seneca's Blog

Life

I was thinking the other day about humanity and its purpose. It is one question with a thousand answers. Some will say we were an accident, perhaps even a mistake. Others would suggest we were born to love and worship God Almighty. Of course, me being whom I am, (weird, strange and different) envisioned a different angle of the portrait.

Have you ever received a gift that was so exciting, that you just had to share it with a friend or a loved one? Have you ever beheld a sunset so rich in texture that it could not be uttered, but had to be seen and felt with the soul?

God is life. I donât mean just life. God is pure life, undefiled, exquisite, pure and joyous. Wherever God attends, death cannot enter. That which the Master breathes upon or touches has life, for heâs not the giver of death, but the author of life.

I was looking at a green landscape the other day. I not only looked at it, but beheld it. Did you realize that the color green is so much more than the color green? I became amazed and enthralled by the many shadings of green. One solid green would be so bland for a landscape. Even the plants we call weeds had their place in this family of life I gazed upon. Each plant was lighter or darker than the plant beside it. Yet all of them were green. And I contemplated, how considerate and detailed and loving God is with his creation.

So many times we busily pass through life, looking but never seeing. For a few minutes each day, I stop. I stop and indulge myself in the beauty, serenity and peace of creation. I abandon the city noises and listen to the songs of my feathered friends. I close my eyes to mans pollutions and see the blueness of the sky, the richness of the velvet finery of the trees. I exhale the stench of factories and exhaust and inhale the scent of a rose, a powdered baby and analyze the very air which gives me life. Afterwards, I reverently thank he, who made it all possible. And I acknowledge the fact that yes, I do have a reason to be happy.

We all know that life is imperfect, yet it is that imperfection which compliments and makes life perfect. We endure that which is course and homely, in that, we might appreciate that which is refined and comely. To understand sorrow, makes our joy complete.

Now imagine this. God has all this beautiful life. Itâs throbbing with energy, vibrant, stimulatingly joyous, more intense than the fires of a thousand suns. Thereâs only one problem. God has no one to share it with.

R.D. Smith

I lay down and dreamed last night. I dreamed I had died and came back to earth, but it was different, it had changed. Politicians actually cared about the people. They would self sacrifice for the good of the people and the people paid taxes with a willing heart, for the taxes were not high. The government spent the money wisely on the people and for the people.

There was no hunger or poverty, for each cared and looked out for the other. Those that had; gave, and those that had not; sought earnestly for employment so they might give also. And all was good.

Doors went unlocked, for it never entered into the mind of another person to take that which did not belong to him. There were no written contracts. If a man gave his word, it was honored by himself and the establishment he gave it to. It was unheard of to lie.

Worry, anger, hatred, jealousy, despair and depression could not be found in the dictionary, for they did not exist. We were all united in the goal to better ourselves and in bettering ourselves, others benefited also.

It was a large apple pie and all partook and all were full and blessed. The hospitals were not full. There was joy throughout the land. A happy mind creates a healthy body. Laughter is like a medicine.

Even young children could walk the midnight streets, for it entered not into the heart of men to do harm unto them. The air and water were pure, the animals and plants prospered for we took upon ourselves the responsibility of having dominion over the earth and we learned to respect all life.

The weapons of war were melted down into plowshares, there was no war. We came to love our enemies, so therefore we had no enemies.

I looked up into a clear blue sky and saw a brilliant white light.

Then I realizedâ¦

I had awakened from my dream.

Then I thought to myself, hmmmmâ¦

The Possibilities.

R.D. Smith

Flawed?

Once upon a time, there was a large forest. Lebanon was known the world over for its giant and beautiful redwoods. This story is not about the magnificent redwoods though, but the strong and mighty dogwood trees.

Long ago, in a time before our time, the dogwood were powerful, lofty and without equal. They stood proud beside the redwood, but deep within the shadows of all these enormous ancients, grew a small sprig. His name was Agapetos.

He was not alone, for there were many other sprigs near his young age. There was something wrong with Agapetos, for as the years rolled by, his friends began to out-distance him in growth. His friends laughed and made fun of his short statue. The time came when he looked up at those his own age and realized that he was a runt. Oh, he grew much thicker and stronger than they, but the height, every tree desires height.

âWhy Master, why me Lord? Why am I different, why am I flawed?â

âPatience child, in time, all will be understood.â

There was a rustling in the leaves, as centuries later, it was rumored that the Son of God walked upon the earth.

Arguments began to take place, as the redwoods and dogwoods began to wonder who would have the honor of carrying and comforting the Christ in his hour of death. For you see, nature communes with God and He with them, so there were few secrets which the trees did not know.

Gabriel approached the throne, humbled before his Master, who was in a subdued mood. Quietly he spoke, âMaster, I have found the perfect tree for the deed which must be done. He is strong and tall, aged and worthy.â

âNo Gabrielâ interrupted God âI have a special branch, created for this task alone. He is young, for my Son loves the children. He is not tall and haughty, but short and meek. And strength, his strength is greater than any other, for the burden he must hold. His name is Agapetos and he alone is worthy.â

Gabriel replied as he turned to go, âThe young Agapetos shall be acquired, my Lord.â

âOh, and Gabriel?â spoke the Almighty.

âYes, Master?â

âFrom this day on, the mighty and proud Dogwood tree shall be no more. This day I decree that none shall grow even half as tall as Agapetos, for none are as big of heart as he. They shall be bent and twisted and covered with thorns. My human children shall shun them and the giant redwood shall look down on them. For all the years which they have ridiculed the one I favor, there shall be a judgment.

Moral of Story

Everything God creates is wonderful, beautiful and perfect. Faults and flaws do come about and thereâs a reason for all things. At times we ask âWhy Lord?â and in his own time he will answer that question. When we understand, it shall be joy unspeakable and full of grace.

I have a mother, whom I love dearly. Over the years she has acquired a few wrinkles, doesnât see quite so well, nor does she hear adequately. You might say she is flawed. And I might say that every time I see her, she becomes more lovely than the time before.

When I seek a piece of wood to build a piece of furniture, I seek not for that perfect piece. I look for the unique, for that which is twisted and flawed. With the eye of a craftsman, I can visualize the finished product. Itâs the flaw which shines through to create the beauty.

R.D. Smith

It was old, it was worn out. It was broken and useless, therefore cast aside. It lay there on the dump heap, surrounded by the garbage of humanity. It once had a life, but now was near the end of itâs road. How low must you go to reach the end? Where was hope? Strange thought, for even then Hope was passing through the midst of the debris.

The One saw the old table laying there and it caught his eye. The One always kept his eye out for such treasures. This one he knew, for beneath all the grime and filth he could see the mark of his craftsmanship. He had built this table many years ago. All had forgotten the table, but the One always remembered. There was a time when it chose to be lost. Truly, lost it was.

As compassion swelled from his heart and a tear slipped from his cheek, with gentle hands he lifted the dilapidated table from the mire. The One carried this nasty, nauseating, piece of trash home in his strong, clean arms with no thought of the smell or dirt. There he began to restore it.

He began to clean all the filth and slime off by the power cleanser called âHis Bloodâ. Yes, it was white as snow but the One knew there was much yet to do.

There was a coating of carnality which hid the tables beauty. He took some sand paper known as âTrialsâ and began removing the carnality with many sweeps of trials. The trials began wearing the coat of carnality thin and wood began to appear. Ah, thatâs what the One was seeking. The beauty beneath.

As the paint was finally removed and the wood laid bare before the Masters eyes, the One was moved. For he saw all the scars, hurts and pain which the table had endured while on his declining journey through the world of man.

Next he took fine sand paper referred to as âTribulationsâ. As the surface of the table was brushed vigorously with tribulations, the fine lines of hurt and pain began to dissolve. The table didnât have time to worry about old wounds, when all these other tests were confronting it.

All had been sanded smooth⦠except for the scars. They were embedded too deep to safely sand out, for the table would lose itâs strength. The Master softly swabbed the scars with the ointment of his own scars. Oh yes, the One understood and knew all about scars. Then he poured a filling into the void, known as âThe Spiritâ. With a comforting, soothing essence, the filling removed the scars.

To repair the many broken parts of the table, the Master used the glue of âForgivenessâ. The One used glue, for he understood the pain of nails.

To protect it from future marks, stains, hurts and pains he applied oil. The oil of the âWordâ was rubbed steadily into the table until it eventually penetrated to the very heart of the table. The table began to shine.

For the final touch, the Master poured out his love upon the table. He buffed it, caressed it and touched it with his love until it shone as the desert sun at high noon.

I know this story to be trueâ¦
for I am the Antique Table.


R.D. Smith