Gone But Not Forgotten

Some thoughts today on the cherished memories of some men who have departed my life during the past few years. We all deal with loss and pain in different ways and my system for processing complicated emotions is to write about them. This works for me because I am a slow thinker of sorts and use the retrospective tool of creative writing to wander through my memories and thoughts and make sense of them at my own speed and in my own time. Part of that process is the revisiting of specific themes and events to repaint them through the dearly bought wisdom of hindsight. Since my thoughts eventually congeal into the written word it has also been rewarding to discover that many others have used my writings to help sort out and communicate their own experiences as well. In a sense, it’s a gift that keeps on giving.

To that end, I offer today’s poem which I wrote some months ago on the anniversary of the passing of a dear friend’s father whom I was close to as well. Incidentally, he passed away during his stay at a convalescent home where my own father had lived for some time as well. Yes, it’s a true story and I really did write the poem while sitting the little patio at that facility. I hope some of you may find some relevant solace or wisdom in my words or pass this on to others who may have need of it. I also encourage readers call, write or visit those in their own lives who may be in just a situation. Remember, that you are the owner, caretaker, and defender of your memories and sometimes they need a little maintenance as well.

Gone, But Not Forgotten
I stopped by the convalescent home for a little while today
Where I paused to sit and think a spell, since it was on my way
I’ve had no one to visit here, these past twelve months or so
But that doesn’t seem to matter like it did a year ago
Because I still cherish memories of those who once dwelt here
Which I intend to honor with the passing of the years
I must confess their tenure here was bittersweet at best
As a final, unforgiving stop before they were laid to rest
Restless they, and sick those men who once resided here
When I came to visit them in hopes of offering some cheer
And while the passing time diminishes the acuteness of their loss
Each week brings some small memory to remind me of the cost
Associated with their passing, in wisdom or camaraderie
Or wealth of anecdotal wisdom, wrapped up in my own history
For when we lose a friend or father or some special relative
We lose a puzzle piece of life which only they could give
Time tends to heal the pain of loss and sweeten cherished memories
Yet sometimes we need to ponder them as I have through this reverie
Which brings me back to this place, where old friends have passed away
Gone, but not forgotten … as I’m reminded here today
By Frank Carpenter ©

Vessel of Prayer

Today I offer something simple which occurred in my personal life recently. I’ve started a new job with a bit of a commute and the rest of this true story is self explanatory so I’ll just let it speak for itself. These are the little moments that make all our efforts seem worthwhile and bring a touch of the divine to our simple existence. I can only hope and pray that you may so blessed as well.

Vessel of Prayer
I have a travel coffee mug
That I fill at home each day
To drink while I commute to work
Lest I grow tired on my way
An unpretentious little vessel
Of plastic and stainless steel
Yet, today it seems as solid gold
And holds new-found appeal
Since last night as she washed my cup
My dear wife let me know
That each day as she washes it
She prays for safety as I go
She thanks God for the drive I make
And for the work I do
And asks Him to watch over me
While I’m away the whole day through
I was dumbfounded by her statement
By the beauty of her words
As they expressed the sweetest sentiments
Perhaps that I have ever heard
That humble little travel cup
Filled with but fluid days before
Has now become a vessel
Of prayer … and so much more
As I’m off to work again
With my mug of steaming tea
I have assurance that I’m truly loved
And God is watching over me
By Frank Carpenter ©

Taking the Bait

Today’s musings grew out of a fly fishing trip I was on recently. As I stood on the bank of a river in the Sierras casting my line, it struck me how much we have in common with the very trout I was attempting to capture. The brightly colored artificial flies we employ in such an activity provide a thought provoking metaphor to the counterfeit lures in our own lives which so easily ensnare us in the nets of temptation. Any man or woman who is serious about living a righteous and honorable life, and staying true to their faith, ought carefully to consider the subject of temptation, and fishing promises to offer some valuable insights thereto. Temptation begins with natural and often necessary desires. All living things eat and reproduce and it is inherent in their nature to do so, just as it was for the trout who were my chosen quarry and inspiration for this line of thinking. As humans, we have those same basic desires, compounded exponentially by our more complicated lives and innumerable opportunities. However, let’s keep it simple for now. The fly fisherman uses a fly constructed from thread and feathers to emulate an actual insect. He then completes the illusion by employing a rod and line to deliver the fly to the fish in such a way as to make it appear and act as natural and appetizing as possible. Of course, the goal of all this deception is to deliver a hook to the hungry fish, so as to facilitate its eventual demise. And so it goes in the realm of human temptation as well. The angler, the quarry and the bait have all been upgraded, but the game remains the same … and the stakes are significantly higher.

As we swim through our own daily lives, we are bombarded by a steady stream of temptations, each constructed and delivered with a cunning which more than rivals the most` gifted of human anglers. In this crazy modern world of advanced technology, media and illusion we can scarcely be too careful about what bait we are willing to take, and wise is the person who steps carefully through the choices available in the seemingly endless labyrinth of options and opportunities. They may look like food, love, power, beauty or security. They may promise to satisfy. But you can bet that, more often than not, there’s a hook in them. I daresay some folks will take offense at being compared to a fish. My only response to them is, well, to compare them to ostriches. Any way you slice it there’s something fishy going on and I beg you to heed my words if you don’t want to end up in the proverbial, or perhaps literal, frying pan.

I hope and pray that you may choose wisely as you swim through the waters of life.

Taking the Bait
Casting in the quiet waters of a mountain stream today
I got to thinking on the devil, and how he has a way
Of selecting just the perfect fly to offer each of us
And how skillfully he throws his line so as not to shake our trust
He knows our every weakness, and the perfect time of day
To dangle his temptations and let them drift our way
Is it power? Is it money? Is it sex that we desire?
Satan has the perfect counterfeit, any angler would admire
And he doesn’t throw them at us, merely lets them float nearby
So we can see how beautiful they are and warm up to the lie
As we fantasize about them, well beyond the second look
And even once we take the bait, he doesn’t set the hook
Until it’s good and swallowed, buried deep within our hearts
Then he slowly tightens up the line and the real battle starts
Even if we extricate ourselves from sin that day
There is always damage from the hook inflicted on the way
Then Satan merely changes flies, ties on another sin
Casting more skillfully than ever, and the game begins again
Like foolish fish we play our part, and some folks never learn
They wind up in the frying pan and know what it is to burn
So as we swim through life today, we must be vigilant and wise
Lest we fall prey to the evil one … by striking on his flies
By Frank Carpenter ©