There is Someone

Perhaps it’s just me, but this seems to be another one of those weeks when a host of folks in my extended circle of acquaintance are struggling with major issues, mostly in the area of health. This morning, one friend’s father underwent an operation for prostate cancer. Another friend’s dad was in the hospital to have a pace maker installed. One friend is struggling with marital issues. And to top it off, a relative who has been fighting pancreatic cancer just received the diagnosis yesterday that she is now in stage 4 and incurable. That makes it a pretty big week … and it makes my own problems seem pretty small. What do you tell people who are going through such things? What hope or wisdom can we offer them? Modern medicine is a wonderful thing, yet it has its limits. While we hope for cures and resolution on these overwhelming issues, there are deeper questions to be answered. When folks go through such things they often come face to face with the big questions about life … and afterlife. When you stand at the brink of eternity and gaze down into the chasm of its unknown depths, well that can be pretty disconcerting. I don’t have all the answers. However, there is comfort in knowing who does know those answers: God. If you disagree with me, then things can appear pretty bleak indeed. But for those who know Him, they have the hope of a valiant rescue from the darkness which lies beyond the brink of that eternal cliff. That selfsame God also offers comfort to those who are in distress and wisdom to those who would but ask for it. Do you know a person who is teetering on the brink of disaster, or are you perhaps even there yourself? God has the answers, God is the answer. He’s there, and He listens. Is the darkness closing in? The Lord can be a light in that darkness. Yes, there is someone who can help. Ask Him.

There is Someone
There is someone who pierces the darkness
When it seems to be closing in
Who honors the faith of a weary soul
Even when it is growing thin
There is someone who gives His strength
To the lonely and to the weak
Who promises that He shall be found
By all who earnestly seek
There is one who hears the faintest cry
Who feels the smallest tears
Who sees beyond the clouds of doubt
And comforts the deepest fears
There is someone who is a friend
One whose work is never done
He has the power to help and heal
His name is Jesus, God’s own Son
By Frank Carpenter ©

Well Done

Well Done
All of us want our lives to count, to mean something. Of course, we each define that in a different way. Some people climb mountains, others build things, still others strive to leave their legacy in written words or upon painted canvases. Naturally, what we choose to do with our lives
has much to do with how we think those lives will be judged, or by whom. If we live to please the critics, be they art, literature or otherwise, their values will become our own. If we live to gain honor in the court of popular opinion than our acceptance therein will rule our actions. The list goes on and on. So the big question in life remains, “What is your purpose in life, whom do you serve?” The critics can be a fickle bunch and their elusive approval can prove a lifelong torment. The opinion of the crowd can also prove a wicked task master. The fact is that you just can’t please everyone. In the end, we must choose who we will please, who’s opinion really matters. For those who believe there is a God and a life after this one, the time usually comes in their life when they realize that God is the only one truly worth pleasing. After all, His opinion out ranks, and outlives, all others. The praise and acceptance of men can bring great joy, but it is a fleeting thing. Rather, we should strive to please and honor the one being whose opinions and existence are everlasting. I have had my very modest share of the handshakes, applause and praise of men, but even the prospect of an entire lifetime of the same pales in comparison to one thought which looms in my mind. Once all of our deeds are done, and certainly unalterable, there will come a moment when each of us will stand before the holy God of the universe and feel his all knowing gaze pierce to the very depths of our souls. At that moment the praise of men will amount to no more than a grain of sand in the dunes of eternity past. And at that critical juncture of our existence, what could mean more than to hear our Lords utter the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” Now there’s a reason for living … and living well.

Well Done
Perhaps I consider far too rarely
When thinking the deeper thoughts
That life is entirely too short
And I fail to live it as I ought
I don’t spend enough time with family
Or in worship or prayer or song
And too often I let myself be swept
Along with the rest of the human throng
I overlook the needs of my neighbors
And the people who matter most
Often trading the simple pleasures
For those about which I could boast
I don’t spend enough of life barefoot
Wasting too much on what I regret
Not enough in the forest or mountains
Missing too many sunrises and sets
I want to live a life that matters
One that counts for what I believe
A life in which love and compassion
Are the measure of what I achieve
So that when I look back from glory
From beyond my last setting sun
My Lord may proclaim at the judgment
“Good and faithful servant, well done!”
By Frank Carpenter ©

Landfalls

Today, I write from the bridge of a boat somewhere off the coast of Mexico. As we approach the U.S. border and the skyline of San Diego looms on the horizon, a surge of excitement begins to well up from within. San Diego holds no particular interest for me, but I adore almost any landfall. Now I’m a sailor so ocean ports instill a certain fascination in me, yet climbing out of an airplane, a bus, a train, or even a car warms my heart as well. I find myself enamored by even the most modest of adventures. Actually, all of life is an adventure and learning to relish the little passages along the way, with their assorted landfalls, can help to make our journeys all the more interesting. Even if you think you’re headed nowhere right now, I can assure you that it’s still somewhere. Every trip, however seemingly insignificant, can have purpose and value. Sometimes it doesn’t even matter what direction you’re traveling. Often the destinations can be less important than how you get there, who you’re with, what you think about en route or who you help along the way. My hope for you is that you may discover some interesting places to go and enjoy their requisite landfalls. However, even if you are merely commuting to work, it can have value. The simplest life can still be lived richly if it is imbued with meaning through your own personal view of it. When we are interested, life is interesting. As I conclude this writing,
my bows are now pointed out to sea once again. Ahead of me, the horizon is empty, devoid of land, other boats, and the like. On this clear winter day, with nothing but endless blue stretching out for dozens of miles, I feel as if the possibilities are endless … because they are. Before dark, however, we’ll be snug at harbor with another happy landfall under our belts. For me, that will be a bittersweet moment for this current voyage shall have come to an end. Yet, for the moment, my heart and mind are left to wander out across the broad expanse of the Pacific Ocean where I can imagine countless undiscovered landfalls which beckon to me from distant shores. In the mean time: good company, good sailing and good bye.

Landfalls
Perhaps the sweetest part of the journey
Is the landfall, once it=s reached
Be it airport, depot or the sand
>Neath a skiff, once it has beached
With the toils of the journey done
And adventure ahead and at hand
Landfalls bring to fruition
All the wonder of what was planned
The desert, the mountains, the shoreline
Whatever your paradise be
A landfall is the first kiss
Once the journey is history
I love the planning and plotting
And the adventure along the way
Oh, but the sweetest part of it all
Is stepping onto the quay
By Frank Carpenter

Demons of Distraction

If you’re anything like me, you never seem to get nearly as much accomplished as you plan to. Invariably, many of the most important things in life get nudged aside by the more pressing issues which distract us on a daily basis. I spend my time “majoring in the minors” and squander countless precious days and hours on those things which have marginal eternal value. Are you there too, constantly servicing the squeaky wheel when you know that the engine is sorely in need of maintenance? Folks like us need to work on getting our priorities straight so we can focus on those things in life which matter most. The demons of distraction will ever be clawing at us from every side. Can you feel them tugging at you even now? We must find a way to brush past them and make progress towards our hopes and dreams and goals. Perhaps we need accountability partners to check in with during the course of each day. Whatever it takes, aim your heart at your priorities and go get them. You’ll be glad you did.

The Demons of Distraction
We are consumed by the minutia
Of details throughout each day
So that the time we mean to spend
On what matters most erodes away
All the lofty goals and purpose
We intend to glean from life
Seem to wither in the urgency
Of our daily stress and strife
So that when we reach an epilog
And gaze back upon our wake
We find we’ve sacrificed too much
Merely for convenience sake
With our loftiest ambitions
Strewn across the workroom floor
Cast before the swine of urgency
Their luster glimmers never more
We dare not let the demons
Of distraction drag us down
Into the quagmire of compromise
Where hopes and dreams can drown
We must stand our ground and fight
For what is meaningful and true
Lest we wake up to discover
We had not lived ‘ere life was through
By Frank Carpenter ©

Never Too Late

Well, we’re a few days into the new year and it’s still not too late to contemplate some new beginnings in our lives. As we march through the months and years, sometimes we end up detouring off into directions we never intended. Perhaps, rather, you never did take a desired detour that you really want to take. Is there an area of your life which feels that way? Is it a relationship, a job, a habit or something else you intended to change or improve upon. This just may be the time. Why not? Now, I’m not suggesting that we do anything drastic without some careful thought or wise counsel. However, this may be just the moment to do something, anything, different. The important thing is that it’s never too late. It’s never too late to take that first crucial step towards your dreams or away from a destructive behavior. OK: say a little prayer, take a deep breath and make a baby step in the right direction. That’s how it all begins.

Never Too Late
Sometimes we find ourselves on a path
Where we never intended to be
Overwhelmed by the rising waters
Of an angry, storm tossed sea
Perhaps even one of our own making
Or one we failed somehow to prevent
With poor decisions or complacency
And we know we are nearly spent
When we find our hope is waning
And our courage slipping away
We begin to consider just giving up
Too discouraged even to pray
But it’s never too late to do the right thing
Never too late to make a stand
For into the depths of darkest water
God stretches out His hand
Offering help to the broken hearted
And peace to the battle worn
He gives strength to the weak and weary
And hope to the most forlorn
God always honors obedient men
Who choose humility over pride
For it’s never too late to do the right thing
Or to stand against the tide
By Frank Carpenter ©

Waves of Responsibility

Today, as I sit here in the comfort of my nice little home in southern California, the disaster and suffering in the Indian Ocean seems very far away. The death toll from last week’s Tsunami has soared close to 140,000 and the devastation in some areas is horrific, but my own insulation from that part of the world, from those people, is almost as complete as the isolation of some of the remote locations shown on the news. At first, I was as shocked and amazed as everyone else. Eventually, however, I discovered that my callused heart was more interested in earthquake science and the history of other large tidal waves than the plight of those who were suffering so much at this very moment half a world away. I’ve watched the news to keep up on the death toll. I’ve prayed half-heartedly from time to time this week. I even gave a little money at church when they took and offering for disaster relief. Sadly, though, I have somehow found a way to avoid getting emotionally involved in the situation. Is that wrong, is there something wrong with me?
Today, however, the whole thing has finally started to sink in. I keep thinking about the verse where Jesus said, “but if you give so must a cup of water to the least of these, then you have done so to me.” The implication, of course, is that to deny those who need our help is essentially to turn our backs on Jesus personally. Ouch, that one really hurts, or at least it should. This begins to beg the moral question of what our obligations and responsibilities are to other people, even if we have never met them or ever hope to. What do I owe to others, to strangers, on the far side of the globe … and what right do they have to expect my assistance? From a strictly academic point of view the answer can be found in two additional passages from the New Testament. First of all, when asked about the greatest commandments, Jesus replied that after loving God whole-heartedly our highest obligation was to love others, more specifically, our “neighbors.” Then, in the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus clarified that our neighbors are those who are in need.
Now in about 30 A.D., when Jesus spoke these words, most folks lived within a fairly small circle of influence and, therefore, responsibility. However, here in the third millennium, things have changed a bit. Now that we are able to receive virtually instantaneous television transmissions from across the globe and have the ability to deliver disaster aid with jets and helicopters, it could well be argued that the term “neighbor” reaches far beyond the street where we live and quite possibly to the disaster ravished shores of Indonesia, Sri Lanka and Thailand. Certainly, for those of us who believe there to be one God who is omnipresent, then it can be argued safely that our responsibility to both Him and His commandments is omnipresent as well. The people suffering in southern Asia right now are, therefore, my neighbors. So it occurs to me that perhaps we don’t have the luxury of ignoring them. All the more if we simply apply the good old fashioned golden rule.
Consequently, I therefore propose that we do have some kind of obligation to those who are suffering right now. I’m not quite sure what to I’m going to do, but it certainly must be something. Prayer is a good place to start. A little more money wouldn’t do any harm. Perhaps my personal next step is simply to write some more articles like this one, as that falls within my giftedness. Certainly, we all need to do something … and the time to act is now.

A New Year

Well, this is New Years Eve. I have had the good fortune and blessing of being surrounded by people who believe in me and want the best for me. In the past few weeks I have received additional confirmation of those facts in the form of encouragement, prayer, wise counsel, and additional tools to aid in the pursuit of my own goals and dreams. Consequently, I face this coming New Year with a renewed vision and optimism. To that end, I wanted to offer you something a little different today. So, instead of poetry, here’s a dose of good old fashioned prose. It seemed fitting, as this short story came out of a week of rain and looks towards a hopeful future, towards something new and better. My hope and prayer for you is that your New Year may be full of promise and the courage to take hold of it.

A Ring Around The Moon
By Frank Carpenter
The iridescent moon was not quite full, though seeming somehow larger than usual... almost as if it filled the entire evening sky. And then there was the ring, that big beautiful ring around the moon. Not a small ring like halo or a belt. No, a giant, endless, wonderful ring. For that moment, the ring seemed to encircle all that I knew or could imagine. For that moment, the moon and the universe within the ring which enveloped it were everything. The silver sky, or something within it, held me entranced, as it were, for a time unmeasured, or unmeasurable. Perhaps I lay there only for a moment, an instant, though it might just as well have been a lifetime.
Nonetheless, I felt as though everything changed during the encounter. That conclusion was unmistakable. The winds of change blew over me. Silently, sweetly, certainly. They were not such winds as I could detect merely with my senses, or which disturbed so much as a single blade of grass around me. There were the winds which blow through our souls and swirl within our very being, the winds of inner change.
The moon was still there, and very much so. The ring was still there. Yet, suddenly, I became aware of other things around me. Other things which had long cried out to be noticed, to be understood. Who's voices had been carried away by other winds and drowned out by more urgent voices. Yet, now I saw, I felt, I knew.
I became aware of the ground beneath me. How long had I lay there, in the wet grass beneath the moon and its ring? Ah, the ring. It had been raining for days. The ground was wet, more than wet. It more held me than supported me, but the feeling was not unpleasant. The grip of the wet ground against my back, against me long soaked clothing was a comfort, almost a relief. Without the pull of the moist earth, I might well hare drifted off toward the moon above, lured b the intoxicating glow.
I could feel more than just the ground beneath me. There was more, much more. There was a whole world. The same world I had always known, yet which now seemed strange and wild and undiscovered. That was the change. I could no longer accept everything which before had been so clear, so concrete. I knew the world had not changed in the least, but I had. So, in relation to me, everything else must change as well. I inhaled deeply. Not the kind of breath which merely replenished oxygen in my lungs. I inhaled something better, deeper. It was a breath of life, of things so long left undone, unsaid, unknown. I was different.
However, I understood somehow that I could not be different alone. I must make the world around me to be different like me, or with me. Was it a calling? Perhaps more of an accepting. The acceptance of a call so long unheeded, one nearly snuffed out in the shuffle of daily life with all of its infinite, urgent details begging to be attended to. We get so busy with living that it becomes something less than living. I had forgotten how important every minute detail is. I had forgotten how very important life is. Now, I remembered.
All of this happened within the circle which held me all that time. The ring around the moon. Just an optical illusion, water vapor, reflected light, barometric pressure. Perhaps. Moon dust and magic are, however, somehow more appealing. A sign, a signal, a catalyst. It was enough. For whatever reason, I would never be the same. I could not, nor could anything else be. Blame it on the ring, the moon, the movie, romance, whatever. The world, the universe, were entirely different than they had been just a shore time before. It matters not the reason, for the why and the hows only serve themselves, yet they would be our masters if we tarry long enough to let them enslave us. No, there are other more pressing issues at hand ... broader frontiers yet undiscovered. Let it begin.

May you have a blessed New Year ... and the courage to make it a better one.

Real Men

Sometimes it’s difficult to be a man in this modern world. Unfortunately, good old fashioned men who earn a living, take care of their children and stay married to their wives rarely get a fair shake or any encouragement. This is due, at least in part, to the fact that the image and role of manhood has been twisted entirely out of proportion by mainstream media. Television, movies and literature often portray manhood in terms of appearance and super human feats of athletic prowess. The rub is that the media uses professional models and the recipients of plastic surgery in setting physical standards. Then those same "unreal" men are made to look even better through the use of stunt men and special effects. This leaves society with male icons who are completely unrealistic. Worse yet, those used to set the standard as role models often turn out to be moral, ethical, relational or financial failures in real life. The same goes for professional athletes. We place them on pedestals because they excel at a certain sport, but they often turn out to be terrible role models in other areas of their lives. How then is a regular guy with an average mind, body and stock portfolio supposed to compete? The fact is that the real super heros in life rarely enter the limelight. They are disguised as teachers and laborers, doctors and parents, aunts and uncles and grandparents. The real men in this world are generally the quiet, steady ones who stay with their wives, take care of their families and volunteer for things that don’t serve their own egos. Oh, there are plenty of real men out there in the world. However, you won’t find them flaunting their biceps down at muscle beach. Look for them around the dinner table with their families or teaching Sunday school. Better yet, check out the head table at a 50th wedding anniversary party. That’s where real men can be found. Blockbuster movies can be very entertaining, but always remember that they are fantasy. Real men may not look like action heros, but they have super hero hearts.

Real Men
The world tells us real men are the burly, brawny types
Tough guys, athletes and outdoors men all fit the mold of media hypes
We adore them in the movies, we cheer them on the playing field
Men of strength and grit and courage who conquer all and never yield
Indeed, we want to be like them, we try to do the things they do
Assuming conquest and adventure will make us real men too
Yet, in this world of twisted values we sometimes fail to realize
That real men and real heroes come in every shape and size
There are a myriad of battles never billed as main events
Where other kinds of warriors strive in countless hours spent
At homes and schools and churches, Scouts Troops and Sunday school
Where real heroes sacrifice and live the golden rule
They donate their time and talents, their weekends and their nights
In service to their fellow man because they know it’s right
To give where others have a need and ease the burden of
The widow, orphan and the homeless, for real men know how to love
They have compassion for the elderly and broken-hearted ones
Embracing troubled youths like their own daughters and their sons
They are honest with their feelings serving children, friends and wives
They make the world a better place because it touched their lives
Real men aren’t made of muscle, yet they are men of valor still
Gentle men of inner strength, who simply do God’s will
By Frank Carpenter ©

His Only Son

One last reminder to those of you who wander into the sphere of my influence: The root word of Christmas is "Christ." It’s so easy to get caught up in the all the hoopla of our traditional secular Christmas celebration, but please pause to remember what this day is really all about. At the heart of all the trappings, this is our day to thank God for sending His only son to a sinful world for the purpose of offering salvation to all mankind. So please celebrate the Christ child who was born on the first Christmas day. Take that wonderful story to heart and share it with others. Tell it to your children and grandchildren, your nephews and nieces ... and write it upon your own heart. Today’s poem comes from late one Christmas Eve when I myself had entirely lost track of what Christmas was supposed to be about. I hope you may discover something in it for yourself and your own family. "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

His Only Son
It was Christmas eve around midnight
the presents were under the tree
The stockings were stuffed, but somehow
it just didn't feel like Christmas to me
We had read the Christmas story together
before the kids went to bed
But all night I had felt kind of empty
somewhere in my heart or my head
The magic of Christmas was missing
it had faded for me through the years
As tradition became repetition
until I no longer held Christmas dear
Instead it seemed more of a bother
and an expensive bother at that
Nothing more than an inconvenience
more mess, more bills, more fat
It was late, far too late, I imagined
and the end of a very long day
But I figured I better look in on the kids
before I hit the hay
In my son's room I had a strange feeling
as if something was left out of place
Then I noticed the moon light streaming
in and how it lit up his young face
I thought to myself, "sure, it's Christmas
there must be sugar plums dancing in there"
I gave him a kiss as I reached down
to brush back a wisp of his hair
Then I knew, in an instant, I saw it
what really happened on Christmas day
As my heart raced back to another child
long ago and far away
To a boy who was sleeping, as mine did
on that very first Christmas night
I saw his peaceful face awash
in the very same moonlight
Then I realized, finally, what God did
and the depth of that terrible price
God paid when He offered His only Son
for us all as a sacrifice
Of course, now I saw it so clearly
in the light of my love for my son
My own flesh and blood, whom I
certainly never would give up for anyone
But that's just what God did with Jesus
he sent Him to suffer and die
God sent Him because of His love for me
as I saw it I started to cry
And me, I was tired of Christmas
but I just didn't know what it meant
I had gotten too busy to notice the Savior
I knew that God had sent
I was filled with the joy and wonder
which eluded me all of these years
Now it was there, I could feel it
as it came flooding in through the tears
There, alone on my knees, in the darkness
I finally understood
That on Christmas God gave the greatest gift
of love that anyone could
By Frank Carpenter ©

The Measure of a Man

Today is the first anniversary of my father’s passing. It was a dreadful week of dreadful news, airplane flights, hospital visits, difficult decisions and losing my dad. Needless to say, it made for a world record rotten Christmas. Time passes, however, and time heals. As I look back over this past year, I find that I am at peace with my loss and with the part it has played in my emotional life. Upon reflection, I have also come to understand that a man’s legacy has nothing to do with his estate. It has to do with people. If you made a difference, if people love you and choose to carry you with them in their hearts after you are gone, that is legacy enough to make a life count for something. That is the measure of a man. My tribute to my father, then, is my own life and how he helped to shape it. Once again, so long, Pop.

The Measure of a Man
What is the measure of a man
So much more than himself, I find
A man can’t be measured all alone
But by those he leaves behind
Show me a trail of kindness
Of love and of character
Friends and family that he leaves
Are a legacy that will endure
Some build sky scrapers to the clouds
Others conquer the mountains and seas
But all of their efforts are folly unless
They won the hearts of their families
The words that we chisel in granite
Are a poor substitute, at best
Show me the lives of the folks he loved
Of the ones who lay him to rest
As we say goodby to any man
The best of him lives with us yet
They are the measure of his life
And one we shall never forget
By Frank Carpenter ©

Tomorrow, I’ll be back with another Christmas poem, but it seems appropriate to close with the poem I wrote on Christmas Eve last year as I flew home from my father’s death bed. Then I will move on and look forward to this year’s Christmas.

Epilogue
I signed the papers at the hospital
All the arrangements have been made
Called his closest friends and family
Obligatory visits paid
Tied up the loose ends at the ranch
Raced to the airport, once again
On the cell phone constantly
And I can’t remember when
I have ever been this tired
Felt so empty or so spent
The time I hoped was for reflection
Or for long walks came and went
Now I’m finally on the airplane
With my cell phone packed away
Where no one can reach me for a while
For a few brief hours today
There is so much left to think about
So many tears to cry
But I’ve made my peace with dad and God
So I lean back with a sigh
Knowing that I’ve done my duty
To myself ... to everyone
There comes a time to say "enough"
For now, my work is done
So I close my eyes to thank God
For the tender mercies He
Has shown throughout these dark days
As I felt Him comfort me
The path of grief and sorrow
Through the darkness, broad and deep
Shall wait until tomorrow
As now, mercifully, I sleep
By Frank Carpenter ©

Sleighs & Saviors

"Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy ..."
Well, it’s finally time for me to put in my plug about the true meaning of Christmas. That’s pretty straight forward, don’t you think. The upcoming joyous holiday has come to mean a great many things. We’ve filled it with trees and lights and wrapping paper. We’ve added food and presents and music and decorations and, of course, Santa Claus.. It’s all quite festive. However, Christmas is technically the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, the only Son of God and Messiah for the entire human race. The passing of time and tradition have draped this blessed day with all manor of distractions, but it still boils down to that one child, born to a virgin and laid in a manger in Bethlehem. The story of the incarnation of the God of the universe and the fulfillment of dozens of ancient prophesies is both miraculous and compelling. Yet, with all the light, color and wonder of modern technology and entertainment Jesus begins to look somewhat somber and boring to the average child who has been offered Santa as a substitute. So let’s enjoy all the fun and tradition, but let us also get the story straight so that our children, friends, family and neighbors hear the true story of Christmas as well. As you rush towards the big day, my prayer is that you may discover the Christ of Christmas in your own heart and share the message of His miraculous birth with all the folks you encounter.

Sleighs and Saviors
Every where we see him
About this time of year
The fat guy in the magic sleigh
Who spreads the Christmas cheer
He always looks so jolly
You never see him sad
For a guy who's several hundred years old
He doesn't look half bad
But up close it's a different story
His clothes are poorly made
His boots are army surplus
And his plastic beard is frayed
Another thing I've noticed
If he's such a wonderful chap
Then why does he charge six dollars
For kids to sit on his lap?
But there's another Christmas hero
Who gives his love for free
He doesn't bring candy or presents
But he cares for you and me
He doesn't use elves or reindeer
Or live way up north in the snow
In fact, he was born in the desert
A very long time ago
Of course, I am speaking of Jesus
Who was born on Christmas day
But he gives his love all through the year
And he takes our sins away
While it's true that the guy in the red suit
Has more showmanship and appeal
Clearly the difference between the two
Is that Jesus Christ is real!
By Frank Carpenter ©

The Last Word

I had a lovely Christmas poem all picked out for today. Sometimes, however, in the ebb and flow of life our train of thought gets redirected and such was the case today. We all have different opinions on various issues, which at times can lead to conflict. Now, we can circle around and around on an issue and argue until we’re blue in the face. Yet, in the end, each man must make his own decision about what he will think and do ... and be. When that time comes, others have no choice but to back off and let that man make his choices. Each man, after all, has both the right and the responsibility to live his own life. May the Lord, then, grant that we choose our way wisely and make the most of our one and only life.

The Last Word
There is comfort in the company
Of those whom we respect
And wisdom in their counsel
When our courses intersect
But in the end the course a man
Must follow is his own
The final choice he makes himself
And does so all alone
Alone, he walks the hallowed halls
Of independent thought
Alone, he must decide at last
Each thing he does, and not
And he who makes that final choice
Who holds the private key
Earns the consequences, good or bad
With the responsibility
We cannot place the blame
Upon another for our deeds
Nor does another have a claim
On us when we succeed
So in the end a man must make
His choices all alone
And reap the harvest he has earned
But at least it is his own
By Frank Carpenter ©

Intrinsic Value

OK, it’s December 14th. Has the shopping started to drive you crazy yet? The whole Christmas shopping things wears me a little thin anyhow, but what I find most frustrating about it is shopping for kids. Their world is filled with brightly colored plastic which is utterly devoid of any intrinsic value. It’s cheap, however, and somehow that seems to make it more easier to bear. Now wait, I was once a little boy and I must admit that I liked all my plastic toys. I will also further admit that, even as an adult, I enjoy the occasional video game. When it comes to actually shopping, however, I find myself wandering down the cavernous isles of Toys R Us and thinking to myself, "Oh my God, is this how we equip and entertain the future citizens of the human race?" First of all, there’s a lot of plain old junk out there. Then there’s nicer toys that actually "do" something, but you know they’ll be destroyed in a matter of days, weeks or months. Then we got the whole video game and electronic entertainment genre, which has some interesting options, but also offers lots of blood and gore and guts and witchcraft and a whole host of other uninspiring qualities. Furthermore, much of children’s entertainment tantalizes their senses to the point that over time they build up a resistance to entertainment and require even higher doses of stimulation. It’s getting difficult to sell a book or a puzzle or a board game nowadays. Mirroring the adult world, the world of children is also filled with fool’s gold and it takes some effort to discover truly meaningful gifts that won’t be scoffed at and discarded by their receivers. Yet, we must never give up. There are still things of lasting value in this world of ours and it is our responsibility to help our children, as well as those within our sphere of influence, to discern and appreciate things that are "real." I know it’s a tall order, but what could be more important than the hearts and minds of our children. Now, go get ‘em, shoppers!

Intrinsic Value
I went to the toy store recently
not needing the golden fleece
Just a little something special
I could give my favorite niece
I knew just what she wanted
I had even brought her list
So it didn't seem too difficult
to get her what she wished
But when I surveyed all the items
I'd been told that she desired
My Christmas spirit sank a bit
and I was uninspired
The doll she wanted, I did not
though it spoke if you gave it a squeeze
But it seemed a shame to snuggle with
someone who needed batteries
She asked for a couple of video games
which I studied in some detail
But the witches, dragons and aliens
seemed to take the wind out of my sails
There were several other options
which would answer her request
And while some of them seemed better
certainly none of them was best
Each appeared it might wear out
before the passing of the year
Or inappropriate for little girls
to play with or hold dear
But the one denominator which
was common to what I surveyed
Was the brightly colored plastic
of which each of them was made
They were marvelous inventions
each a wonder to behold
But something in my head kept saying
"this is fool's gold"
Nothing of intrinsic value
could I find upon her list
I double checked it once again
for any I had missed
But nothing that my niece desired
escaped investigation
So I wandered back out to the mall
still brooding in resignation
I came, at last, upon a book store
and bought some children's classics there
Which was not what she requested
but they fit the bill of fare
And, when opened, brought a warm response
as did the later times
When we sat together for many hours
to read those stories and rhymes
So, in the end, it worked out fine
despite all my frustration
Once I applied some common sense
and a little imagination
The books would last a life time
she might even have them when
It came time to read to a niece of her own
they would truly mean something then
While the plastic toys and gadgets
would be broken and worn out
Or discarded for newer models
which there would be without a doubt
There still are gifts of value
which transcend technology
For the latest thing is obsolete
before it's placed beneath the tree
Electric gadgets and plastic gimmicks
line the aisles of every store
But things of intrinsic value
just seem to mean something more
By Frank Carpenter ©

Adventures

Recently, a friend recounted how he had been reading world history to his 15 year old daughter when she was too tired to keep studying. He had mentioned that, even though it was a history text, it was still enjoyable just to be reading to her again. It reminded me how much I miss reading aloud to my own children. Reading "experts" insist that we should start reading to kids prior to birth and stay at until they move out. Most of us, however, reach a time when they just don’t want to be read to anymore. Good memories though. We started with Dr. Seuss and worked our way right up through the children’s classics. I can’t imagine how many hours I spent curled up with my kids reading to them. There was a time when I was so into it that after an evening out I’d fetch the books from my children’s rooms and "catch up" on the part the baby sitters had read. I think we read "Danger in Quicksand Swamp" three times! Even if you’re like me, with no children at home, there are still people in our lives to read to: nieces and nephews, older parents and grandparents, grandchildren, folks who are sick, and the like. As adults we tend to become functionally illiterate, at least figuratively, because we only read what we absolutely have to. In this world of TV, movies and electronic entertainment, there is a tendency to think that books are obsolete. May it never be! Something magical happens to the human mind when we actually have to use our imaginations instead of having the whole story acted out for us. We need to keep reading and we need to share it with others. If you have kids, read to them all the time. If you don’t have kids around, find some and pass on that most precious of gifts ... the human imagination. And please, try not to fall asleep or skip any pages. Adventures With each book, a new adventure Beckons from the page unturned Where mysteries await, unsolved And lessons yet unlearned We can hardly wait for story time And for each book unread Which awaits us there, upon the shelf Next to my child's bed What will our story be tonight Are pirates on the prowl The pioneers are heading west Eagle, hawk or great horned owl Gators in a secret swamp Or sailing ships of old Will we foil the villain, after all Or find the hidden gold The possibilities are endless Cries of excitement still resound For high adventure in the sky Beneath the sea or underground Our imaginations draw us in To worlds we never dreamed To plots which twist and turn in ways We never would have schemed Until we finish up a book And see it to the end Then we simply pull another down And start off, once again To share adventures of discovery In places strange and new The magic world of books and story time The magic world I share with you By Frank Carpenter ©

Days of Infamy

Today is Pearl Harbor Day. Most of our parents and grandparents remember right where they were when they heard the news of the Japanese attack on Pear Harbor. Those of us who are at least a generation away simply remember the poignant opening words of President Roosevelt’s speech to Congress: "Yesterday, December 7th 1941, a day which will live in infamy..." That attack drew the United States into World War II and the rest is history. As I considered this day, however, I realized that those of us who missed WWII recently had the opportunity to experience what Pearl Harbor felt like to the average American. That is because we lived through September 11, 2001. Like Pearl Harbor, that day brought an unprovoked surprise attack on American soil, resulting in a similar number of deaths. We experienced the shock, the sorrow and, eventually, the rise of an anger which cried out for justice. Perhaps all the more so because the September 11th attacks were primarily against civilians. Also, due to our modern technology, virtually every American repeatedly saw the news footage of the planes striking the World Trade Center and the collapse of the towers. So today is a day to think back over the years, to remember the events of 1941 and how they changed the course of history. I would encourage us to remember 2001 as well, for it evokes the same feelings and the war it sparked is still under way. That war is not just one of armed conflict, but a war of ideologies which will help to shape the next fifty years of history. As we look back on those two days, I offer a pair of poems which return us to that roller coaster of emotions. I wrote them both on September 11, while sitting at my desk that morning and watching the endless reruns of the images that terrible day brought to us. Below the poems, you will also find the entire text of FDR’s famous speech to Congress on December 8, 1941. I believe you may discover the emotions expressed therein to be familiar, even if you weren’t born yet. I daresay that "Happy Pearl Harbor Day" is most likely an inappropriate greeting to offer you, being something of an oxymoron. Nonetheless, I do encourage you to think long and hard on this day in history and takes it’s lessons to heart as we march forward in the creation of our own current history. Every once in a great while there is a "day of infamy" ... and they must never be forgotten.

Somewhere in the Rubble
Somewhere in the rubble
At this moment, there are tears
Suffering we can’t imagine
The very worst of all our fears
Calamity in such proportion
That we can scarcely comprehend
Hours of darkness, just beginning
And we have yet to know their end
But somewhere in the rubble
In that city far away
Thousands still are clinging
To a thread of hope today
Our hearts are filled with anger
With bitter shock and with dismay
But let us not forget this hour
To pause and simply pray
For those who are in peril
And their would be rescuers
That God somehow may protect them
Give them strength to yet endure
That He might comfort those with loss
Give wisdom to the leaders there
And wrap His arms around this nation
In our hour of despair
Let us lift our prayers together
As we struggle just to cope
For somewhere in the rubble
There is still a ray of hope
By Frank Carpenter ©

The Heart of Freedom
Beware, you foes of freedom
Who dare to maim and kill
Who, by force, would stand against us
You have galvanized our will
You have struck the heart of freedom
Spilled sacred blood upon our soil
Stung the bastions of democracy
Yet, though we may recoil
Be it known, we shall not falter
In the midst of travesty
A sleeping giant has awakened
Which will rise from the debris
With a resolve and with a fury
Such as you have rarely known
Freedom’s metal has been tested
And now its true strength shall be shown
By Frank Carpenter ©

FDR’s Speech to Congress on December 8, 1941:
Yesterday, Dec. 7, 1941 - a date which will live in infamy - the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan. The United States was at peace with that nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with the government and its emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific.
Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in Oahu, the Japanese ambassador to the United States and his colleagues delivered to the Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message. While this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or armed attack. It will be recorded that the distance of Hawaii from Japan makes it obvious that the attack was deliberately planned many days or even weeks ago. During the intervening time, the Japanese government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace. The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. Very many American lives have been lost. In addition, American ships have been reported torpedoed on the high seas between San Francisco and Honolulu. Yesterday, the Japanese government also launched an attack against Malaya. Last night, Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong. Last night, Japanese forces attacked Guam. Last night, Japanese forces attacked the Philippine Islands. Last night, the Japanese attacked Wake Island. This morning, the Japanese attacked Midway Island.
Japan has, therefore, undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our nation. As commander in chief of the Army and Navy, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense. Always will we remember the character of the onslaught against us. No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory. I believe I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost, but will make very certain that this form of treachery shall never endanger us again.
Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory and our interests are in grave danger. With confidence in our armed forces - with the unbounding determination of our people - we will gain the inevitable triumph - so help us God. I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, Dec. 7, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese empire.
From site: http://odur.let.rug.nl/~usa/P/fr32/speeches/ph.htm

Christmas in Your Heart

Yes, it’s December first and some you are already thinking seriously about Christmas. Some of you even have your lights up already. I visited the mall last weekend and was overwhelmed by the Christmas music and decorations ... and the crowds. In my opinion, it should be illegal to decorate until at least December. Anyhow, the rush has begun and folks are scurrying about shopping, decorating and the likes. The pace has accelerated and already we’ve completely forgotten what Christmas is really about. The root of the word Christmas is Christ. That is what we celebrate. He is what we celebrate. That day two thousand years ago when the God of the universe sent His only son to atone for the sin which separated us from Him. Christmas is the day we celebrate his birth. A host of colorful characters have been added to the holiday, each serving to overshadow the one true God who should be at the forefront of our minds. Lest I ramble on suffice it to say that December 1st would be a great day to start thanking God for the amazing gift He gave us for Christmas. This would be a good time to remind our children, parents, friends, family, coworkers, and even strangers, what this season is really all about. No matter what you buy, where you go or how you decorate, the true Christmas is something that takes place right in your own heart, something just between you and God. Start celebrating right there, in your heart. Let’s make this Christmas count.

Christmas in Your Heart
You can have your cards all printed and addressed by mid-July
You can finish up your shopping by October if you try
You can get the outside lights strung up before Thanksgiving day
Hang the garland and the mistletoe you ordered back in May
You can buy the tree December first and decorate it too
You want your Christmas to be perfect and you know just what to do
But it really isn't Christmas if you leave out one small part
It really isn't Christmas until it's Christmas in your heart
We get so busy getting ready, perhaps it's just an oversight
We get caught up in the merry day and forget the holy night
But Jesus wasn't born so you could have a Christmas tree
He was born to be our Savior and to die on Calvary
Jesus isn't just a gimmick used for selling manger scenes
He is the Christ, the very Son of God, and that's what Christmas means
He is the one who started Christmas, He is the one it's all about
And it isn't really Christmas if we try to leave Him out
So when you make your preparations, Jesus is the place to start
Because it isn't really Christmas, unless it's Christmas in your heart
By Frank Carpenter ©

Compassion

Compassion
If you’re like me you try to do your part. Sure, we take our charity seriously by giving to our local church, supporting a missionary or two, giving to organizations related to our children’s schools and athletic teams. We attend a fund raiser now and then, bid on a ski trip or gift basket at an auction, all the usual stuff. Some months and years we even give the full ten percent you always hear about, if things have gone well. However, that’s where most of us draw the line. We might visit a sick friend in the hospital, but we never even speak to a homeless or handicapped person. Orphans? They’re all down in Mexico, right? Oh, we’re always willing to write a check if someone twists our arm, but we rarely get our hands dirty with the actual work of caring for people. We sub all of that out to others, to "professionals" with more training and time than we could ever hope to spare. Does that sound like you too? My concern is that most of us never serve on the front lines of compassion. We think it’s too far away, too messy, too inconvenient. Sadly, however, we fail to realize that no matter where we are right now there are plenty of hungry, homeless and sick people with ten miles of us ... probably even five. God forbid that we should ever go out looking for them as we would surely find them and feel some sort of obligation to them. No, better to let others look after the poor and indigent while we remain safely in the protected circles of our own whitewashed little worlds. Lest you be offended here rest assured that I have climbed down off of the soap box and am preaching to myself as well. I’m the first one to lift a pen and write a check, but usually the last one to lift a finger, if at all. Regardless of my own inaction, however, in my heart of hearts I know that while God appreciates our money, he really wants our action, our time and talents. He knows that the most costly and frightening thing of all is to expose our hearts to those in need, to love them and draw them into our own lives. That is exactly what Jesus did. He stepped out into the crowd, spoke to hurting people and loved them right where they were. And that, I daresay, is just what He would have us do. That is His example. Oh, we need to participate financially, but real love, real compassion, will always be measured in people rather than dollars. Those are the most costly contributions, the ones which tale the true tale of the state of our hearts.

Compassion
So often the subject of lofty thoughts
Of words which long for deeds
But compassion is empty and incomplete
Until it steps forward to meet the needs
A thousand gallons of passionate tears
Ten thousand hours of prayer
Mean nothing unless we roll up our sleeves
And add action to how we care
It’s far too easy to write a check
Sending others to do our work
Yet unless we serve the broken ourselves
True compassion is something we shirk
The widow, the orphan, the homeless
The hungry and outcast near at hand
Are waiting to know our compassion
And reshape the security we had planned
For however God has blessed us
Has only prepared us to serve
We must allow Him to loosen our heart strings
To rethink who we are and what we deserve
The test of our love and compassion
Transcends what we’re willing to give
God counts the cost of our actions
For true compassion is something we live
By Frank Carpenter ©

Echos of Devotion

Today I would like to write about homes. Any home which contains family memories certainly falls under this category. However, my primary focus in this session is that of homes that hold a great many memories, perhaps over a long period of time. My inspiration here is twofold. To begin with, this particular poem was written this last summer in the boyhood home of a dear friend whose father had recently passed away. As I wrote, I actually was sitting in the green chair by the hearth in the library of that house, pondering some of the memories which had been recounted to me. My friend had grown up there and his parents had remained in the home until their golden anniversary. Sadly, it has since been sold and knowing such a sale was eminent I was attempting to capture some of the valued memories as a keepsake for the family. A home can hold so much history, much of it intangible, and when we lose the building we are often relinquishing many of the reminders which serve as a gateway to those memories.
At this moment, those sentiments are all the more poignant as I write these very words while sitting in my father’s favorite chair in his house on our ranch in Oklahoma. This place, this very chair, are the sanctuaries of countless cherished memories. And, much like my friend’s boyhood home, the future of this house and, therefore, its access to my own past remain somewhat in limbo. Doubtless, the people are more important than the memories and the memories more valuable than the real estate in their own way. Yet, we cling to that which is familiar, that which seems to connect us to our past and the people who dwell therein. Such a home, while still in our possession, allows us wander the forgotten halls of our youth and listen for familiar voices in the creak of tired floorboards or rain drops upon the roof. We always fear that somehow our connection to these memories may be lost once we can no longer engage them in their natural habitat. For instance, so long as I am able to sit here in my father’s favorite chair I have the feeling that he is still here with me, after a fashion ... or at least I am with him. Such is the fate of we mortals who dwell in this tangible world. It is our nature to cling to the props associated with our existence here. Our memories, however, have a much longer shelf life than the buildings we tend to store them in. We must always remember that, and make every effort to write those memories not only into our hearts, but the hearts of our children for we are responsible to them as the guardians of their heritage. Often, we are unable to permanently maintain the tangible repositories of our past, like this house where I write from today. Yet, we can glean what they have to offer and treasure those memories up in our hearts to carry with us for a lifetime. However, while opportunity allows, I’ll just sit right here in my father’s favorite chair, in his favorite room, in his favorite place and soak up whatever memories happen to come my way. And someday, when this room is gone or changed or unavailable, I may be able to describe it to my grandchildren and pass my memories on to them ... perhaps even as I sit in my own favorite chair somewhere.

Echos of Devotion
In the quiet of the library
I tarried for a spell
With the party out of earshot down the hall
To leaf through some weathered volumes
In the green chair by the hearth
And admire a favorite painting on the wall
Like every room in this house
This one echos with the memories
From half a century of life, and more
And though things are quiet now
I clearly have a sense somehow
Of all that happened here and came before
I hear the songs of children
On the stair and in the garden
Through happy years of family time here spent
I feel the love maturing
A lifetime of joy still echos
In the halls with countless whispers of content
And there is grief, I sense it
In the quiet of the corners
For loss must come to every house, we know
But the memories here gathered
In this old house whisper volumes
Of a family’s love which spanned from long ago
By Frank Carpenter ©

The One I Usually Miss

Oft have I written on today’s theme, but it just happened to nudge it’s way back up to the top of the pile. We are all so busy, trying to get everything done and everyone taken care of, that life slips right by us sometimes. All the more so this time of year, without daylight savings time, when it seems as if I commute to work both directions in the dark and miss many a beautiful autumn day altogether. Countless sunsets go unnoticed while I try to accomplish a few more seemingly important tasks at the office. Meanwhile, bits of life slowly drift away like so much flotsam and jetsam in the great ocean experience. Do you ever feel that way, like you’re just a little out of control and run right past some amazing things you wish you could stop for? Every once in a while, I’ll pause to catch the sunset and think, "Why don’t I do this every day?" Most of those days just rush right by. Kids grow older. We grow older ... while a thousand little opportunities drift away because we were too busy to enjoy them. Today, however, would be a good day to make a change. Go home a little early. Take a walk. Get down on the floor and play with the kids. Fly a kite. Pray. Whatever. Take hold of those moments you cherish and try not to let all of them slip from your grasp. It’s your life, after all, and you have the right to live it. Have a great day ... and don’t forget to savor every moment!

The One I Usually Miss
Today, I stopped to watch the sunset
The one I usually miss
But there it was, like every day
Though I rarely stop like this
In fact, I really had no choice
So perfect was the scene
A man would be a fool to pass
On such a moment so serene
Far too often, I’ve been a fool
Letting life just pass me by
How many sunsets have I wasted
I ponder with a loathsome sigh
How much beauty, how much wonder
How many perfect, pristine days
Have I been too busy to notice
And cast heedlessly away
How areas of my life
Indeed, have suffered so
How many chances have I wasted
To watch my children grow
How many neighbors have walked past
When there was the chance to be
To be the very friend they needed
So very much has slipped by me
I must pause like this more often
And take each opportunity
To find the wonder in my life each day
Before it slips by me
By Frank Carpenter ©

My Protector

It seems like there’s always someone in my life who is sick or hurting or in the hospital. Indeed, if it’s not something, it’ll be something else. This poem goes out to several folks I know who are dealing with serious illness or may even now be in the hospital. I myself, sadly, am no stranger to hospitals and today’s literary offering was written from my own hospital bed three years ago, give or take a week. In fact, Thanksgiving marks the anniversary of some ongoing health problems which I hope are behind me for good. Nonetheless, my compassion for those in such need is all the more poignant due to my own experience. A sick bed can be a very lonely, sometimes even hopeless, place and we must all learn to remember that our God has authority over sickness and death. In this world of darkness, He is a constant light of hope and victory. Please share this poem with anyone whom you think may need just such an encouragement and let us look together towards the One who is our protector in those darkest of hours.

My Protector
Amidst the very depths of darkness
Within the clutches of my fear
The light of hope and comfort
Pierces through the shadows here
To lift my waning spirits
And remind me that my king
Shall never forsake His servant
Whatever trials life may bring
Whatever storms beset me
However the tempests blow
I know my protector is with me
His word has declared it so
By Frank Carpenter ©