Notebook

There is a lot of noise in my life right now. When I get like this I tend to go back through the notebook in my bible, where I've jotted down thoughts from here and there, hoping to pick up some piece of wisdom left behind.
Most of them are meaningless now that I've forgotten why I wrote them down. Words like "contentious". That was obviously wrote down so that I might look it up in the dictionary and expand my vocabulary or get more meaning from something I heard. Yet the dictionary remains closed.
Or there's a name, Lisa Terkeurst, and a question, "Who holds the key to your heart?". I don't have any idea where this came from and yet when I look at it the question haunts me.
Who does hold the key to my heart? My wife of course, oh and Jesus... yeah that's it, Jesus. At least that's what I like to think. The truth is, that my pride holds the door closed most of the time.
I wrote down prayers to. Mainly to help me focus on what I was praying about. But reading them brings back memories I thought were buried in the dark corners of my consciousness. They bring tears of sorrow for lost children, broken promises and misguided dreams. They also remind me of a time when I relied more heavily on God and not so much on my own strength.
I wrote a verse to a song we sing.

"God is bigger than the air I breathe,

The world we'll leave.

God will save the day and all will say,

My Glorious"

And then I wonder, if I truly believe that, why can't I turn the noise in my life over to Him. He is bigger than anything I can imagine. He is bigger than my little noise. He should be able to handle my little noise. Well, of course he can.

Let it go...no,wait. But isn't that what we've always been told? We only need to let it go. I'm sure I have that highlighted in my bible somewhere. OK, so here... let it go...no, wait, not yet...OK, now.

One Scoop or Two?

I saw this piece today and my first thought was that I wanted to share it with friends who would "get it," who would appreciate all that it was saying and some of what it didn't say. That's you guys! Though some of you may not be into poetry, give this one a try, ok?

Jere Pfister says she saw a sign near her Heights home on North Main that captured her attention and her imagination. The sign looked like an ice cream cone with a scoop of vanilla on top. The word "Jesus" was faded but visible on the ball of ice cream. Here's the poem the sign inspired:

I wonder what Jesus-flavored ice cream would taste like.
Cool and metallic like the new cathedral in Los Angeles,
Where even the statues and Stations of the Cross are patented,
Copied, sold in-house or by mail order via the Internet.
Or salty like the tears of the wails of mothers of lost children,
Sweet trustiing children who only obey their elders?
Would Jesus ice cream taste sweet like love, sweet love,
Or bitter, sweet, lumpy, like the road to sustained love.

Would Jesus run down my hand and arm on hot days
Staining my clothes, making my hands sticky to touch
Like a vanilla-flavored ice cream cone on a hot July day,
Cause me to lick my fingers, suck them, use my spit
To clean the Jesus streaks from my arms and round my lips.
Would Jesus feed me, nourish me like communion
Is supposed to, but rarely, hardly ever does, anymore.