Books and Blogs by David W. Jones
Seek until you find.
When you find, you may be troubled.
If you can live through your trouble,
you will be astounded,
beyond your astonishment,
you will be enlightened.
The Way is not what you expect,
but far greater.
Be inner directed while outwardly focused.
Allow life to come and go,
accept every experience as a gift,
keep your heart as open as the sky.
Look for the eternal One while you live
trusting that when you die
the eternal One
will be
looking
for
you.
“Don’t be a Doubting Thomas,” was a charge I heard both at home and church. Doubt was bad. It was below lying and stealing, but doubt was otherwise high on the list of nonchristian characteristics and Thomas was the icon for doubt like Judas was the icon for betrayal.
Through the years, I’ve gained a little more respect for Thomas, doubting, and found little use for such polar dichotomies like doubt and faith. I’ve found throughout my life that there are few opposites. Continue reading “Doubt as a Path to Faith”
A friend and I were discussing our favorite writers, those who offered an amazing phrase, art in a sentence. After discussing our mutual admiration for Norman McClean’s masterful, A River Runs Through It, he suggested I read Wallace Stegner starting with Angle of Repose. When I got the novel, I didn’t have time to start the book, but I did want to know what words he chose for his beginning. I opened the cover and read the dedication, For my son, Page. My response was, “Really, you’re an author, and you name your son, Page?” I was stuck. I did move on, and so far, Stegner has delivered as my friend promised. My fixation on first words did lead me to pick my top five first lines of novels, though my list is subject to change without notice.
Continue reading “Easter Good News: Every Day is a New Beginning”
For independent authors and other artists, books, songs, and even some movies rise to the surface because someone cares enough to share. If you have a book you love or a singer or band you enjoy, write a review to share their art with others. Reviews on Amazon, ITunes, or Google Play are all helpful. The review also gives the artists feedback on how his or her work connects with others. Care enough to share!
If you’re willing to write a review on one of my books, then click the following link: http://amazon.com/author/dwjones. Thanks for your help.
James Allan Francis
Here is a man who was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in another village. He worked in a carpenter shop until He was thirty. Then for three years He was an itinerant preacher.
He never owned a home. He never wrote a book. He never held an office. He never had a family. He never went to college. He never put His foot inside a big city. He never traveled two hundred miles from the place He was born. He never did one of the things that usually accompany greatness. He had no credentials but Himself…
While still a young man, the tide of popular opinion turned against him. His friends ran away. One of them denied Him. He was turned over to His enemies. He went through the mockery of a trial. He was nailed upon a cross between two thieves. While He was dying His executioners gambled for the only piece of property He had on earth – His coat. When He was dead, He was laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend.
Nineteen long centuries have come and gone, and today He is a centerpiece of the human race and leader of the column of progress.
I am far within the mark when I say that all the armies that ever marched, all the navies that were ever built; all the parliaments that ever sat and all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man upon this earth as powerfully as has that one solitary life.
I called out to You,
out of my deep distress,
and You answered me.
From the grave,
from deep darkness,
I cried, and You heard my voice.
You threw me into the deep,
You cast me into
the heart of the sea,
where the torrent surrounded me,
where Your surf,
Your waves,
crashed over me.
Then, I said, “I am lost,
out of even the sight
and presence of God.
I am truly alone.”
The waters closed in over me.
The deep encompassed me.
Weeds wrapped around my head.
At the base of the mountains,
I fell into the deep where the darkness closed upon me.
I surrendered. Gone forever.
Yet, You pulled me
up from the Pit.
My Lord! My God!
As my life faded, vanished,
I remembered You!
My prayer came to You!
My voice entered into
Your holy presence,
where You heard me!
Salvation and deliverance
I am Yours.
This day, this moment, this instant
are all Yours.
Amen.
William Butler Yeats
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
God,
be in my head
and in my understanding,
be in my eyes
and in my looking,
in my mouth
and in my speaking,
in my mind
and in my thinking,
at my end
and at my departing.
Judith Wright
To see them go by drowning in the river –
soldiers and elders drowning in the river,
the pitiful women drowning in the river,
the children’s faces staring from the river –
that was his cross, and not the cross they gave him.
To hold the invisible wand, and not to save them –
to know them turned to death, and not to save them;
only to cry to them and not to save them
knowing that no one but themselves could save them –
this was the wound, more than the wound they dealt him.
To hold out love and know they would not take it,
to hold out faith and know they dared not take it –
the invisible wand, and none would see or take it –
all he could give, and there was none to take it –
thus they betrayed him not with the tongue’s betrayal.
He watched, and they were drowning in the river;
faces like sodden flowers in the river
faces of children moving in the river;
and all the while he knew there was no river.
Walter Smith, 1876
Immortal
Invisible
God only wise
In light
Inaccessible
Hid from my eyes
Most blessed
Most glorious
Ancient of Days
Almighty
Victorious
Your great name
I praise.
Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday – But what about Saturday?
Certainly Saturday must have been what seemed like one of the longer days of the week. Jesus had died, terribly, but burried certainly. With each moment came the expectation that those who came for Jesus might come for them, that the “Jesus Problem in Jerusalem” wasn’t going to be settled until all his followers were rounded up and seen to their own demise.
Saturday is the between time. The after the cross but before the resurrection. Continue reading “What About Holy Saturday?”
Vassar Miller
Always I lay upon the brink of love,
Impotent, waiting till the waters stirred,
And no on healed my weakness with a word;
For no one healed me who lacked words to prove
My heart, which, when the kiss of Mary wove
His shroud, my tongueless anguish spurred
To cool dissent, and which, each time I heard
John whisper to Him, moaned, but could not move.
While Peter deeply drowsed within love’s deep
I cramped upon its margin, glad to share
The sop Christ gave me, yet its bitter bite
Dried up my ducts. Praise Peter, who could weep
His sin away, but never see me where
I hang, huge teardrop on the cheek of night.
Sarah F. Adams 1805-1848
Nearer
my God
to Thee.
Nearer
my God.
to Thee.
Even though
it be a cross
that raiseth me,
Nearer
my God
to Thee.
I’ve seen Tony share this message quite a few times, but it never ceases to give me chills, especially as ‘Good Friday’ approaches.
Countee Cullen
He never spoke a word to me,
And yet He called my name;
He never gave a sign to me,
And yet I knew and came.
At first I said, “I will not bear
His cross upon my back;
He only seeks to place it there
Because my skin is black.”
But He was dying for a dream,
And He was very meek,
And in His eyes there shone a gleam
Men journey far to seek.
It was Himself my pity bought;
I did for Christ alone
What all of Rome could not have wrought
With bruise of lash or stone.
When I look at the stars,
the skies,
the heavens…
I think, “Who am I?”
Who am I that You
Creator of the ends of the universe
Notice me?
Think of me?
Care about me?
Who am I?
I am Yours.
Yours.
Yours.
Thank You…
Thank You…
Thank You…
For caring about me.
Emily Dickinson
One crown that no one seeks
And yet the highest head
Its isolation coveted
Its stigma deified
While Pontius Pilate lives
In whatsoever hell
That coronation pierces him
He recollects it well.
Show me,
Gracious Lord,
the peace I should seek,
the peace I can keep,
the peace I must forgo,
and the peace I must give,
For Your kingdom’s sake.
As soon as night descends, we meet.
Remorse my memories releases.
The demons of the past compete,
And draw and tear my heart to pieces,
Sin, vice and madness and deceit,
When I was slave of men’s caprices
And when my dwelling was the street.
The deathly silence is not far;
A few more moments only matter,
Which the Inevitable bar.
But at the edge, before they scatter,
In front of Thee my life I shatter,
As though an alabaster jar.
O what might not have been my fate
By now, my Teacher and my Saviour,
Did not eternity await
Me at the table, as a late
New victim of my past behaviour!
But what can sin now mean to me,
And death, and hell, and sulphur burning,
When, like a graft onto a tree,
I have-for everyone to see-
Grown into being part of Thee
In my immeasurable yearning?
When pressed against my knees I place
Thy precious feet, and weep, despairing,
Perhaps I’m learning to embrace
The cross’s rough four-sided face;
And, fainting, all my being sways
Towards Thee, Thy burial preparing.Rumi
Today, like every other day,
we wake up empty and frightened.
Don’t open the door to the study and begin reading.
Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.
Fred Pratt Green 1974
O Savior
in this quiet place
where anyone may kneel
I also come
to ask for grace
believing You can heal.
Rumi
I called through your door,
“The prayerful ones
are gathering in the street.
Something huge is
happening.
Come out!”
You called back,
“Leave me alone.
I’m ill.”
I yell in return,
“I don’t care if you’re dead!
Come out!
Jesus is here.
And he wants
to resurrect somebody!”
Carl Gustav Boberg 1885
English Version Stuart K. Hine 1953
O Lord my God
when I
in awesome wonder
consider
all the works
Thy hands have made
I see
the stars
I hear
the rolling thunder
Your power throughout
the universe displayed…
Then sings my soul
my Savior God
to Thee
how great Thou art!
how great Thou art!
Emily Dickinson
Our journey had advanced.
Our feet were almost come
To that odd fork in Being’s road
“Eternity” by term.
Our pace took sudden awe.
Our feet reluctant led.
Before were cities, but between
The forest of the dead.
Retreat was out of hope,
Behind, a sealed route,
“Eternity’s” white flag before,
And God at every gate.
God be with me,
before me,
behind me,
in me,
beneath me,
above me,
on my right,
on my left,
where I lie,
where I sit,
where I rise,
in my heart,
in my mouth,
in my ears,
in my eyes,
God be with me.
Wendell Berry
Willing to die
you give up
your will, keep still
until, moved
by what moves
all else, you move.
Father,
my soul is troubled,
What shall I say?
“Save me from this hour?”
No.
Your purpose is lived out
in this moment.
For Your purpose,
I have come to this place,
this time,
this moment.
I,
Here,
Now,
for You.
Glorify Your Name
in me.
David Wagoner
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
I waited for You,
and You heard my cry.
You picked me up
from the mire I was in,
from the bog that was my life.
You picked me up
and put me on solid ground.
You put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to You.
I will sing a new song,
for You,
to You,
because of You.
Kabir
I felt in need of a great pilgrimage
so I sat still for three
days
and God came
to me.
William Williams, 1745
Guide me
O Thou
Great Jehovah.
I am a pilgrim
in a barren land.
I am weak
but Thou art mighty.
Hold me
with Your
powerful hand.
Robyn Sarah
It is possible that things will not get better
than they are now, or have been known to be.
It is possible that we are past the middle now.
It is possible that we have crossed the great water
without knowing it, and stand now on the other side.
Yes: I think that we have crossed it. Now
we are being given tickets, and they are not
tickets to the show we had been thinking of,
but to a different show, clearly inferior.
Check again: it is our own name on the envelope.
The tickets are to that other show.
It is possible that we will walk out of the darkened hall
without waiting for the last act: people do.
Some people do. But it is probable
that we will stay seated in our narrow seats
all through the tedious dénouement
to the unsurprising end — riveted, as it were;
spellbound by our own imperfect lives
because they are lives,
and because they are ours.
Alistair MacLean
As the rain
hides the stars,
as the autumn mist
hides the hills,
as the clouds veil
the blue of the sky,
so the dark
happenings
of my life
hide the shining
of Your face
from me.
I am reaching out to You.
If You will let me
take hold of Your hand,
though I may stumble,
I will not fall,
because You,
unfailing,
never falter.
William Stafford
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.
I believe
You are real
though
I cannot
see You.
I believe
You are near
though
I cannot
sense You.
I believe
You care for me
though
I cannot
feel You.
Draw me closer
so that I may
see You,
feel Your presence,
sense Your love.
I believe,
Help my unbelief.
