Soft was the voice speaking in deep caring tones, uttering only a whisper through veils of a hidden shroud, pushing softly through the clamor of endless voices, desires that fill the many rooms of every thought. His Voice, its sweet-scented hues, mellow gentle in touch, caressing just as gentle only moments of the conscious thoughts that bustle through the chaos that fills every waking moment of a glorious day;
“Are you rich?”
Not as much of a question, as a ponderance set forth by a Gentle Father wishing more than anything, the hardship of lessons learned tomorrow could be avoided by a simple instruction of today.
For the fraction of a said day, and in but a moment of peaceful recollection, the mind cascades through a gambit of comparable portraits beautifully composed in and around a life. Experiences, those daily challenges, the endless burden of responsible dilemmas cascaded against a person as they muddle through their own gardens nervously, even desperately, striving and often failing to navigate the stones God so graciously provides to keep his children’s feet out of the muck. Always, are we not, in search of the golden egg that can most assuredly guarantee sustained happiness.
But how often have we, glancing flowers, not in path for picking, yet set so with boundless choice, step from firm and grounded stone to pluck, but for a moment that small piece of the garden, created and displayed, yet not intended to hold, and there we find ourselves ankle deep in muck yet again.
Wisdom pours like water around the rim of an overflowing glass, spilling across the surface of every canvas, one but takes a moment and lends a quiet ear to hear.
So was it spoken by a Moslem woman, recent miraculously healed after a nearly fatal multiple gunshot attacks left her with an obliterated hip and the resulting Doctors prognosis; that she would never walk again. She herself, after only a few short weeks, never ceasing to give glory to Him who healed her, when not only did she walk again but all function returned, yet more importantly the hope for a life of expected normalcy returned, did other statements of Words of wisdom ring through this observers eye.
One day she hands me a bowl of the most delightful curry chicken and rice, her families favorite dish. Objecting, I quickly pointed out the portion was too much more than should be proportioned to just me and my small children. But unsaid and more so true, her families economic condition was obviously not as abundant to miss even a Widow’s mite portion of food. Objections fell on deaf ears, and as evident as her healing, the resolve of her gesture, left no doubt to a single fact; I would be leaving with this wonderful gift that day.
It was then that wisdom spilled!
She went on to explain; they did not need as much, because her teenage son did not care for this particular dish, or for that matter, the majority of the food she prepared, he would much rather dismiss himself from dinner, and then later when hunger takes its hold, step out to the nearest fast food troth for a quick fix of whatever synthetic sugar and carbohydrate chemical processed substitute happen to pull his young chain.
I quickly said; “You allow that?”
And she calmly said with a warm knowing smile; “He thinks he is rich, he can choose whatever he wants, even when the gift has already been placed right in front of him.” “He wants to be in charge?” “I will let him, one day he will see the error of his ways.”
He thinks he is rich…
My eye immediately glances to another painting resting lonely in the corner seeming discarded from prevalence, resting quietly in the dusty corner of my mind. Haphazardly placed out of view, turned facing the wall like some scolded child, lonely and weeping in sad solitude. Fearful of two things; one, that the world around will move on and she will miss the gift God had intended, but second and more devastating is the possibility he will “be” forgotten, forgotten the dream that once was.
How strange is the time we live, never before have I seen so many people flying around in such a frantic manner? Chaotic in self-satisfying indulgence, long gone are the days when we hardly left to want, let alone wait.
Many years ago, I vaguely remember the hope of relationship, a marriage or building that dream of a family; children, the dog, watching grandchildren playing in the grass in front of the home, the same home you now softly swing on the comfortable porch swing hand in hand with the spouse you grew old with.
The building blocks of that dream, the base coats, the first layers of foundational hues on the canvas were laid down with the letters sent at great distances. Words of quiet contemplation, the Words penned in hope of touching hearts for watering loves’ garden and the dreams of resting in scented grasses and fragrant flower with the one you love. A word would be said, and the wait then began for the response, left you were to wonder, hope, even fear what response might return. What a glorious experience such a love was to build.
Long gone is the bittersweet ache of the wait for that next letter, the anticipated unknowing that place strains on a young heart. The heart like any other muscle gains strength by exertion, the harder and longer the workload placed in the development, the more powerful the performance, and more importantly the greater the endurance.
Today with our immediate satisfaction of unlimited access, millions of fish to chose from on the Internet, and immediate response of cell phones or text, it is of no wonder so many people, so much love is casually being discarded, thrown away, forgotten in some dark lonely corner. Dreams lost and with them the children’s lives, the love that brought them into this world, their very creations’ love cast aside, because of one reason; no endurance!
Soft and sweet two people, on the painting, holding hands in the misty eves’ glade, walking down the path of life’s anticipation, the seeds of love anew. One can almost cut the loves feeling, so thick it brushes your face with its intense scent. The sweetness of innocent youth far from worries of life, hope breaths life, a child’s life, when love touches such as these. How sweet are the memories when love first drops in the rich soil of the new garden?
Is the gift of Gods love today any less than yesterday?
If all good things come from God, then assuredly love comes from God. Is today’s love so much less than the love of our fathers, fathers, father?
Maybe people are quitting today on marriage so easy because the grass seems greener, so many more choices?
Or maybe its just the time we live, where commitment like morals fades in a sea of indulgence?
If anything, given all the choices, given all the pressures, the social neutering of morality, so much greener grass we seem to be swimming in it, all of these things had been there from place to place, time to time, in great granddads day, the only real difference today the almost kingly ease we all have in our lives, our self-indulgence.
In the time of Caesar, where kings, or queens for that matter, had their choice of hundreds if not thousands of companions to choose from, they could have nearly any item of indulgence, any food they desired, brought to them with but a motion of their finger. Warm clean water to bath in, excess to toss to the pigs, or for that matter to the street, the pigs of the kings rarely got the scrap! Draped in fine linen, only new sandals for his feet. A comfortable safe roof, soft bed, vast army to guard his kingdom. Jewels of precious stone and gold on his fingers, around his neck.
The kings could travel vast distances and hardly needed to walk, carried was the preferred manner. All the information that was important to Caesar was brought to him as fast as possible from all corners of the realm. His every need, want or desire could be met and all around him a great multitude of laborers to fetch anything and all, almost his very thoughts granted him as quickly as he thought them, and why not he is Caesar, he deserves it.
If the king in the day of Solomon saw a beautiful handmaiden that caught his eye, he could take her, no effort, no work, no consequence,… no endurance, and why not, he was king, he deserves it.
And when she was finished with her new bauble, the latest bracelet on her not so young skin, what did it matter, toss it to the corner, there will always be another thousand to take its place, with but a motion of the finger, who cares what happens to the now tarnished bauble, the discarded child, why not she is the queen, she deserves it.
When does indulgence turn into an entitlement?
Soft was the voice speaking in deep caring tones, uttering only a whisper through veils of a hidden shroud, pushing softly through the clammer of endless voices, desires that fill the many rooms of every thought. His Voice, its sweet-scented hues, mellow gentle in touch, caressing just as gentle only moments of the conscious thoughts that bustle through the chaos that fills every waking moment of a glorious day;
“Are you rich?”
Not as much of a question, as a ponderance set forth by a Gentle Father wishing more than anything, the hardship of lessons learned tomorrow could be avoided by the simple instruction of today.
Am I rich?
I pray not…
By Peter Colla
Dear Jesus help me remember your words;
“It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.” Mark 10:25