sunday, March 14, 2004
Getting Out of the Boat
Some thoughts today on our faith. For those who are believers, every day should be a walk of faith. However, many of us who so willingly profess with our lips seem to stumble at the point of putting our faith into action. Even though we know what the bible says, we continue to keep our view of God in a box too small to be trusted for daily living, let alone for the greatest challenges we face. We say that God is all powerful and all knowing and pretty much omni-everything, yet we refuse to trust the details of our lives to Him. The strange thing is that life is an endless series of faith-actions. When I sit on a chair I exhibit faith the it will hold me. When I press the brake pedal in my car, I have faith the vehicle will stop. When I fly, I have faith in the pilot, but then I turn right around and prevent God from being the "pilot" of my life. I lack the faith to trust Him. Even the apostles struggled with this issue. After seeing countless miracles, they still doubted the ability of Jesus to protect them, to intervene in their lives. What we fail to realize is that faith is something that must be exercised, that grows with experience. We have to learn to trust God for those initial steps where the footing is unsure, even at the risk of failure. Sometimes, like Simon Peter, we simply have to take a deep breath and step out of the boat in faith. Is there risk? Is there danger? Certainly. However, perhaps the most dangerous thing to do by far ... is nothing.
Getting Out of the Boat
In the black of the night, the waves tossed the boat
And the roar of the wind filled the air
While the twelve weary men pulled, in vain, at the oars
They were frightened and close to despair
When Jesus appeared walking over the waves
Across the water, He came to their aid
Even though He had fed the five thousand that day
They couldn't believe, and the men were afraid
But Peter jumped up and cried, "Call to me, Lord
And I'll walk on the water to You!"
Jesus said, "Come." and Peter climbed out
Then he walked on the water too
The men in the boat, astonished, believed
Yet, though they had seen with their eyes
None, but Peter, stepped out of the boat with the Lord
None could muster the faith up to try
These were the men who had been with the Lord
Who'd seen Him heal the sick and the lame
Eleven disciples, the apostles, stood by
Unable to trust or to call on His name
How often we cower before the storm
Content to sit in the boat with the rest
Knowing well what the Lord has the power to do
But afraid to put faith to the test
Yet, God calls us to be more than soggy and scared
He calls us to stand up and fight
The storm still is raging, but Jesus says, "Come,
Who will walk on the water tonight?"
By Frank Carpenter ©
Getting Out of the Boat
In the black of the night, the waves tossed the boat
And the roar of the wind filled the air
While the twelve weary men pulled, in vain, at the oars
They were frightened and close to despair
When Jesus appeared walking over the waves
Across the water, He came to their aid
Even though He had fed the five thousand that day
They couldn't believe, and the men were afraid
But Peter jumped up and cried, "Call to me, Lord
And I'll walk on the water to You!"
Jesus said, "Come." and Peter climbed out
Then he walked on the water too
The men in the boat, astonished, believed
Yet, though they had seen with their eyes
None, but Peter, stepped out of the boat with the Lord
None could muster the faith up to try
These were the men who had been with the Lord
Who'd seen Him heal the sick and the lame
Eleven disciples, the apostles, stood by
Unable to trust or to call on His name
How often we cower before the storm
Content to sit in the boat with the rest
Knowing well what the Lord has the power to do
But afraid to put faith to the test
Yet, God calls us to be more than soggy and scared
He calls us to stand up and fight
The storm still is raging, but Jesus says, "Come,
Who will walk on the water tonight?"
By Frank Carpenter ©
Saturday, March 13, 2004
As a Man Thinketh
We all understand that actions speak louder than words and it is true that our actions will certainly confirm or betray much of the heart behind our words. However, there are times when our actions can amount to only so much window dressing for less noble hearts and minds. He who would live an honorable life, must also closely examine the motives and integrity of his own heart. Do we have a selfish agenda, a secret fear or fantasy, a need to be accepted? Sometimes our outward actions can be aimed at advancing or masking such things and we might not even realize it. In the end, the person we really are is determined by our thought lives. Do I smile politely while I secretly hate a person. Do I compliment when I am filled with envy? Is there lust behind small acts of chivalry? Is our opinion entirely different when whispered under our breath or behind closed doors? Our thoughts, being the meditations or our hearts, will eventually shape our character and, therefore, our actions in the long run. Our thoughts are the building blocks, the very foundations, of our future selves. It is a fine thing to live a good life. Ah, but how much the better by far to think a good thought life. Now that's food for thought.
As a Man Thinketh
As a man thinketh, so is he
For though his actions betray him not
The deeds of his heart condemn him still
If he cannot master his thought
If a man keeps the law to the letter, well done
He is ready to face the next part
For at this point the battle is only half won
He must now keep the law in his heart
What use are his actions, though noble enough
If his intentions are otherwise
Deeds of kindness are nothing but cruel lies
If hatred still burns in his eyes
Is faithfulness served by the body alone
When it harbors a mind full of sin
Or is it reckoned only to those who can slay
The adulterous demons within
He who would call himself righteous must look
Beyond the actions the world can see
To the hopes and the dreams and desires which form
The man he would choose to be
One cannot be humble who longs to be proud
Or pure if he wishes to stray
A man is what he is in his heart of hearts
When the trappings are all stripped away
A man is as he thinketh, no more and no less
And his actions have counted for naught
Unless they are affirmed by the deeds of his heart
Where all of his fiercest battles are fought
By Frank Carpenter ©
As a Man Thinketh
As a man thinketh, so is he
For though his actions betray him not
The deeds of his heart condemn him still
If he cannot master his thought
If a man keeps the law to the letter, well done
He is ready to face the next part
For at this point the battle is only half won
He must now keep the law in his heart
What use are his actions, though noble enough
If his intentions are otherwise
Deeds of kindness are nothing but cruel lies
If hatred still burns in his eyes
Is faithfulness served by the body alone
When it harbors a mind full of sin
Or is it reckoned only to those who can slay
The adulterous demons within
He who would call himself righteous must look
Beyond the actions the world can see
To the hopes and the dreams and desires which form
The man he would choose to be
One cannot be humble who longs to be proud
Or pure if he wishes to stray
A man is what he is in his heart of hearts
When the trappings are all stripped away
A man is as he thinketh, no more and no less
And his actions have counted for naught
Unless they are affirmed by the deeds of his heart
Where all of his fiercest battles are fought
By Frank Carpenter ©
Friday, March 12, 2004
Second Chances
Today, I take a detour through territory which might well fall into the “mind your own business” category. However, there are a lot of hurting people out there who’s lives might even look great on the outside while there are dreadful storms brooding at home. If this poem isn’t for you, then just come on back tomorrow. But if this poem tugs at your own heart or your own life, even a little, please re-read it carefully. What I have learned in my brief span of years is that there is always hope for those who are willing to earnestly pray and concede their own pride in the interest of that most cherished of institutions ... marriage. To my knowledge, the bible never instructs us to get married because we love each other. It only says that if you are married you should love one another unselfishly. That’s a great starting point for all of us.
Second Chance
I was just lying here in the darkness
You've been asleep for a while
I was just thinking back on the years we've shared
How we've filled them with triumphs and trials
And even though you're here beside me
Sometimes I just feel so alone
And the darkness between us keeps growing
'Till it threatens to break up our home
I was just lying here in the darkness
Which seems blacker than it's ever been
And my hopes for the future are waning
Like a pale winter moon and grown thin
How I long to just reach out and touch you
And to tell you we're over the worst
But instead I stare into the darkness
I'll be dammed if I'm giving in first
I'll be dammed if I don't, more than likely
Since we each have somebody to blame
But there are no winners, just losers
When you're playing this sort of a game
We have to stop hating and hurting
We need to start bridging the gap
Before our life crumbles around us
And our marriage turns into a trap
For no matter how hopeless is seems now
And no matter who's broken whose heart
There is always a chance we can rebuild
What we just finished tearing apart
With the help of our friends and our family
And the Lord we might just make it through
We just have to keep trying, we have to
So what else is there for us to do
But to work on forgiving and giving
And revisit the vows we once made
And start praying and praying and praying
And to pray like we never have prayed
That God will give us the strength and courage
And the love that we thought we had lost
And the faith in His will and each other
To keep trying whatever the cost
It's so easy to quit when you're broken
And it's tempting to just walk away
But we both know that isn't the answer
We just need to start trying today
By Frank Carpenter
Second Chance
I was just lying here in the darkness
You've been asleep for a while
I was just thinking back on the years we've shared
How we've filled them with triumphs and trials
And even though you're here beside me
Sometimes I just feel so alone
And the darkness between us keeps growing
'Till it threatens to break up our home
I was just lying here in the darkness
Which seems blacker than it's ever been
And my hopes for the future are waning
Like a pale winter moon and grown thin
How I long to just reach out and touch you
And to tell you we're over the worst
But instead I stare into the darkness
I'll be dammed if I'm giving in first
I'll be dammed if I don't, more than likely
Since we each have somebody to blame
But there are no winners, just losers
When you're playing this sort of a game
We have to stop hating and hurting
We need to start bridging the gap
Before our life crumbles around us
And our marriage turns into a trap
For no matter how hopeless is seems now
And no matter who's broken whose heart
There is always a chance we can rebuild
What we just finished tearing apart
With the help of our friends and our family
And the Lord we might just make it through
We just have to keep trying, we have to
So what else is there for us to do
But to work on forgiving and giving
And revisit the vows we once made
And start praying and praying and praying
And to pray like we never have prayed
That God will give us the strength and courage
And the love that we thought we had lost
And the faith in His will and each other
To keep trying whatever the cost
It's so easy to quit when you're broken
And it's tempting to just walk away
But we both know that isn't the answer
We just need to start trying today
By Frank Carpenter
Thursday, March 11, 2004
Is there intelligent life out there in cyber space?
Dear Readers,
Well, I've been pouring my heart into this blog for several weeks now. The question is, "is anyone reading it?" If you've been reading me, I'd sure love to hear. Of course my mom loves it, but I'd like to think I'm reaching more people. Who are you ... and what do you think?
So if it wouldn't be too much trouble, I beg you to drop me an email right now to frank@4-speed.com and let me know:
1. You have read the blog
2. What you think of it?
3. Do you check it regularly?
4. Have you passed it on to anyone else?
5. What would you like to hear about?
Your feed back would be instrumental in letting me know who I'm writing to. Also, it would answer the great philosophical question of the ages: "If I was a tree, and I fell in the forest, would anyone hear me?" Thanks for your help, and if you get back to me you will help to ensure that I continue on this current quest of creativity.
As iron sharpens iron,
Frank Carpenter
Poet at Large
Well, I've been pouring my heart into this blog for several weeks now. The question is, "is anyone reading it?" If you've been reading me, I'd sure love to hear. Of course my mom loves it, but I'd like to think I'm reaching more people. Who are you ... and what do you think?
So if it wouldn't be too much trouble, I beg you to drop me an email right now to frank@4-speed.com and let me know:
1. You have read the blog
2. What you think of it?
3. Do you check it regularly?
4. Have you passed it on to anyone else?
5. What would you like to hear about?
Your feed back would be instrumental in letting me know who I'm writing to. Also, it would answer the great philosophical question of the ages: "If I was a tree, and I fell in the forest, would anyone hear me?" Thanks for your help, and if you get back to me you will help to ensure that I continue on this current quest of creativity.
As iron sharpens iron,
Frank Carpenter
Poet at Large
Where God May be Found
Folks always seem to be looking for God. They go on retreats, try different churches, climb mountains, even travel to places like Mecca or Tibet. Their various searchings, in some cases, become akin to the proverbial quest for the Holy Grail. Even those who claim not to care about God at all, who may even deny His very existence, spend their lives looking for something to replace Him. They try money, houses, jobs, love, politics ... they want something to worship and give their lives value, something to be God in their lives. Sadly, we often end up chasing our tails. We hunger for those “near God” experiences where the mood and lighting are just right so that we feel like we’ve found Him. However, what so many of us fail to realize is that God, by definition, is everywhere. The Great irony of human existence is that God is never far from us, but we often choose to be far from Him. He’s already right where you are. Do you want to find God? I can save you a bundle on airfare and shoe leather. Pray. God will hear you, no matter where you are, no matter how clumsy the words seem to you, no matter how long it’s been. Simply pray, then let God take care of the rest.
Where God May be Found
Where can the Lord of hosts be found
Where does He dwell, you may ask
Where should the wise man seek for Him
If he undertakes such a task
Can He be found on a mountain top
Does He hide in the depths of the sea
Is He cloaked by the veil of thundering clouds
Oh where, on this earth, could He be
The Lord God does not hide himself
From the face of sinful men
Rather it is we who hide
From the Master, time and again
He is ever near, He seeks us out
And calls each man by name
Yet, we refuse to hear His voice
We are the ones to blame
Where can the Lord of hosts be found
Where does He hide his face
The ever present God of heaven
Has no single dwelling place
The man who would find the holy God
Needn’t travel far and away
God will be found by the humble man
Who will earnestly kneel and pray
Such a man soon discovers he needn’t search
For the God who is everywhere
He has assurance that wherever he goes
The Lord will meet him there
By Frank Carpenter ©
Where God May be Found
Where can the Lord of hosts be found
Where does He dwell, you may ask
Where should the wise man seek for Him
If he undertakes such a task
Can He be found on a mountain top
Does He hide in the depths of the sea
Is He cloaked by the veil of thundering clouds
Oh where, on this earth, could He be
The Lord God does not hide himself
From the face of sinful men
Rather it is we who hide
From the Master, time and again
He is ever near, He seeks us out
And calls each man by name
Yet, we refuse to hear His voice
We are the ones to blame
Where can the Lord of hosts be found
Where does He hide his face
The ever present God of heaven
Has no single dwelling place
The man who would find the holy God
Needn’t travel far and away
God will be found by the humble man
Who will earnestly kneel and pray
Such a man soon discovers he needn’t search
For the God who is everywhere
He has assurance that wherever he goes
The Lord will meet him there
By Frank Carpenter ©
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
The Quiet Places
Sometimes we need an antidote for our busy modern lives. When we reach those odd saturation points where we feel like we haven't seen the sun for ages and the entire world seems to be constructed of concrete, it becomes time to get outdoors. There is an inherent part of our genetic makeup that craves the wonder of creation, that yearns for open spaces. Every so often, we need to obey that part of ourselves and step out of our suburban surroundings for a time. It isn't necessary to go completely "Walden," but a nice hike, a bike ride, a walk on the beach, or even a night in a tent can do many people a world of good. The wilderness, even when taken in moderation, can whisper into a person's soul and tell him that all is well.
The Truest Words
Out amidst environs desolate
In the lonely, barren lands
Where the desert stretches out
Beyond the work of human hands
Where the silent stones stand watch
In their ancient, solemn hush
And the only sound that may be heard
Is the wind among the brush
And in that world of solitude
Where silence reigns supreme
A man may ponder undisturbed
He can think or pray or dream
He can wander aimlessly, perhaps
Where no foot has yet to tread
And listen to the quiet words
Most hearts have left unsaid
Where it seems there is no life
It thrives abundantly
Where it seems there are no words
Sometimes, the truest ones will be
A man has but to listen
With an open heart, a willing ear
To know the wisdom of the wilderness
Which few men ever pause to hear
By Frank Carpenter ©
The Truest Words
Out amidst environs desolate
In the lonely, barren lands
Where the desert stretches out
Beyond the work of human hands
Where the silent stones stand watch
In their ancient, solemn hush
And the only sound that may be heard
Is the wind among the brush
And in that world of solitude
Where silence reigns supreme
A man may ponder undisturbed
He can think or pray or dream
He can wander aimlessly, perhaps
Where no foot has yet to tread
And listen to the quiet words
Most hearts have left unsaid
Where it seems there is no life
It thrives abundantly
Where it seems there are no words
Sometimes, the truest ones will be
A man has but to listen
With an open heart, a willing ear
To know the wisdom of the wilderness
Which few men ever pause to hear
By Frank Carpenter ©
Monday, March 08, 2004
Precious Stones
Another lesson from my walks on the beach comes to mind today. My dear wife loves to wander the shoreline and gather pieces of broken glass which have been polished by the action of the waves. For her own enjoyment, she finds beauty and value in these "jewels." At the same time, she is also one who requires but little in the way of actual precious stones for her happiness. In the bigger picture, and certainly from an eternal perspective, perhaps her bits of polished glass have as much intrinsic value as any from a real jewelry store. It gives me pause consider the real value of many of the things which we posses. One thing I know, she is happier wandering the shore with a pocket full of glass than many women who have piles of diamonds in their safety deposit boxes. And happier makes all the difference.
Precious Stones
As she wanders down the shoreline, she stoops, just now and then
Surveying something on the beach and then she's off again
At intervals she pauses, in her journey down the sand
Recovering some precious stone which glints within her hand
Are they diamonds, are they emeralds, or rubies on the ground
What jewels has she discovered here, which no one else has found
At last the treasure hunter brings her prizes back to me
A pocket full of broken glass, washed and polished by the sea
Which we add to the collection she began so long before
Of countless other jewels like these, from countless other shores
A thing of beauty, I'm reminded, needn't be gems or gold
Such treasure brings but little comfort to the lonely and the old
I have known so many people who gathered real precious stones
Who collected gold and silver, and all such trappings one can own
Yet, it has never made them happy, and as the long years pass
They have rarely know the simple joy my treasure hunter finds in glass
And I'm content to fill my pockets with her treasures from the sea
Because she truly is a priceless gem ... who, somehow, treasures me
By Frank Carpenter ©
Precious Stones
As she wanders down the shoreline, she stoops, just now and then
Surveying something on the beach and then she's off again
At intervals she pauses, in her journey down the sand
Recovering some precious stone which glints within her hand
Are they diamonds, are they emeralds, or rubies on the ground
What jewels has she discovered here, which no one else has found
At last the treasure hunter brings her prizes back to me
A pocket full of broken glass, washed and polished by the sea
Which we add to the collection she began so long before
Of countless other jewels like these, from countless other shores
A thing of beauty, I'm reminded, needn't be gems or gold
Such treasure brings but little comfort to the lonely and the old
I have known so many people who gathered real precious stones
Who collected gold and silver, and all such trappings one can own
Yet, it has never made them happy, and as the long years pass
They have rarely know the simple joy my treasure hunter finds in glass
And I'm content to fill my pockets with her treasures from the sea
Because she truly is a priceless gem ... who, somehow, treasures me
By Frank Carpenter ©
Saturday, March 06, 2004
Different Drummers
I was walking on the beach this morning with another couple and their young son. The adults were there for exercise and forged ahead forthwith. Yet, their son walked with a totally different agenda. He would scurry this way and that, picking up driftwood, throwing rocks, turning to fight the occasional monster or pirate ... clearly having the time of his life. His progress was more like that of a puppy and he quickly fell behind. All the while we implored him to walk faster, to keep up, to be more like us. Sadly, I believe we hurry our children along far too much in this modern world. We want them to grow up, master the piano, excel in school and sports. In short, we want them to be just like everyone else ... only better. However, not everyone fits into that same mold. I find that we do the same with adults. Walk faster, keep up, be like the others. Perhaps we send a very wrong message to both the young and old alike in our society. Maybe we should take a lesson from my young friend and wander about a bit more along the way, enjoying those priceless moments as they present themselves. And if, by some chance, any monsters or pirates do present themselves, then it wouldn't hurt to have a driftwood sword handy ... just in case.
Different Drummers
Each man has a cadence and, to it, his life is bound
He steps in time to the drum he knows, which through his soul resounds
Yet, not all men march to the same pace, each varies in tempo, gate, or stride
But most will march in formation, with the others, side by side
Comfort, approval, security; are ours when we march with the rest
The easy way is the path well-trod, most choose it and find it best
Yet, there are some who hear and who, a different drummer must heed
Their fate lies on another path, to which they are obliged to concede
Is there a different drummer lurking, somewhere, in your heart
Whose cadence matches not the crowd's, which indeed, calls you apart
You cannot stay beside the others, but another master know
Were you born for something other than the common ebb and flow
Some are called to greatness, some are called to humbler fate
Yet, each must heed the drummer which is his, or relegate
The chance he has to do or be what he was meant to be or do
Which is his gift to give, and take, before his life is through
There is comfort in the cadence which the others seem to hear
Which they step to side by side, from day to day, from year to year
But the man who hears the different drummer, ringing deep inside
Who claims that cadence as his own and follows it with pride
May find that when his journey ends and all is said and done
The better path was his, who chose to heed the different one.
By Frank Carpenter ©
Different Drummers
Each man has a cadence and, to it, his life is bound
He steps in time to the drum he knows, which through his soul resounds
Yet, not all men march to the same pace, each varies in tempo, gate, or stride
But most will march in formation, with the others, side by side
Comfort, approval, security; are ours when we march with the rest
The easy way is the path well-trod, most choose it and find it best
Yet, there are some who hear and who, a different drummer must heed
Their fate lies on another path, to which they are obliged to concede
Is there a different drummer lurking, somewhere, in your heart
Whose cadence matches not the crowd's, which indeed, calls you apart
You cannot stay beside the others, but another master know
Were you born for something other than the common ebb and flow
Some are called to greatness, some are called to humbler fate
Yet, each must heed the drummer which is his, or relegate
The chance he has to do or be what he was meant to be or do
Which is his gift to give, and take, before his life is through
There is comfort in the cadence which the others seem to hear
Which they step to side by side, from day to day, from year to year
But the man who hears the different drummer, ringing deep inside
Who claims that cadence as his own and follows it with pride
May find that when his journey ends and all is said and done
The better path was his, who chose to heed the different one.
By Frank Carpenter ©
Thursday, March 04, 2004
Finishing Strong
So many of us are mere sprinters. We rush around starting things here and there, but seem to have trouble getting them finished. In our work, in our faith, in our exercise and diet plans ... we often barely get started before we fail. This is certainly one of my worst traits. However, life is not a sprint. Rather, our journey is more like a marathon. To be effective we must turn our words into actions, our actions into habits, and our habits in to lifestyles. All the best made plans, as it were, are of no avail unless we are still in the race at the finish. A good lesson for all of us, and most of all me, is to strive for the finish. In the end, the tortoise proved to be the more noble athlete. May it be so with us.
The Last Lap
At the starting gun, all is even
Yet, that is far too early to boast
For many a man may come out strong
But the last lap matters the most
During the course of the race, the timid
And the less courageous may fail
But the last lap belongs to the victor
For there shall he ever prevail
One will be first from the starting blocks
And another may set the pace
Yet, the accolades are saved for the man
Who wins at the end of the race
By Frank Carpenter ©
The Last Lap
At the starting gun, all is even
Yet, that is far too early to boast
For many a man may come out strong
But the last lap matters the most
During the course of the race, the timid
And the less courageous may fail
But the last lap belongs to the victor
For there shall he ever prevail
One will be first from the starting blocks
And another may set the pace
Yet, the accolades are saved for the man
Who wins at the end of the race
By Frank Carpenter ©
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
Choosing Your Battles
Sometimes we dig our heels in and draw up the battles lines in life, only to discover that we may have drawn those lines in the wrong place. Then we let our pride get the best of us and stick to our guns until we have done far more damage than if we had never dug in at all. We must be very careful, then, what battles we choose if we are to make them count. Now, before you head off in the wrong direction, this poem wasn't written about the war on terrorism or any other current event. I happen to be a supporter of our country's current war efforts. Rather, this was written for the mother of a teenager who was embattled with her daughter and was in the process of learning that you just can't fight about everything because some fights just aren't worth the trouble. That being said, I believe we need to study our causes, and our response to them, carefully prior to acting too rashly. In our homes, at work, in the political arena and even our religious and moral crusades, we are prone to take stands that sometimes don't even correspond to our professed creeds. There certainly are appropriate times to roll up our sleeves and take on a fight, but let us make sure that we only commit ourselves to the good fights. Furthermore, our resolve should never be the result of anger, for anger stirs up our pride and restricts our better judgement. Let us take a deep breath, seek council, even pause to pray. Better that we should choose to stand our ground only when it is solid ground. In this way we can save ourselves, and those around us, a great deal of misery. Let us choose our battles wisely.
Choosing Your Battles
Life is filled with battles to fight
Some we lose, and some we win
And the wise man chooses carefully
Which to avoid and which to begin
Endless frustration waits for those
Who fail to understand
When to yield the higher ground
And when to draw a line in the sand
We must learn to let the battles go
Which simply aren't worth the pain
Saving our strength for the larger ones
That offer the greatest gain
There are times to forge ahead gallantly
Without even a thought of retreat
But there are times to sidestep a skirmish
Forgoing the bitterness of defeat
Fight only the battles that must be won
Never the ones that merely save face
Knowing those motivated by our pride
Will bring only heartache and disgrace
Stand your ground when you must stand
And be ready to fight to the death
But walk away from the foolish fights
Bite your tongue, and save your breath
Then opt for the path of diplomacy
Leaving those battles unfought
Where you know the cost of victory
In the end may be too dearly bought
By Frank Carpenter ©
Choosing Your Battles
Life is filled with battles to fight
Some we lose, and some we win
And the wise man chooses carefully
Which to avoid and which to begin
Endless frustration waits for those
Who fail to understand
When to yield the higher ground
And when to draw a line in the sand
We must learn to let the battles go
Which simply aren't worth the pain
Saving our strength for the larger ones
That offer the greatest gain
There are times to forge ahead gallantly
Without even a thought of retreat
But there are times to sidestep a skirmish
Forgoing the bitterness of defeat
Fight only the battles that must be won
Never the ones that merely save face
Knowing those motivated by our pride
Will bring only heartache and disgrace
Stand your ground when you must stand
And be ready to fight to the death
But walk away from the foolish fights
Bite your tongue, and save your breath
Then opt for the path of diplomacy
Leaving those battles unfought
Where you know the cost of victory
In the end may be too dearly bought
By Frank Carpenter ©
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
A Child's Eyes
Today, something short and simple. Alas, I fear we tend to grow up far too fast ... perhaps even far too much. The swiftly flying years make us distracted, cynical, even just plain old tired. Eventually, there are certain things that, in spite of all our education and training, we become unable to see and think and feel. Humility, innocence and wonder are slowly nudged aside for the “loftier” concepts and occupations of adulthood. However, we lose something along the way. Like a grown up Peter Pan, we seem to outgrow some of the magic of living until it slips completely from our grasp. Can we recapture those feelings? There may be some special therapy, like walking barefoot on the beach, flying kites or getting down on our hands and knees to study grass hoppers. I think, though, that it’s all about our attitudes. The world is choked with important issues to discuss and seemingly insurmountable problems to solve. However, it might be a better place altogether if each of us were willing to step back once in a while, take a deep breath ... and try to see things with a child’s eyes.
A Child’s Eyes
May I never grow too wise
To see things through a child’s eyes
May I always seek the truth
With the innocence of youth
May I learn to love each man
As freely as a child can
May I daily kneel and pray
And with a child’s heart obey
By Frank Carpenter ©
A Child’s Eyes
May I never grow too wise
To see things through a child’s eyes
May I always seek the truth
With the innocence of youth
May I learn to love each man
As freely as a child can
May I daily kneel and pray
And with a child’s heart obey
By Frank Carpenter ©
Monday, March 01, 2004
Hard Headed
People just never seem to learn. In our modern society, we have access to so much information. The complete moral, religious and political history of modern man is available, quite literally, at the click of a button. Educational television shows us all the mistakes and triumphs of our past century and beyond. Yet we continue to make the same mistakes as our predecessors, our parents, and forefathers made. So many of us seem unwilling to learn from all that we have observed, even within our own families and circle of friends. I am reminded of the fictional wooden boy named Pinocchio who refused to listen to his conscience over and over again. Interesting that he only became a "real boy" after he learned to make better choices. Perhaps we could take a cue from that little boy and find a way to learn our lessons without having to go through all the pain of failure and defeat. It might be worth a try, and it all begins with a willingness to "always let your conscience be your guide."
Pinocchio
We all know the fairy tale
About the little wooden boy
Who came to life, the story goes
Though he was just a toy
Who, lacking in experience
Always got in trouble when
He ventured out into the world
Failing time and time again
Yet, I find myself considering
How much he's like me and you
Since, far too often, we become
A little wooden-headed too
For all our education
Our religion and our years
Our words and actions often place
Pinocchio among our peers
Indeed, if we are truly honest
About such very simple things
We find that, like the wooden boy
We even have the strings
When we don't listen to our father
Who knows what's best for us
We wind up in predicaments
Which hurt him and betray our trust
Yet, life can be so simple
If our conscience we obey
If we listen to our father
And come home to him each day
When we don't, we wind up lost
Or tangled in our strings again
Because we all get a little
Wooden-headed now and then
By Frank Carpenter ©
Pinocchio
We all know the fairy tale
About the little wooden boy
Who came to life, the story goes
Though he was just a toy
Who, lacking in experience
Always got in trouble when
He ventured out into the world
Failing time and time again
Yet, I find myself considering
How much he's like me and you
Since, far too often, we become
A little wooden-headed too
For all our education
Our religion and our years
Our words and actions often place
Pinocchio among our peers
Indeed, if we are truly honest
About such very simple things
We find that, like the wooden boy
We even have the strings
When we don't listen to our father
Who knows what's best for us
We wind up in predicaments
Which hurt him and betray our trust
Yet, life can be so simple
If our conscience we obey
If we listen to our father
And come home to him each day
When we don't, we wind up lost
Or tangled in our strings again
Because we all get a little
Wooden-headed now and then
By Frank Carpenter ©
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
