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Archive for May, 2011

THE LOST-AND-FOUND CORVETTE

Today a man with the water dept was working across the street. When he saw me he yelled out “Do you want to sell that corvette?” I couldn’t believe that he had recognized my son’s 77 midnight purple Corvette 90% of which was hidden underneath the gray cover and the random things I had piled on it. There’s a reason he recognized it–he was the guy who sold it to my son eight years ago. I cleaned off the car, took off the cover, and he stood there marveling at his long-gone treasure. “I’ve never seen another one like it anywhere,” he said.

That’s how God sees each of us today. Under the careless deposits of things left unfinished, things tossed, maybe forgotten, lies a self-made defensive cover over the priceless irreplaceable treasure of a devoted life. It is something we’ve protected from the dust of disappointment, and the inactivity of lost opportunities. But someone still sees and values it. It’s God. He can recognize it even from a small exposed corner by its color, its contour. He recognizes it because it is the design of his dreams.

Men, underneath the embarrassing load of non-related things piled onto our dreams lies a reserve of head-turning, explosive, tree-uprooting power. Underneath the garage dust of spiritual neglect is the hard shiny luster of the true extension of our personalities – a spirit-empowered true warrior, or darkhorse, of God. My wish and I believe God’s desire is that we will all find our true passion again and rehearse it every time we meet together as men, by the way we honor and respect the real man of God who may be undercover.

“Beloved, now we are children of God; and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be, but we know that when His is revealed, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.”

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I want to own
a piece of the river where I grew up,
just so I can be on my own land
near the water’s edge.
There, to touch the smooth stones,
to listen to the water breaking over the dam
and cascading into waves and suds.

I want a build a cabin, a retreat near that river
where I can be a child again.
This time I’ll be care-free,
and rediscover its wonders.

What is drawing me back to that river
in a homely nearly-abandoned town?
Once I’m settled in
this longing may pass.
Then I may yearn for the place of my birth,
to go back there
and see the grasses blowing in wide fields
resting, held fast by orange clay.

There is no river, only springs
my father once told me about-
Coffee springs was the name.
Perhaps the water is brown
like the name of the county
‘Coffee County’
But for now I have no sentiment
for Alabama.

I want to go back to Deep River
and feel its pulse in the heart of North Carolina

That’s how old the child
trapped inside me is right now.
But, the child is getting younger.

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