It is that time of year again
When clocks swing back from eleven to ten
When days get darker in mid-afternoon
Owing to a government mandate changing noon
So British Summer has come to an end
Until March – when we bend time again
Padre
One employee garbed in Jane Austin’s best
Another in a vintage 1880’s cowboy vest
All titles arranged by the decade of first print
Some quite worn, while others are mint
What is it about this bookstore that defies time?
Is that why it’s named Vellichor on the sign?
Padre
I watched helplessly from behind the two-way glass
As the interview room filled with eerie gas
Detective Margaret Smith on her last duty day
Interviewing a suspect from far away
The Perp grew tentacles and at Smith did lunge
Breaking the cuffs – the room into mist did plunge
The last thing I remember was her pleading face
Before being devoured by a creator from outer space
Padre
Holly Hall and Jeremiah Small were an unlikely couple. But a couple they were, and this is their tale. Holly was the only child of a Wyoming rancher and having no brothers she grew up riding, roping, and the like. She wore a stetson hat and leather chaps, and never was without a six-gun on her side. Yes, she could shoot, swear, and drink with the ranch hands as their equal.
Jeremiah was a sophisticated seminary graduate from some place back east, some way out Massachusetts way. He took it into his mind that he was going to go west and bring the gospel to the Cheyenne and Arapaho. He found that preaching slow and loud in English didn’t have much success, however, and not being much for languages he decided to adjust his aspirations.
It was this that brought him to the township of New Prospect. He was sure he would leave his mark of the gospel on that place. After settling into the boarding house, the young preacher made his way to the saloon. As he entered he noted a young cowpuncher propping up the bar knocking back Red Eye. Jeremiah decided he would go and spread the good news of temperance to the lad. He approached the bar and ordered himself a sarsaparilla only to notice that the buckaroo was no teenage boy but a woman of about twenty-four years of age. He nevertheless began his sermonising on drink.
She looked at his, then replied, “Jesus turned water into wine; and the book condemns drunkenness not drinking.” The preacher looked back, amazed and agreeing, he beat a retreat.
The next day he again saw her playing cards in the saloon. He went to condemn her gambling. She noted that the Apostles cast lots to secure a replacement for Judas. Well, these daily debates went on for a time, and then debates turned to conversations, and the conversations into courting. Before long a wedding was being planned.
The day finally arrived and the whole community gathered at the courthouse. Jeremiah was dressed in a black suit with a clerical collar, and everyone was surprised to see Holly show up in her momma’s wedding dress, and with no shooting iron. After a brief ceremony, Judge Carmichael pronounced them man and wife. It was now time for honeymooning. It was on their wedding night that the cowgirl and the missionary had their first real dispute.
Padre
Jerub-Baal, Midian to defeat
Was told his army he must decrease
He sent away all who in heart did faint
But the numbers were still to large
He was to show even more restraint
And so he cut his forces to the core
A mere three hundred – not one more
And with this tiny band
It was God’s victory that was at hand
We too may face opposition strong
But if you feel alone – you are so wrong
For if the Lord is with you
And takes up the fight
You shall prevail through His might
Reflections on Judges 7
Padre
She had a title
She gave it away
I saw it in the news today
The cash allowed her
She passed up too
She followed her heart
For love true
And so the princess is a royal no more
Let’s hope for her good things are in store
Padre
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2021/oct/26/japan-princess-mako-marries-loses-royal-status
Skeletal framework
Scaffolding secure
Mere rods and hinges
To make it endure
It is not these that keep us dry
The rain trough them would go right by
But the fabric without support
The storm to thwart
Would be quite useless
And my trip I’d abort
Padre
I met a they the other day
They was labelled a “she” but wasn’t happy that way
“They was” isn’t correct, I hear you say
But if they is a singular – it must work that way
Don’t get me wrong – I’m happy to use
Whatever pronoun that you choose
It’s the grammar only that makes me wince
As our language suffers growing pains
As new views and agendas we evince
Padre
There was so much out there. How could she ever hope to capture it? This niggled at Angela for days, then she decided that the only way to do it was to start.
She set up her easel and placed a single twig before her and began to look long and hard at it. She looked beyond the leaves and bark into the soul of the thing. She then began to simply sketch what filled her mind’s eye. Eight hours later she pushed back and took in the fruit of her labour. “Leaf,” the true leaf had taken form on the paper. It seemed almost three dimensional.
So realistic was the rendering that she reached out to touch it. As she did it fell from the page and drifted to the floor.
Amazed, she blinked and picked it up. She could feel its texture and weight. It was indeed a leaf.
She immediately sat back before her easel and began to work.
Four days later her mother knocked her door.
“We were worried about you,” she said letting herself into the studio. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
The bleary-eyed Angela looked towards her mother and ans merely said, “Sorry, I’ve been busy.”
“Let’s see it then,” her mother said and leaned over to look at the blank paper. “Working?” she asked.
“Yes, my best stuff yet,” Angela said.
“Hmm,” her mum said unconvinced. “I’ll leave you to it, and eat something. You look awful.”
“Okay, Mum,” the artist replied.
With that her mother left not having noticed the pile of leaves and twigs around her daughter’s ankles.
Padre
The Lord is my shepherd
Over my wants and desires He does guide
For all that is necessary – He will abundantly provide
He gives me rests in meadows green
All my burdens there to lay down
Fresh waters to revive me
To cool my throat and crown
My weary soul and spirit
He does repair – restore
For it is His name that I bear,
Who could ask for any more?
In ways holy I will travel,
And through Him, others will I bless
His staff of guidance nurtures me
And from my worries – gives much needed rest
My enemies can merely watch
As the Lord showers on me good things
Abundance of blessing overflow
No matter what life might bring
For all my days – on these I can depend
His promise on that His word contains
Until heavenly realms I finally enter –
At this earthly life’s inevitable end
Padre
Thanks for the insights Pastor Vince.
Padre's Ramblings 