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COFFEE DISCOVERING PARADISE It has always been my custom to spend a lot of time between Christmas and Easter, studying the life of Jesus and reflecting on his mission and sacrifice. In college I had been required to buy a small reference book, "A Harmony of the Gospels". I studied that little book about Jesus' life until over the years it became tattered beyond further use. Long ago I purchased its replacement, but still cannot bring myself to discard the relic that became my friend. Have you ever been unfortunate enough to travel through that place we call the land of 'forty-blahs'? It's a place in time where that hard realization finally hits - you're never going to be that person you visualized; you're never going to accomplish all that you set out to do. But worse yet - there are now fewer years ahead than there are behind. In that desert of thought, the myriad of lost opportunities can plague your mind like a hoard of taunting devils. All that seemed worthwhile has slipped through your fingers. Time and youth had always been on your side - now they were fleeting. And so I found myself in my study one evening - counting my losses. Christmas had passed. The New Year was yet to come. My trio of persons (me, myself and I) were participating in an enormous pity-party, entirely focused upon self. In my state of 'miserableness', I was blind to the provisions God in His grace had supplied to lift me out of my depressive circumstance. Habit, not insight, went to work on my woe. The hour grew late as I spent time in a worn Bible…and then on my knees with a tear stained face buried in the cushion of my favorite chair. The family had gone to bed. I had stayed up - lost and restless. I arose from my prayers and plopped myself in the easy chair beside my desk. There was no light except for a small desk lamp. Starring into the darkness of space, I tried to think my way out of the gloom that was dominating my spirit. In my mind's eye a pageant of scenes began to flow across the walls of my study. I grabbed pen and paper, and began to record what I was seeing. The narration began to take poetic form. I wrote on into the night as the scenes unfolded one by one. When it was finished I didn't know what I had written or what I had experienced. But I did know it was about sacrifice, and that I, the outcast hiding in the darkness, was a recipient of its provision. Here during this Easter season, possibly a third of a century later, it seems appropriate to share the apparition with you. PARADISE FOUND My dreary skies were always dark, this outcast walked alone, I lived a life of haunted dreams…no place for me was home; I had no friend, I had no one, an outcast for my deeds, A specter through the black of night in search of daily needs. I chanced upon a star one time while walking through the night; This star, it shone above all else, its light so very bright; It captured me, and it led me, I pondered what it meant; I hardly knew to where I walked, it seemed like I was sent. I came upon a village edge, its shadows did fill my view; And then the star grew brighter yet…the sky like something new; The town…it looked like long ago, it almost seemed like home To this weary, weary traveler whose life was just to roam. I heard a voice so softly say, "But, I don't want to go", It rang a bell of yesteryear…that rang so long ago; 'Twas by a shed at edge of town, I saw them sitting there; A boy, a man, their heads bowed low…they almost seemed in prayer. "Oh son, you must, you're needed there…their world is very sad, They've lost their way, and you're the one, to give them what we've had; I love you son, I'll miss you much, but one day you'll come back, When your job with them is finished…of you, no want they'll lack." "The long years and the hard work, so much for just a boy; But soon 'twill all be finished, son, and thus will be our joy, When at the end, beginning starts, we'll work just hand in hand, As you and I a new world build upon this very land." I watched them part, that man, that boy…their star, it still shone bright; Their hand clasp seemed to linger, their love to fill the night; And I wondered at the mission that young son was being sent, And I pondered as to why…this hour to me was lent. I wondered on so aimlessly…my night it turned to years, And the world I tried to walk in was filled with many tears; So on and on I drifted far 'til on one starlit night, I found myself on a hillside without a hope in sight. My heart was cold with frozen dreams, I'd spent my life in vain, Nothing left for me to feel but emptiness and pain; Then came a voice, 'twas murm'ring low, "My father", I heard him say, To do the task you ask of me…is there no other way?" And there they were, those two again, just as long ago, "No son, there is no other way for seeds of trust to grow; Lives so empty of love and faith are blind to what is true; They only learn from things they've lost…that which once they knew." "So you must give until that hour when they will want to take, To crush the love you have given…to quench their fire of hate." Awesome silence filled the dawn, the birds no longer sang; It was as if the world did wait with empty heart and pang. Alas I heard his gentle voice break silence on that hill; A quiet hush did stir the air as time had long stood still. "What 'er you think that I must do, my father, I will do; I'm only here because of love, my only life is you." I watched them part, that man, that boy…their star at dawn still bright; Their hand clasp seemed to linger, their love did fill my night. Oh, I wondered at the mission this young son had been sent, Again I pondered as to why…this hour to me was lent. The murky sky became so dark…it was the blackest night; A lonely star broke through the clouds to give a bit of light; I walked as though I knew the way to where I had to go, There was mystery in the air, something I had to know. And then I heard the sound of crowds clamoring angry noise, The kind that wipe their spite on men…to use as hated toys; I heard the yell for pitch "..to paint, this pearly, would be saint!" "Give him snow…the feathered kind. Slap his face, don't let'm faint." "Ride'm on a rail! Don't let'm fall!" Jeering as they passed me by, "How dare you teach against our ways!" Venom filled ev'ry cry; They clamored on with words of hate, their passions on parade; My heart was struck with sudden guilt as if their cause I'd made. The star still shone just through the dark to give a 'titch' of light To see a horrid, feathered man with tar as black as night; He rode upon a skinny rail with sticks to prod upright; Jabs and jeers of an angry mob went on into the night. I walked away with heavy heart, never so all alone, The blackness of a wasted life, turning my heart to stone; But when I came to light of day, I saw them once again; The battered boy so stained with pitch, somehow he looked a man. The father held a jar in hand, 'twas filled with something pure That cleaned away those stains of hate…like magic it did cure; Two servants clothed this blessed son as if he were their own, Until he looked a stately prince to serve a kingly throne. I stood as if to beg to know, and yet ashamed to ask, The why of all that I had seen…what was this princely task? The son looked brilliant, strong and true, a face of one so pure, The father looked as old as time, yet, strong and stately sure. The son's full gaze upon me now, I trembled in that light, He spoke to all the wrongs I knew, through love that did invite; To believe his words, more than hope, as he told me of a place, His father's house, his father's world, his father's love and grace. This grace would cover all the nights this outcast ever knew, If I believed in what he said, I'd find a life brand new; I looked at him and I believed…nothing else could suffice; There came from him a radiant glow, "This day in paradise." For me, paradise is about resting all fears and cares in God's grace. There is no fence around this "paradise". It is open to all who believe God's word, who will confess the darkness in their souls to the Lord Jesus Christ and accept His redeeming grace. There is no greater balm than the word of God, correcting our ways and soothing our souls at the end of an imperfect day. The contaminants are washed away and all the mistakes are buried in His grace. And then if you stop, take some time to study some aspect of His creation, the color in a beautiful flower, the character in a gnarled old tree, the detail in a favorite shrub, the magnificence in a setting sun - a special appreciation will fill your soul. That's paradise at the end of an imperfect day. If you would like to drop a note to offer feedback or ask questions, you can contact him at Gene Shrout |
