The End

And time, time was my best friend
but now I see the end.
And hope, hope would drive me on
but through my tears it seems all hope is gone.

And laughter and tears are both the same
They lift you up and cast you down but you still remain.
I look across the frozen field
but what will all my labour yield?

And you, memory’s distant touch,
I felt and knew too much.
And while the days still linger on
can you linger still? Can you linger long?

And these, these my final words
a leave as seed for birds.
And on silver wings they will rise into the sky
as I lay down, breathe my last, and die.

Let everyone remember and then forget
bury their last and vain regret.
But laughter and tears are both the same
They lift you up and cast you down but you still remain.

The Apple Philosophy

A is for Apple
Somebody threw me an apple
with a worm in it.
I bit out the worm
and threw the apple back.
I was the only one who knew the worm
had the most nutrition.

This poem, which I wrote as an English assignment in the last month of grade ten, epitomises my state of mind at the time. That state had been brought about by the educational system that had me produce this poem in the first place. Let me explain.

My grade ten English teacher, Mr. Mackenzie, the head of the English Department and notorious for pulling student’s grades out of hats, repeatedly going into rehab and other less noble things, who had given us some rather difficult and long assignment which I remember nothing of having probably not done it, asked us to take our frustration out on him by writing a poem. A is for Apple was the result.

The poem’s title suggests one of the first things we learn in school, the alphabet. The apple itself is a symbol of education. Its bright red shine speaking of the promise of all that is good and noble. Educational Institutions, of the past at least, have promised that our schools will prepare our children for the responsibilities of life. My depiction of the casual and careless manner in which this promise was passed to me was intentional. At sixteen years of age I could see that the promises were hollow, or at least infested.

The worm is a curious creature. It does not attack the apple from the outside but it's egg was put there by its parent while the apple tree was in bloom. It grew only after the apple formed, eating at it from the inside, coming out just when the apple is ready to eat. The educational system’s promises were being challenged within by another insidious promise. I remember the teachers reciting it to my parents all the time, "Teddy can become whatever he wants." I thought I was special. This promise was a lie. My parents bought into it. I bought into it. Who wouldn’t want to believe their son had great potential? But how was it to be developed?

What my parents and I had failed to realise is that the educational system wasn’t really concerned with my learning, as such, but were really practising a philosophy of noninterference. If they left me alone I would become what I wanted. Not all within the school system bought into this philosophy, but enough did to make it difficult for those teachers who saw a correlation between input and output.

I had entered my first year of school ready to learn. School and I were not a fit, however, and I would not be bent to fit. So, school had to bend instead. In some ways it made sense but the world was not like that. I was rarely challenged and little was demanded of me. In Junior High, classroom marks did not matter. Our final marks were based on four quarterly exams on which I always did very well. Well enough to put me in the top ten percentile. I was in the elite without any effort. I was special.

At sixteen, I realised that I did not need to finish school. At the end of grade ten, I promptly dropped out. I perceived the worm as of greater value than the apple. After all, I could be what ever I wanted. I set my sights high. When I grew up I was going to be a fire truck or something just as impossible, like a rock star. I threw the apple right back in their faces. I knew better than they. In reality I had been a good student. I had taken their liberal social philosophy, hook, line, sinker and, of course, worm.

My flirtation with grade eleven and twelve (after four months of doing a job I hated which my parents made me take, since I wasn’t going to continue my schooling) ended after my flirtation with a certain brunette that placed me into the real world unprepared. A wife and child at eighteen, though it gives you a sense of responsibility, does not prepare you for responsibility.
Entering adulthood and family life unprepared is a scary thing. Nothing in the school system had equipped me to take on the responsibilities of a husband and father. From the start I found out that I could get by with little effort. The teachers did not interfere with my inactivity. I met their standards of progress and then some. Aside from the fact I never did my assignments, I was a model student; quiet, happy and my high marks on exams made the teachers feel like they were successful. Real life was not like that, however. When people, governmental institutions or circumstances demanded more of me, I thought it was unfair. When I heaped responsibilities upon the shoulders of that certain brunette (seven children and a useless husband), I didn’t see how unfair I was being to her.

Somehow, I managed to see that God demanded more of me. I didn’t join any of the modern churches that have been infested with the same liberal philosophy. I’m forty-one [written in 2004] and counting and counting on my newly acquired insight to be the start of real change. Consequences have forced me to see my error but the damage that has been done may not be easy or even possible to repair.

This is a warning to all. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Make your own. I’m probably I little näive to think my warning will be heeded. After all, there were many voices out there that I did not heed. Yet, if it helps someone to realise a little sooner, that there is a real world which takes real effort and real choices to succeed in, it was worth the hour it took me to write this.

I want to be clear. It wasn’t that finishing school would have made much difference. If I still had the same attitude, my life would have been the same but different. Maybe I would have grown up to be a useless bureaucrat, a correspondent for the CBC or even a teacher infesting the minds of students with the same apple philosophy. A is for apple. Just watch out for the worms.

The Word of God

Hebrews 4:12 For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.

Let us look at this familiar text to see what we can find. What is the Apostle Paul saying about the Word of God? What is it he wants us to understand?

First, God’s Word is living. What is it that makes God’s Word living? What defines something as animate as opposed to inanimate? One thing that comes to mind is the ability to reproduce, or to give life. God’s Word is not only living but is life giving.

That leads to the second point, God’s word is not only living, it is powerful. It has the power to give life. We can reproduce, but the power to reproduce comes from God. We can plant a seed and watch it grow. but we cannot make it grow. We do not give life to the seed. Nor did the seed create itself. It needs outside influences to grow -- sunshine, moisture, nutrients -- and these cannot be provided by the seed itself. These were created and provided by God.

Now this life-giving Word also has another quality -- it can cut. This appears on the surface to be a destructive feature and, indeed, it is. God’s Word is living, powerful and it is destructive to sin. The destructive quality in God’s Word is the natural result of it’s life-giving and powerful qualities. A seed again serves as a good illustration of this fact.

In order for life to come from the seed, the seed must be destroyed. It’s destruction results in an abundance of fruit.

John 12:24 Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.

God’s Word is quick, powerful and sharp. This sharpness, this destructive quality that is inherit in God’s Word, works upon the spirit (soul and spirit), body (joints and marrow) and mind of man (thoughts and intents of the heart).

God’s Word divides asunder soul and spirit. I have heard many fanciful interpretations of this text based upon our fanciful interpretations that we attach to the meanings of the words soul and spirit. There are two verses that we can look at the may help shed light upon our understanding of this passage.

Genesis 2:7 And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.

1 Corinthians 15:45 And so it is written, The first man Adam was made a living soul; the last Adam was made a quickening spirit.

God created man from the dust of the ground. He was not living until God breathed the spirit of life into man. At that point man became a living soul. The difference between the spirit of life, the breath of life, and the life that results from it is hard to discern. So much so, that there are many who see the words soul and spirit as interchangeable. God’s Word distinguishes the difference. It can discern spiritual truths that are beyond our ability. God’s Word alone gives us clear insight into the deep things of God.

1 Corinthians 2:13 Which things also we speak, not in the words which man's wisdom teacheth, but which the Holy Ghost teacheth; comparing spiritual things with spiritual.

2 Peter 1:21 For the prophecy came not in old time by the will of man: but holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.

God’s Word sheds light not just upon the spiritual world but upon the physical world as well. It can divide the joints and marrow of the body. All that is seen in the physical world can be better understood when viewed through the truths of the Bible.

Psalms 119:130 The entrance of thy words giveth light; it giveth understanding unto the simple.

Many more texts could be quoted. It is clear that the study of God’s Word helps us to think about and see our world more clearly.

More than this, however, God’s Word looks into the human heart and reveals those things that are hidden even to ourselves.

Psalms 139:23 , 24 Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

Jeremiah 17:9, 10 The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? I the LORD search the heart, I try the reins, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings.

God’s Word cannot do its work upon our heart unless we read it.

Romans 10:17 So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.

God’s word is living, life-giving, and contains the creative power of God. His word is destructive to sin and transforms the selfish human heart by recreating it into the image of Jesus. God’s Word gives us insight into things that are beyond human comprehension. It sheds light upon this world and imparts practical knowledge. God’s Word discerns the things hidden in our heart. This is true insight. This work needs to be performed before we can enter into God’s kingdom.

1 Peter 1:23 Being born again, not of corruptible seed, but of incorruptible, by the word of God, which liveth and abideth for ever.

John 3:3 Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.

May God’s Word give spiritual insight, knowledge and reveal to you the hidden things of the heart. Amen

This Mortal Journey

This Journey Begins

I

This journey that I’m on,

this flight from fancy,

A cold unforgiving dream.

I hurry, quickly scurry,

with haste and fury, scream.

Driven, unforgiven,

mad with fear and hate.

loathing self ‘til self forgets

what reason metes with fate.

Fate’s fleeting glimpse

of futures unseen hand

turning twisting ever learning

all that is unplanned.

All that can’t be seen

cannot be felt

by mind half blind

with terror smelt.

What terror, what dread,

pale face traced with naught

a face from which all colour’s bled,

a leaden face, unknowing thought.

Unknowing, what could be discerned

if knowing meant every thought

quickly, sickly, thickly learned

had I to my conscience brought.

Had I a conscience still,

a presence of mind

a free and reasoning will.

If I had that and only that to find

II

This journey would be ended,

this battle for the mind.

A house left untended

a dilapidated mine.

A treasure trove or barren heart

hidden from human sight,

a selfless love or frightful dart,

who will win the fight?

Who will win indeed?

The answer is unclear;

a mirky smoke filled glass

a blurry stained mirror.

Eyes do search, cold eyes,

hardened, piercing gaze.

Impossible to discern

the twisting serpent’s maze.

Again the fear rises up

into the throat and chokes

as last dregs from that bitter cup,

one more breath to coax.

A mind played trick, almost sick,

walks in air of younger days

when freely light burdens bare

and care was the voice of praise.

But now forsaken, shaken,

the path once wide and easy,

If the other had been taken?

I asked which would please me.

I asked of someone unknown,

now knowing what I rather not

that life begun in hope and joy

ends in a stinking rot.

A rottenness that starts within

each choice hidden deep,

that seems but an innocent whim

that on your conscience creep.

A compromise that steals

the promise from His lips

and climbing up the proverbial path

as he downward slips.

III

And I am there

where light cannot be seen.

But the darkness has a glare

to show me where I’ve been.

And that is not a place

where I would want to go

but now in heaven’s disgrace

my choice I do know.

And choice it has been

could my tongue somehow confess,

if confession could cleanse the heart

and make my guilt be less.

But even then to my knees

I’m driven at the thought

As light breaks forth from heaven’s doors

and all His wonder’s wrought.

Wrought of love, I see it now,

if seeing it can be called,

when blinded by the noon day sun

when from dark dungeon hauled.

All around I feel them now

the massive horde of strangers.

Stranger still, that until now

I never saw the dangers.

And He is right not by might

but by a love beyond mortal ken.

Knees bow and tongues confess

at Jesus’ name spoken then.

Our guilt is seen collectively;

individually we see our loss.

I and we crucified our Lord

We nailed Him to His cross.

‘How?’ I ask, ‘Could it be

when I was never there?’

Yet, day by day I nailed Him

though I hardly was aware,

but now I see in totality

though it be too late.

Now is salvation’s day.

Make it choice not fate.

This Journey Continues

I

A light, brighter still

kisses then my brow,

rouses and stirs my will

and awakes me now

to see the dream has ended.

If a dream it can be called,

when like a fortress tended

or a city walled,

it’s truth can be defended

and every word recalled.

Every vision I had seen

was burned into my brain

as though I had really been

and I there remain.

I rise and blurry eyed

face another day

unlike any other seen

and try to find my way.

Picking past each moment ticking

on that eternal clock

that metes each moment’s meaning;

a prisoner in the dock.

Each choice now seemed so real

with eternity in its scope.

I try to think and feel,

to keep my mind on hope

but each step it seems

takes me farther from my goal.

All my human schemes

dye redder still the wool.

If I say I have no sin

my sin remains.

The deeper I look within

the deeper are the stains.

II

Retiring to a place of prayer

I pour out my need.

It’s not from guilt and shame

that on my knees I plead,

but deliverance from the very act.

Remove the selfish deed.

Transform this mind

formed first from dust.

This steeled will

consume with rust.

Remove each thread

of human trust.

As if thrust through with sword

are pangs that pierce the heart,

that shatter every cord

that tears this frame apart.

Destroy it board by board

and that is just the start.

At my weakest point,

gathered about with gloom

while pain racks every joint

he steals into the room

at the time appoint

while my sins before me loom.

This is the moment when

all will be confirmed

or all will be denied

or the truth at least be learned.

His arms are about my chest

before I’ve even turned.

I struggle now not just with mind

but with unyielding foe.

With each effort I find

he matches blow to blow.

His tricks I can’t unwind.

My weakness he does know.

III

He knows my every weakness;

he knows my every thought.

Who is this foe I’ve found?

What secret has he brought?

Then with every fiber strained

I tied him in a knot.

Then I asked him why

he came at this time appoint?

Then he placed his hand into my thigh

till it was out of joint

and then with one desperate cry

I asked Him to anoint.

For now I saw my foe

as dawn revealed His face.

I felt hope inside me grow

now enveloped by His grace;

that I would not let Him go

was not to His disgrace.

Then He spoke that name,

I wonder to recall,

to revoke that shame

stored in memory’s hall

and to remove that blame

placed by Adam’s fall

and mine.

For I still fallen am.

Journey’s hill will not decline.

I am but a man,

I am not divine.

Yet, divine is the road

upon which my feet are set.

Unbearable the load

and the trials that are met.

The way He has showed.

He has traveled it.

This Journey’s End

I

This journey that I’m on,

the end cannot be seen

with mortal eye.

The living only dream,

behold the sky

and all creation’s wonders

dimly through a glass,

and all heaven’s thunders

in a moment pass.

Faith’s eye only beholds a view

where in earth’s decay

all things are made new,

never from truth to stray.

And truth is the guide

that keeps us on the path.

The road, easy and wide,

though traveled many hath,

does not lead to heaven’s door

or that eternal rest,

but only to Satan’s moor

held at his behest.

And we must choose

lest fate snatch away our choice

and we lose

God’s guiding voice.

Each step is heavy with the weight

of glory in its scope,

burdened by our mortal freight

driven on by hope.

Hate no longer binds us,

free to choose the way,

fear no longer blinds us

or causes us to stray.

Love is all around us

and Jesus leads the way.

II

And I follow taking up my cross.

I have forsaken all

counting gain but loss

and all the riches of the world

are to me as dross.

But my steps are not as sure as my intent,

my thoughts are not so pure

or always heaven sent,

and each trial I endure

my strength is almost spent.

But strength enough

is given for each day,

though Satan tries to play his bluff

to steal my peace away

while stumbling at the stuff

he places in my way.

And so the road goes on,

and once again I find

the darkness crowding in

thickly to my mind,

and blind once again

as in the dream before.

Fearing for the end,

searching for the door,

but faith bids me on

and not like fear before.

And though uncertain of myself,

I’m certain of the Voice,

that guides me through the gloom,

guides my every choice.

For choice it is

though it cannot be seen;

not chance or fate.

For only faith has been

my guide through this mirk,

where gins and snares are set

and unseen dangers lurk,

and it’s not over yet.

III

A red leer, a ray not light

parts the gloom and of the gloom apart.

A day more like night

fills the room, deadens the heart.

A vision not like sight

points the way with deceptive art.

With all senses now in disarray

I trust not man, not self, not thought.

With no sense to guide the way

I only know what I ought -

that true to Him I will stay

who with His blood my ransom bought.

He purchased me.

I am His,

and by His hand

I’ll die or live.

You cannot steal what I will give.

And then at last

that piercing horn

awakes the dead

no more to mourn.

And I, at last, see the end

but cannot describe by mortal pen

nor song declare the brightness then.

The light so bright

immortal sight alone can see;

a joy so full, yet room for more,

though no more could be.

More and all and eternity

rolling, moving, growing, filling

all the earth and all creation be light,

and I awake

the morning sun in my eyes.

I saw of what the Prophets spake,

I heard their warning cries,

“Beware which path you take

for in your choice your fate lies.”

In A Moment

In a moment all my stars fall to the ground.
A thought, a dream, a whisper,
and all the hope I found, gone.
Gone are the days when I saw the light,
filtered through the azure blue.
Gone are the times when smiles found the faces of those around me so easily.
Every last word has been forgotten.
Every song that has been sung has faded.
Memory itself has failed me.
I look upon the stone-cold that greets me,
the ground from which I came.
The trees sigh instead of singing with the breath of God in their branches,
My breath has left me,
the Spirit of God that was in my nostrils.
I feel the darkness penetrating deep.
The fingers of death have laid hold upon me.
The Adversary’s sibilance of hate presses upon my ear.
There is nothing left but to rest,
to sleep and perhaps waking brings a brighter day.

Sit Not Upon the Ground and Weep

Sit not upon the ground and weep.
Weep not, for there’s a time to keep
all the feelings deep inside
to yourself and there to hide.
The secrets of your heart you found,
why do you pour them on the ground?
Throw not your pearls before swine
or even less lest they be twined
by hearts that are not circumspect
and all of their beauty wrecked.
For who indeed can comprehend
when even your nearest friend
beholds your pain with distant eyes
and tries their best to sympathise?
But can they see the depths within
and, like Christ, see past the sin.
Though we may never claim,
we are so quick to see blame,
forgetting what we should see
but for God’s grace, there go we.
And still upon the ground you sit
while you sob and while you spit.

I'm an Artist

I need to create a thing for people to see
and I hope all the while that they see me
There’s nothing to lose but everything to gain
maybe I’ll lose the momentary pain
I’m an artist, does anybody care?
I’m an artist

This world needs to understand that everything it sees
Is all illusion draped in unrealities
But there’s something to choose that will remain
Maybe I’ll choose the moments refrain.
I’m a singer can anybody hear?
I’m a singer.

And these thoughts that come to me
are not like the thoughts that come to you.
I pick them from a tree
dripping with the morning dew.

I write down the words that enter my mind
Looking for the clues only I can find
there’s nothing to lose but everything to gain
Maybe I’ll lose the momentary pain
I’m a poet, Does anybody know?
I’m a poet.

And these thoughts that come to me
are not like the thoughts that come to you.
I pick them from a tree
dripping with the morning dew.

I need to create a thing for people to see
and I hope all the while they’re still seeing me
There’s something to lose and nothing to gain
maybe I’ll choose the momentary pain
I’m an artist, does anybody care?
I’m an artist.

(sometimes it feels that way) tjt

The Stars of Night

Simply take my hand and see
the stars of night with me.
For what? can one imagined thought
tell the tale the heart has wrought?
Or what, can eyes that have never met
remember what they can’t forget?
Shall I hide you in a bower
with falling stars ashower?
Yet downcast is your gaze
as we traverse so dark a maze.
For who am I to cast a gloom
upon your spare and hallowed tomb?
Lift up your eyes to the light and see
awake from your nocturnal reverie.
For every point and every prick
is light and love and quick.