Tangles, flight, and blindness

   I leaned over the horse trough as i threw in some hay. And with horror began to untangle my horse’s mane, while my mind flooded back to a moment long ago when I heard a story.........but this time it was different. I was there. 

   I stood on a grassy slope as I watched two gorgeous creatures race through the meadow. But something was different about these two horses. 

They were one.... somehow attached. Strange I thought as I followed the story further - Blindness? But no, this could not be....it was to beautiful for this. It had a gorgeous mane that left a trail of glory in the wind. Its coat glistened as if it marched on silver clouds. What a beauty I thought to myself.  But again my mind drifted off. Why the attachment.... the blindness? But alas the story I may never know, for they were wild and their life kept secret by freedom. But wait, can blindness be freedom?

  I turned to go but another sight held me to behold yet a little longer.  It was a group of cowboys. They were out to round up wild horses. I watched with bated breath as I thought of the fate of these two beautiful creatures.  Headed for captivity..........or were they? The silence and beauty of the moment was broken by a whinny and then a whistle.  The race was on.  Cowboys or horses?  A cloud of dust left me wondering. But I would not be satisfied. I rushed on to where I could see, nay rather talk to the cowboys upon their triumphant arrival.

   Soon I saw the procession coming to where I was. Yes they were caught. So sad I thought to myself, it is blindness indeed. One horse guided by the other keeping its head tucked gently over the withers of the leading horse.

"What do you think he is blind from?" I asked the nearest cowboy.

"Not sure he muttered.......he won't let me see his eye.  You know he might not be blind." He said with a wink as he threw a rope around his neck. I knew he would hope that this gorgeous creature wasn't blind after all that work of catching him, although to me it was pretty obvious he couldn't see.

He promised to let me know once he could tame him a little, at least enough to see his eye.

As I reflected on this while pulling out the tangles on my horse I thought of blindness. What is it I thought that keeps us so blind? How could we be leaning on other horses trying to have them guide us through this life. Freedom? Really?  Was that horse really free? Is it possible to be blind and call it freedom? 

  

   Thankfully the story does not end there. It has a brighter side. Soon after the round-up it was discovered that this horse was not blind. It could see but the tangles in its beautiful mane had covered its eye so throughly with such a bunch of knots that it had made vision impossible.  I stop to take in a few lessons this story brings home to my heart. The beautiful mane, the most stunning outward attraction of the horse was the very thing that caused it the most intense captivity and suffering. 

   Here I pause to ask. You, dear reader may want to pause and ponder this as well.  In which case did he experience freedom? While he roamed the wild hills and valley blind? Or that of being captive to man with vision clear?

   

   Once the tangles were kindly removed by his captors. He had many lessons to learn. Because to bask in his new found freedom......(that of being able to see) he must put away the inner blindness as well. He had lived to long for this to easily take place. The lessons of trust and surrender, joy and a willing heart. 

Build Again

    A pile of twigs and small rocks caught my eyes as I trudged along. I stopped...... There was a hole and I knew who lived there. It was the home of aunts.  I exclaimed in dismay, “In the road!” As I thought of the implications of my statement. These little creatures build day after day their little home. Then without any evil on their part their efforts are destroyed their home no longer worthy to be lived in.  Yet...... without a complaint they set to work again rebuilding all that has been damaged. They work tirelessly all the day long until at last it is a place of refuge once again.  But soon the same tragedy once again, for they are in a road.....     “Go to the aunt thou sluggard consider her ways and be wise.”    Ever found yourself building on a road?    

One of my favorite poems

Oh, could I tell ye surely would believe it!

Oh, could I only say what I have seen!

How should I tell, or how can ye receive it,

How, till He bringeth you where I have been?

Therefore, O Lord, I will not fail nor falter; 

Nay but I ask it, nay but I desire,

Lay on my lips thine embers of the altar,

Seal with the ring, and furnish with the fire.

Give me a voice, a cry, and a complaining,-

Oh, let my sound be stormy in their ears!

Throat that would shout, but cannot stay for straining,

Eyes that would weep, but cannot wait for tears.

Quick, in a moment, infinite forever,

Send an arousal better than I pray; 

Give me a grace upon the faint endeavor,

Souls for my hire, and Pentecost to-day!

Scarcely I catch the words of His revealing, 

Hardly I hear Him, dimly understood;

Only the Power that is within my pealing

Lives on my lip, and beckons with my hand.

Whoso has felt the Spirit of the Highest, 

Cannot confound, nor doubt Him, nor deny;

Yea, with one voice, O world, though thou deniest, 

Stand thou on that side, for on this am I.

This is one of my most cherished poems. I could not say it better. Hope you all enjoy it as well. 

Romans 10:1

Real living

    Whatever happened to the idea of sacred honor, unvarnished nobility and unwavering allegiance to the king.  What happened to the quake in my boots fear of God? The laid all on the line commitment to the cause of Christ? The if I die if I must attitude toward defending truth and scripture? Where did the radical abandon to seek and save the lost disappear too? Or the once glorious idea of martyrdom? Or how bout the burning mead to stand against evil? To break the jaws of the wicked and hold it to ransomed the oppressed, the orphan the widow and the enslaved? Where is the Holy boldness the courage the daring needed to bear the truth of Christ in this God forsaken culture? 

   The brave hearted Gospel is gritty living. The stuff of martyrs and saints its bravado needs brains. Its tan like fist needs poet like heart. Its forehead aflint needs tender love inspired soul. Rather it is historical living writ straight from the pages of scripture made incarnate in the lives of the disciples of Jesus in the 21st century. The brave-hearted Gospel isn’t soft with sin and its not hard on sinners but rather it is the giving up of everything to see sin trumped and the sinner rescued.  The brave hearted Gospel is pure adventure  a life of nuclear joy and hollowed exctasy. 

   This has inspired me in recent times. What a war cry!  How far I fall from the mark. It is a high calling. Yet it has inspired me to be unashamed to stand up no matter what.