Do You Know Me?

Do you know the color of the minx's eye?
Did you hear the song of the nightingale?
Have you tasted the willow's tears?
Do you know the color of the fox's pad?
Did you ever hear the babble of the spring?
Have you smelled fresh earth after the rains?
Do you know me?


Have you seen the joy in the eyes of a child?
The wisdom in the eyes of his grandfather?
Do you feel the world spinning beneath your feet?
Did you drink from the well of Eternity?
Have you run through a field of grass with laughter on your lips?
Have you stood by a crowd and cried for the lost?
Do you see the world as if a stranger?
Did you ever make a stranger your friend?
Do you know me?


You might know my smile.
You might know my favorite color.
My favorite food, my favorite band.
You could even know what goes on inside my head.
You might know my name.
You might know my family.
My house, my friends.
You could even know my secrets and my dreams.
But would you know me?


My lifetime I have spent learning to know people.
The longer I've been at it,
The more I realize just how complicated you are.
Every snowflake is a masterpiece.
How much more a thinker?
Mathematician?
Artist? Or Singer?
How much more are you made in the Image.
You are as beautiful as the world,
More complex than any computer.
You carry a brain inside you like Einstein,
A motivation as Luther.
I could spend my lifetime learning one life.
And still not know all of you.
I do not even know the full extent of myself.
How do I impact other lives?
Am I worth living for?
Do my words change people's lives?
My actions influencing others?


Oh the mystery of humanity.
Would I give myself to know you?
Oh humanity.
What a wonder.
And yet we are as grains of sand.


Our Creator is the Great Mystery.
Our complication is simple to God.
I want to lose myself to know my Lord.
Jesus alone knows me.
And knows you. Everyone.
What it would be to know God fully.
And yet here I am on earth,
trying to learn of humanity.
Made in the image of God.
A Masterpiece.
Do you know me?
Perhaps you do.
As much as I know you.
But to know as God knows.
That would truly be knowing.
Do you know me?

The Cleaning Song

     As I was driving through town I noticed an elderly man with a small shop broom sweeping his sidewalk clean of the abundant yellow leaves that had fallen from his tree. Technically the sidewalk's not his sidewalk. The city owns it. But it sits in front of his house. So he keeps it clean.
     It's a shame more people don't look at things like that. It may not be yours, but you used it, so clean it up. You used trash, throw it in the garbage. Don't leave it everywhere. You use it, you clean it. A simple mentality. But a wise one.
     You eat somewhere. Don't leave crumbs. Pick up the leftovers. You chew gum. Throw it away when you're done. Don't spit it on the ground or stick it under a counter, chair, or table. You cause something to fall over. Put it back. Don't make someone else do it. You grab something from a store hook or shelf and decide later - halfway through the store - that you don't want it. If you remember where you found it, go put it back. If not, find a store associate and ask them to put it away for you. Don't just dump it.
     But you rarely see this happen anymore. What happened to being considerate of others? Why do people just leave things? Is it because of the entitlement mentality? Mommy pick it up for me? It ain't mine, someone else put it away. I don't care, someone else will pick it up. How incredibly rude and self-centered.
     It takes two seconds to pick up a wrapper and two seconds more to drop it in a trash can. That's four seconds of your life spent being considerate of others. A sentence's worth of conversation. The time of walking from one room to another. Is it too much to ask to spend a handful of seconds more to throw away what had encased your lunch?
     I know, I know. This sounds so incredibly hypocritical coming from someone who can't stand dusting and never takes the time to reorganize anything at home. It's kinda funny how neat and clean I am while at work but then you see my home and think how cluttered my life is. I can't help but laugh as I write this. It's true. I spend my days cleaning up a store left a mess by customers and then when I come home I just toss my stuff down and flop in bed or on the couch or at my computer desk, never bothering to put it away. Thinking of myself like this, I think I might appear a bit two faced. But truth is I'm not. When I'm shopping I put stuff back that I change my mind on. When I'm at an event I put things away the way I find them after I use them. I eat somewhere I always clean my place. I keep my stuff in a locker and hang my coat up at work instead of intruding on the rest of the break room.
     But when it comes to my home, I don't care about the mess. I like the frustration of trying to find things and having to reorganize eventually. It keeps things different for me. I like some spice in the monotony of the workweek. Yes, I've had to share room with people before and I've always kept things clean and organized (or concealed the mess in my suitcase.)
     Other people like clean everywhere. I've known more than a handful of neat freaks in my life. So when I'm at work or I know a friend is coming over, generally a cleaning spree ensues. I'm thinking of them.
     I'm looking at you dear reader. Are you keeping things clean for others? "Clean up, clean up. Pick it up, put it away."
     Is there something you can pick up today?

I Write By Candle Light

Flame.
A state of energy.
Heat and light.
Material burning.




Candle.
A molded wax form
encasing a string.
Set alight:
Material burning.




Candlelight.
Used in stories and analogies.
Seen inside and outside.
In homes and public places.
Why is it still a favorite?
Is it warm and comforting?
Is it an easy way to illuminate the dark?




Candlelight.
A little flame. A big hope.
A little light. Bringing change.




Oh, to be a flame.
To be a candle.
So many want the fires of leadership.
Or stardom.
To be the greatest,
the most remembered.
The one to mark history.
Me?
I'm just a candle,
carrying a little Flame.
But this Flame will never die.
Even after my time is over
and this candle is gone.
The Flame will live.
For is lives on in other little candles like me.
Though my name be forgotten,
my life remembered no more,
still the Flame lives on.
Enemies will try to snuff Him out.
They even killed Him.
Still the Flame lives on.




I'm just a candle,
carrying a little Flame.
I write stories, I tell tales.
I pass on word of the Flame.
I write by the Light that I accepted into my heart, my candle.
I write by candle Light.