What would Jesus do if he weren't Jesus?

There are a lot of nice people who aren't Chrisitians. They may even be considered "good." There are a lot of so-called Christians who aren't very nice. So, what's the difference? Sometimes I believe that there really aren't that many. An awareness of God? Maybe, maybe not. Many people may believe in God, but don't claim to be religious (a term I loathe but is recognizable to many) at all. A belief that Jesus was a great man? Possibly. Historical-types may believe that Jesus lived once and would even go so far as to say he was a great teacher of a lot of great truths concerning how to treat others. I think one difference is the belief that Jesus still exists and is know-able. Yet, it's sad that people (myself included) who claim to know him often misrepresent him so often. Probably because many church people like to "spread the gospel" more than they, or recognize the need to, merely humbly offer to introduce someone to a great friend of theirs. If we really appreciate what God has done in our lives, as authentic Christians, won't it come through more effectively in our life than through a bullhorn? It's like we are trying to reruit people to "our side." Jesus didn't do that. He loved people. Everybody, equally. That's the difference. That's what I need to do. Jesus was and is God. If God is love, and I claim to know him, why do I suck at loving others? Maybe I'd be better off as one of those people who seem to be naturally nice. I wonder if everybody thought Jesus was "nice" all the time? Probably not. We normally don't torture and kill "nice" people.

Look at:
http://www.donaldmillerwords.com/pdf/thirteenparadigmshifts.pdf



Ben Wilcox

Another brick in the wall

I had lunch yesterday with my grandfather at his nursing home---I mean, Retirement Facility. He always sits at the same seat at the same table. Bob was there sitting at my right. That's where he likes to sit. He had a sandwhich. Bob always has a sandwhich: for lunch and dinner, everyday. My grandfather told me a lot of stories. He always tells stories. They are mostly ones I've heard many times. He's always told stories. We talked about the same things we normally discuss. Later, we went up to his room. He sat in his favorite recliner. I sat across from him in a rolling, desk chair. I always do that when I visit him. He's lived there for a number of years now. He's eighty-five. He's outlived a lot of people. Others there have come and gone, lived and died. Some are still there--in their same places, eating their same meals, sharing well-worn stories, and helping each other get by.
I am at work today at the hell-hole---I mean Air Traffic Center. I parked in my usual spot. I always park there. We don't have assigned parking, but I noticed that most people park in the same places anyway, everyday. There was a gray Chrysler parked to my left. It's always parked there. The tall guy will walk in right after me. He brings his luch: a frozen, frenchbread pizza. He likes them. He brings one everyday. He'll then place it in the freezer for later. Later today, I'm sure I'll see Greg. He'll say, "What's up, Wad?" (Don't ask) I'll reply, "Not much, Weas" I don't recall how we assigned ourselves those nicknames, but we like them all the same. We've used those greetings for years. Later, I'll go to the cafeteria. Today they'll serve gyros and also fish of some kind. Friday is gyro day. Every Friday. Maybe, I'll sit next to Harry. He's worked here for over twenty years. He's outlasted a lot of people. Others here have come and gone, lived and died. Some are still here--using their same parking places, eating the same meals, sharing well-worn greetings, and helping each other get by.
I found out I have a mental disorder that will require me to take a disability retirement from my job. I'm thirty years old. I've worked here for six years. Most people will work here longer than that. (Others will come and go, live and die, or stay until they are fifty-six.)
Maybe I'll move in with my grandpa. I like his stories. I'm sure his desk chair is empty and waiting. There's plenty of parking, and the food is pretty good.
I wonder what sandwhich Bob will have today?

To find out more about bipolar disorder:
http://www.nimh.nih.gov/Publicat/bipolar.cfm




Ben Wilcox

My Godfather wrote me something I couldn't refuse

Poems
By D.E.M.
BEHIND THE DOOR
God save them and make them part of their home
Keep calling to those hearts 'till they're no longer alone
Let them know that you're the one that can give them a chance
With a fresh look at life that will change circumstance
Though there appears to be no worth
yet, there's somewhere on this earth
The differences we see are no longer the chasms of our mind
But, instead, if we open our hearts we no longer need that door to cry behind

JIMMY AND JENNIFER
Jimmy doesn't have much to look at for tomorrow
His daddy's been gone since the age of three
mamma's doin' her best to fill in for the sorrow
brought about by the kids whose daddy he sees
The future looks grim for my little friend Jimmy
There's no wisdom or knowledge being put in his heart
mamma's got a new boyfriend taking up her time
A babysitter all day and now one for the night
It's such a fright
Oh Jennifer, the sister of Jimmy
A beautiful face but blank stare in her eyes
She'll be the leader of few and the follower of many
For the pain in her heart there is no disguise
I've seen that look in her eyes
Suffer not the little children
Let them come unto me
Well we'd better think twice
if we're teaching them naughty or nice
Not gonna do what they hear but what they see

'Thanks to an old man with a young heart--it's becoming brand new, again.'


Revelation 21:5a (New International Version)
"He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!"

ONE

http://one.org/

Adult children of divorce

Read:
http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2006/003/36.41.html an awesome article relating new research concerning what happens to children of divorce. Inlcudes interesting findings about their views on faith and the Bible.

Refuge

Angelic, shroud in love.
A mother’s concern
For an ‘adopted’ son.

Patience, kindness, and grace-
An approving glance
At a sullen face.

A quilt, bed and rest:
Priceless treasures
For a kid’s duress.

Infinite mercy
For a wayward soul;
How can it be measured?
Only in heaven will it be told.



Ben Wilcox

Quotation from Between Two Worlds

"The recognition that divorce can turn children into little adults should be enough to make our society question widespread divorce." (p.54)
Between Two Worlds by Elizabeth Marquardt

There are two things that I hate concerning the divorce issue:
1. The fact that society doesn't question the rampant rate of divorce.
2. The fact that the divorce rate for church members is the same.

Really though, there are numerous reasons that kids don't get to be kids anymore. We used to wait until high school to start pressuring kids to think about "the future." Not anymore: now we have them thinking "Ivy League" in third grade. Kids are in so many activities at once that the soccer moms have a hard time keeping up. Maybe we'll see really dedicated moms buying a second minivan and hiring a driver to make sure that after karate, little Billy gets to chess club, piano lesson, and gymnastics.
My suggestion: kids, get a Union. Organize, baby. Consult with the U.A.W. Get yourselves a little Jimmy Hoffa to represent your interests to "the Man" (Or, "the Mom"--whichever). You don't have to take it. All this work and for what? Non-Kraft macaroni? I don't think so! There should be a minimum free-play time just like the minimum wage. So, start striking. You've got crayons and paper: make some signs, and if the parents want to bring in hired kids (adopted or foster), we'll get those scabs!
If the breakdown of marriages weren't enough, now so many of the couples that stay together start to live throught their children. Let them be--let them be kids. Thet'll have plenty of time to develop an anxiety disorder later. For now, just rear them. Don't groom them for some fantasy you couldn't fulfill.
Little adults: equal work for equal pay!

Ben Wilcox

Proximity Principle

"Few are they who by faith touch him; multitudes are they who throng about him."
Augustine

"So also some who touch, touch not, when they approach the Lord not in simplicity of soul, but in doubt or in duplicity."
Bede

Mark 5:34a


Ben Wilcox

Have I done my best?

A fearful storm is raging,
And on the wave-lashed shore,
A group of watchers,
Stand listening to its roar.
Unmindful of the danger,
And heeding not the spray,
Which dashes thick about them,
They watch 'til close of day.
For yonder is a vessel,
Now struggling with the waves,
And in it many people,
Are nearing fast their graves.
But no one at their bravest
Will dare to stem the tide,
And so they stand in silence,
Youth and age side by side.
Oh! Cannot someone save them,
Each heart in anguish cries.
As the dread danger signal
Seems even to pierce the skies.
But, Hark! 'tis rapid footsteps,
Approaching from the land,
And now a youth is standing,
Upon the treacherous sand.
He looks out o'er the waters,
And sees the peril there,
And knows if he would save them,
There is no time to spare.
So while they stand in silence,
Upon the stormy beach,
One man alone is striving,
Another soul to reach.
An awful hush creeps o'er them,
And in presence now of death,
And with eager straining eyes,
They wait with baited breath.
But, Look! He's now returning,
Another at his side.
Oh God of strength, have mercy!
And do them safely guide.
And now they're nearer and nearer,
When lo, a mighty wave
Sweeps o'er them, and hides them,
Oh, will it be their graves?
Then strong men wept aloud,
And women rung their hands,
When lo, with one save still alive,
Our hero gains the sands.
A loud and joyous shout went up,
From the people standing there,
And the lips of many a woman moved,
As if in silent prayer.
Each one is busy working,
A fire must kindled be,
To dry the dripping garments,
Of those safe from the sea.
He turns his eyes to sea-ward,
The ship is sinking fast,
He sees a quivering figure
Still clinging to the mast.
More strength is given to him,
He breaks away from friends,
Give me one more, O Father,
This prayer to heaven he sends.
This prayer indeed was answered,
He once more gains the shore,
Though it was a fearful struggle,
And he was near death's door.
Though 18 souls he rescued,
That night, while others rest,
He cried in feverish anguish,
"Oh, have I done my best?"
Now friends, this Lord's day morning,
Ye children of the King,
Come, let us to our Savior
A rescued soul now bring.
And if we're half as zealous,
A precious soul to save,
As this young man that rescued,
Men from their watery graves,
Then the world will be taken,
For Christ before we rest,
And our dear Friend, even Jesus
Will say, "You did your best."

Author unknown

Ben Wilcox

You Know it's Hard Out a Here For a

Bus Driver!?! I got passed on the right by a speeding, short-bus!!! A short bus! Whew . . .
(Sometimes, I'm glad I don't have kids, dude. It's too scary.)



Ben Wilcox

New Kind of Orphan

Fatherless
And Adrift
Between two worlds
Where they live
Where they land
Will they make it?
Will they stand?
Homeless
And Alone
Between two adults
There they float
Their time spent
Who will catch them?
What tears are rent?
Voiceless
And Ignored
What shadow is cast?
What idea is scorned?
Who will speak for them?
Who mediates the forlorn?
Powerless
And meek
We provide the shelter
For the little ones
Our protection they need.
We give voice to those
Who can’t shout loud enough.
We dry the tears of
The eyes searching for love.
We pour the water of life
Into mouths parched and dry.
How can you look past them?
They are right by your side:
They are the new orphans;
Their parents divorced.
Now they are homeless:
Tossed back and forth.
You can ignore them
Or discount their pain,
But we see them,
We listen
And help wipe away the stain--
Of the sin that isn’t theirs.

By:
Ben Wilcox

Whom Have I?

Whom have I fed today?
Whose voice have I been--
So many don't have a say.

Whom have I led today?
Whose hand have I held
Who can't find their way?

From whom have I fled today?
What sight was too much
That I had to turn away?

What tears have I shed today?
Is my heart too small for those
Who don't have a place to lay?

What hate will I leave for dead today?
Whose eyes will meet mine
In a whole new loving way?

Whom have I but Thee?

by Ben Wilcox



Ben Wilcox

Postmodern Prodigals Pt. II

I wrote the following for every child of divorce regardless of whether it was your dad or mom who left. This poem is about no one in particular; I hope it captures the feelings of many children, regardless of age, who have grown up without the presence of one of their parents. No matter what age you are when your parent decides to leave, it affects you. You will carry scars. The immediate care you seek might lessen them, however. Let's not forget to help carry each other's burdens, or better yet, help each other rid ourselves of these painful loads through acceptance, forgiveness, and grace.

The Postmodern Prodigal

He just had to get out,
Couldn’t take it anymore;
He was finally gonna see
What this big world had in store.

Life so far had thrown him
Nothing but curves—
He was set to be out from under
& Get what he deserved.

Responsibility and restrictions,
Curfews no more—
Time to sow a few oats;
Life so far: a bore.

Taking only what was his
He walked out the door.
He never looked back—
Never thought all he had left was “more.”

Now years later,
His ‘more’ meant much less.
Could he ever go back?
Face to face, he must confess:

That he’d run away from life’s best;
He’d bought an empty dream.
Sometimes the grass
Isn’t as green as it seems.

“Would they have me back?”
He wondered aloud.
“My family I’ve abandoned and
I’ve been chasing a cloud.”

“I gave it all up:
Love, family, and grace;
I don’t deserve to have
My kids see my guilty face.”

“Please Lord, help me if you can
Make a way for me—
I’ve blown it:
I am the Prodigal Dad.”

Quotations

"So this is love. This is winter in whimtown. This is a bunch of people wanting to be wanted by a bunch of people who don't know what they want."
-Michael Wilson

"Work is love made visible. And if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy."
- Kahlil Gibran

"It may be that what you could be haunts you. It is real. It is a weight you have to carry around. Each failure to become, to be, is a weight. Each state you could inhabit is a burden as heavy as any physical weight, but more so, because it weighs on your soul. It is the ghost of your possibilities hanging around your neck, an invisible albatross, potentials unknowingly murdered."
-Ben Okri