Monday, September 30, 2013

23 September

This life is loosely woven,
between the threads
we see eternity now and then,
and God shines through purely,
cleanly,
and this life suddenly becomes obvious,
conspicuous,
even ostentatious.
How dare we to live?

Tomorrow is a hope,
not a guarantee,
and not,
certainly,
a toy
to be held on to and clutched
in a greedy hand;
then it will smart
when it is torn away.
How dare we to presume?

Death crouches in the way,
looking for all the world
like it will spring,
and rend us in pieces with none to deliver.

Do you know why it crouches so?
The hand of Christ is on its neck,
twisting ever so slightly,
and Death grimaces in pain,
knowing
its days, too, are numbered,
counted off by the same Lord
who came to the end
of the tally
for my father.

The fear of the Lord is clean.   
How dare we to live otherwise?

"Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
        be acceptable in your sight,
        O LORD, my rock and my redeemer."

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