Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Poet and a prophet...(and eventually, a peach)

(No, I did not draw this. It's Michelangelo's "Isaiah" on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. But I did pose for the hair!)

Agree or disagree?: A way you can tell the Bible is divinely inspired is that you can read passages and books over and over again and they don’t wear out.

God’s a really, really good writer.

Early today I was looking through the Book of Isaiah for something and you talk about a guy who could swing a quill … Isaiah is so good. He’s poetry and prayers and promises.

“He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the LORD's favor…”

He’s the real deal. Judah was heading for hard times. All self-inflicted. But there would come a day, Isaiah wrote, when the people would turn and the God of Jacob would deliver, and…

“… provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the LORD
for the display of his splendor.”

It's never just what he says. It's the way he says it. Context and style and rhythm and all. And always, a message. It's alive, "the living Word," just as it professes to be. And it's right there for us to read, whenever we can or want to. Always available. When I started reading it as a love letter from Jesus to me -- and that's what it is -- it started to make a difference in the way I thought and acted. Try that. Try reading it with the conscious thought that it's Jesus writing to you, that it's a story, from beginning to end, about him. A little bit's about us but overwhelmingly it's about him and what he's done, not us and what we can do. It's a letter from him so we'll know him, and knowing him, moving from information to sensation, that's what starts to change you. Because the Word, it's alive.

In other news:

On the side of Interstate 20 yesterday, I saw a chicken. Pecking around on the shoulder, like she was in the barn yard. Looked very misplaced. Must have fallen off the truck.

That was on the way home from eating a sandwich with momma, who has kept the plants alive since we planted them last month, and they look great! So do the hanging baskets. She's rocking out with the watering and whatnot and to and fro. Very proud for her.

My sisters remain tired from their weekend to Atlanta and back. It's an easy trip, but not when you're dad's having heart surgery and you're his daughter.

The Shreveport Captains are at home each night through Father's Day; if you are a visiting player or coach or an umpire, please tip your clubbie, who is my son and who could use the dough. He's a great guy and a hard worker and a man who is trying to save up some money. Tip him. Read Isaiah to him. Something. Thanks!

The fine folks at the Tech Dairy are making peach ice cream this very day. Not for sale until the 24th. Peaches. Plenty to be thankful for. How can you not love a fresh Ruston peach?!