The stone porches around the pools of Bethesda were cold and unforgiving that day. Like every day. Time was only marked by passing shadows. They were cold and unforgiving as well. Particularly the long shadow of evening when they came to carry him away, for their price. There’s always the price. Did he have enough today? Was there anything in his bowl? No. It too was empty. Cold and unforgiving. Would they again add to his debt? Of course. Would it all ever end? If only he could get up. If only he could walk. But no. If only…

There was the pool. The water flowed in. The water flowed out. But when would it stir for him? And would he be able to get there first? No. He was among the last. He had lost before. He couldn’t even crawl. And the price was the bed of stone. Every day. Only his cloak that was also his bed was between him and…
But then there came the shadow. None of the public pools stirred, only his soul. That pool was dark and deep. Unfathomable really. But the pool of his soul stirred! No one else was moving. Only the shadow moving over him. And then it stopped.

“Do you want to be made well?”

The shadow spoke. Looking up, he could only see… the luminescence of a man’s outline against the setting sun. So he just spoke as well. It really was the only thing he could do. He couldn’t move much. He could look up. But only barely.

“Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; but while I am coming, another steps down before me.”

Even as he spoke, the wonder had begun. The moment was new. Not like all the empty moments of his crippled life, lying on the stones, watching others leap into the pools… at that rarest of stirrings of the angels. For 38 years. Watching others live. Watching others hope. Did he even hope anymore? Did the Man in the shadow know? Anyone could see the flesh. His flesh. He couldn’t even drag it to the pools. But could He see, could He know all the rest? What no one else knew, and even he dared not tell? What he couldn’t forget? What about Him? And what did He mean? Made well? How could what was so broken, what was so wrong, what was so long ago…be made well?
But now it was him that was leaping. There were no angels stirring the waters. And no one around him was stirred by the man. The shadow of a being had stopped to see. And was seeing him. Only the One behind the shadow really saw. Somehow He knew it all. And He had spoken to him. It was so much more than that. But it also was exactly that. Yes! His heart was leaping! But into what? And who was this Man behind the shadow? And then He spoke again;

“Rise, take up your bed and walk.”

What was that sound? It was like water…water pouring from every direction. Warm water. Gentle water. From everywhere, yet inside. An inside that he only dreamed was there. As if a dry leaf was being filled with water from the roots of it’s very being. As he listened to the life being poured into his flesh, an even greater stirring began.

What was that? At first is was unfamiliar. Yes. His fellow sufferers were taking in deep breaths of amazement. But why? Had someone been given an unusual gift? A generous offering for one of the poor? Was the pool waters moving? No. They were still, even as the evening air made ready. He looked at them. They were looking up at him. Up at him? He was standing! His legs were full and complete! All of him was risen. His skin, his muscles, his tendons, so long rigid and still…all together, he and his body had risen! Risen by this Man’s Word! They were made ready. And now they moved! Easily. Naturally. As a child he had run with the winds. It was like that now. Yet now the winds were running with him!
The others…the murmurs were reaching beyond. The echos among the cold stones of the porches was stunning, full of wonder, amazement and surprise. And was he dancing? This one who was crippled all those years? And to what music? He was knowing more than he understood. It was a song from within. It was the song of joy, of belonging. Of being touched by someone in love. How long had it been? Was there ever such a touch? It was beyond him, yet now within him. He was moving to the inner song of being whole. The dance was now somehow familiar. He knew some steps. Not all, but enough to walk. Oh to walk! To move freely…this way and then that way! The chorus of sufferers was the outward accompaniment to this symphony of glory.
He turned to look at the man, the light and shadow of the voice that spoke. But where was He? He turned around and around, trying to put his eyes on the One. But all he saw was the others. The ones who watched over their wards. The ones who could move, could walk. The ones who demanded their price from those who could demand nothing, from the ones who could not refuse. Together they existed. The lame, with their bowls of pity, filled with so little, and what there was, these watchers seemed to take it all. They were coming. What would they take?
He reached down and picked up his only friend, his bed. It seemed grateful to be wanted. It too was nothing but a story of sadness, a cast off of the rich ones, weary of it’s wear. Tossed to the beggar one night as he shivered in the chill. It was a shadow of hope, this thread-bare bed of his. Even as it crumpled into his supple arms, he paused. Were these his arms? They seemed so strong. So sure. So ready. For what?
The watchers were confused. Where was their beggar, their little bowl of money? Was that the sound he had heard, as it was knocked into the pool, with it’s meager offerings sinking into the depths? The 38 years of sorrow were gone, like those coins. It was such a final sound.
He stepped back as the watchers rushed past him, desperate for an explanation. Where is he, our daily price? Our living? They didn’t seem to recognize him. There was such confusion. And there was an air of elation. Was that what hope sounds like?   Was that an aroma of new life?  It was such rare thing around these pools. He knew this only too well.
The man also knew enough to keep walking. Not too fast. Not too slow. He knew these watchers. He knew these cold stones. Up close he knew them. But the Man. It was as if He was still there, but within him. What a change. What did this mean? He would look for Him. He would find Him and ask…what? For more? Was there more?

He was outside now, the evening breeze was familiar, but new. It touched him in news ways. He was moving. The wind was moving. Together. Yes. There was more. He would find Him. He sensed that it all wouldn’t be easy. The angry shouts down by the pools told him this. But he also understood that the Man knew. And this was even more real than the 38 years of anger he heard coming now from around the pools.
He decided he would, and could, face this all. He would move toward the Light that he had seen. He would endure what must come next. For he already had received… what do you call this?
What could he return but his thanksgiving? Yes. He would find the One who spoke. He would thank Him. Was He the miracle worker, the prophet he had heard about? Was He more than this? He had heard those whispers of hope. They just weren’t his whispers. Until now.
And he would do…he would be… what ever He spoke. He would find Him and listen to everything. He would follow this One who made him well.

Featured Image Harold Copping

Like all good stories, there is a larger bundle from which they are briefly unraveled. I’ll try to tell this one like that. So, it’s hot here in Thailand. 114 degrees hot. And my wife now wants me to take her to the market ‘close by’ on the scooter. I can honesty say there are any number of things I’d rather do. But I also am getting better at recognizing the ‘road less traveled’, of being subject one to another (there’s one story for later).
So off we go, part of the time against the traffic (another story, AS for short), even going cross country through a field, parking the scooter in the shade, then up over the walking overpass over the ‘freeway’, into the market, and we take care of business.

Then back to the overpass on foot, down to the parked scooter and back to home. Except that there is this wobble.

Rear tire is flat. OK, character building time. I do OK. My poor wife is much more under physical duress than I am. But we have little choice. I push the scooter back towards our house, she walks. There is no talk. It’s hot. Did I say it’s hot?

As we come to the little cross road, an old guy is sitting on his scooter outside a little store, no shirt on, big gut. I immediately relate to him. I gesture to my flat tire. He laughs, and gestures for me to follow him. Good. I’m pretty good with gestures. And like I said, I relate to this guy…somehow. Meanwhile my wife is now on her own separate path (I did call a son to come get her, so I was being a good protector (AS).

So off we go, me following the shirtless old guy with the big gut, me pushing my scooter along, sweating…profusely. (I finally get to use that word correctly). Did I say it was hot? I, being the spiritual man that I am, am wondering what God thinks He’s doing. I might have even asked Him. But at least there’s this big Thai guy smiling. (Acutely, he was only maybe 5′ 2”). But then I can’t find him. Where did he go? I’m deep into an area that most tourists would never go, let alone see. (AS) And all of a sudden, there he is, signaling me to follow, way down an even smaller dirt road… I go further. Even more where nobody goes. I going to the end of the road (AS).
And there we are. At his ‘house’, and he begins to fix my flat. I watch. I marvel. I sweat.

I wait. I sense God at work doing something. And then I hear.

I know of what I hear. It is the mutterings of torment. They are unmistakable. Remember, I’m a psychiatric nurse. I listen. I watch. I wait. Yes, no doubt.

Well, maybe a little.

So I gesture to my new friend. And I do mean friend. He is clearly my kind of guy. My life is full of these men, with homemade welders, stacks of junk in their ‘yard’, ready at an instant to help, smiling at my ‘delemia’ (that was suppose to be ‘dilemma’, but for once I like the error better) as if it was just the normal ways of things, and are ready to help…if I just let them…ask them…follow them.
So I ask him (gesturing) that I hear the sounds of a man, in the nearby hut, seemingly locked in… muttering, howling, laughing… My friend smiles, gesturing back to me, making the universal sign of drinking too much alcohol, and the mind now being lost. And he smiles. I acknowledge my ‘understanding’. I ache. I debate. What can I do?

What does God want? Is this just another of the lost, slowly sinking into darkness? Just another soul, slipping ever deeper into the perishing torment of a Christless eternity? And why am I here, in this moment, with that little piece of wire being pulled from my tire, at the end of the road?
So I move, by faith. I gesture…to my new friend, sitting on a coffee can, working on my scooter. I show him that God is in me, that He is more powerful than the torment, the evil of despair and hopelessness, and the mutterings of any man in a locked hut, that I can and am going to ask Him to have mercy, to work His will in that man who is destroyed, waiting for nothing, at the end of the road, in the unbearable heat, amidst the dust and turmoil of useless junk, that holds only the barest of hope of purpose.
Yes! That’s what I’m made for! Here is what I came for! This is what 66 years of experience and living has prepared me for. I obeyed.

Face to face with the impossible.

And now it’s in His Hands. Where it should be, must be, and is.
My new friend smiled, and continued working. Then after having aired up my tire, pointed the way around the back, to our home, through the fields, over the dusty paths where none of my color had been I’m sure. And then it was over. Or had things just begun? But I’m back to the bundle of stories.
Are you listening? Thank you if you are. If not, well, someone is. I can guarantee that. Because I know Him personally.

And He hears every muttering of torment, no matter how far away it’s gone.

Who are these people? What’s wrong with them? They rejoice over the weirdest things… Like the return of the prodigal coffee maker… From a rather extended warranty journey to Bangkok. The new ‘oven’ was so excited that it just glowed… But the other appliances were not as impressed.

Quick, bring out the best beans, grind them well, let’s have fresh brewed coffee! The coffee maker was hopelessly broken, but now it’s fixed. So the celebration begins…again.

But the wheat grinder made a dustless huff (cuz it’s a Whisper Mill), the ice cream maker had lost it’s saltiness,

the juicer thought it all was just a grind. But the oven said “Look, you all have served well, your days of joy are forever assured, but the coffee maker was lost, but now it has returned. Even the blessed owners had lost hope. But look? It even works! ” And so the caffeinated stories continue….

Even the daughter of the house was light of foot in the early morning light. A rare sight indeed!  

“Bitterness is what grows from a seed of injustice,planted and watered in the garden of what-might-have been.  When nurtured, it brings forth fruit.  This fruit, fully mature, tastes sweet at first bite, but it turns the inner being sour with a harsh and biting deep despair.”  “Bitterness is nothing more than old unforgiveness.”

OK. that is clear enough.  I have not met one person that hasn’t got this going in their ‘garden’.  Some more.  Some less.

Some with an injustice that is beyond imagination.

I have been shown some of your… well, let’s just say for sure that He clearly sees it all.  Even the distortion that He is the source of the injustice.

These are really hard, tight knots of despair and incredible sadness. The wounding is so deep and profound.  But just for a moment, just consider, not to diminish the realities, the feelings, the circumstances, just for now… consider the will.

Plain, raw, will.

We all, God, angels, (good and bad), people, (good and bad), have will, and the power to act on that will.  They go together you see.

I’m just talking a little here, finally, about choice.

The accumulation of our choices, the impacts of the choices others have made…are making even right now, are ever so powerful. Particularly it seems towards the ‘bad’.  They can look overwhelming.

We might call them circumstances.

But we each still have within  us a power that is…beyond imagination.  The will.  You and I can make choices.  They still accumulate.  They are more powerful than any unimaginable circumstances.

Yeah, you know where this is going.

Forgive.

Make even the littlest ‘forgive’ you can ‘will up’ to do.

The gates of hell can not endure that choice.  Go for it.  Do it.  Just do it.  Feelings are to trail along behind this creative act.  That you and I can do this, if we will… is amazing.   The garden could use some weeding.

( The quote at the beginning is from David Chotka from his book POWER PRAYING)  (And by the way, I am, by His power, more and more in His will…praying for you…) (Remember, you are not alone).

April 6th, 2017

So, here is my new creative address…maybe box number is more accurate.  Astonishing.  I just looked up that word.  I’m always looking for words to ‘say’ stuff.  Maybe that’s why I throw in a picture on each post…trying to get across what I’m trying to say…words are cool, but sometimes…well, the non-verbal parts just have to be included.  More on that later.  Anyway, I was remembering an astonishing moment in my life.  I remember crawling up to my big brother’s old Harmony guitar..and fiddling with the strings…well, that started a whole ‘thing’.  (how’s that for a descriptive word for what ever in the heck I’m trying to say…LOL…oh brother) .  First of all, it was ‘dangerous’…it was my big brother’s thing… and …and…look at the vibrations of that lower stings…and…

Anyway, then I started thinking of other ‘astonishing’ moments.  Well, then there was the big black Steinway Grand piano in our living room,.. and the light coming through the greenhouse windows in that room.., and the leaves making sounds as the wind was having them brush against the glass,.. and the smell of the…well everything. Got to go now..and look for a photo to use here…

Thanks for listening

April 5th. 2017

Sometimes I feel like a puppy, scampering around in the twilight, and there’s lightening bugs (fire flies) everywhere. And they just delight me, because I know a little about Him, who dwells in unapproachable light. And these little living flying lights are just a wonderful reminder of how it really is…or certainly will be shortly. And then, as I’m jumping around, trying to catch one of the little lights (but not really, I just really enjoy the chase, as does the Light), I stumble over someone…sobbing on the ground. And from the pools of tears even I understand enough to pause…to try to gently…well, I have a wet nose, and a wagging tail, pretty soft fur… and of course dogs kisses of concern… giving my best ‘hope slurp’, and apologizing for falling all over you. Please forgive me. But you know, all good dogs have a nose that never forgets, so I’m going to be always close by. Just call my Name, I’ll be there. Willie (http://www.fireflyexperience.org/photos/ I occasionally use someone else’s photo…I’m trying to give credit. This site is amazing.)

Here’s the deal about

OFF STAGE

This is where I’m going to try to make a daily “blurb’, less stylized, more just ‘conversational’ and real.  The other categories have a theme of sorts. OFF STAGE is where a looser, stream of consciousness kinda of thing can have a place.  Then, I hope to have a developing comment/dialogue thing incorporated here.  I was thinking this could find its way into the other categories as well, but for now I’m of the mind to try it here.  Basically I’m going for a more humble, gentle ‘ranting’ vibe.

Thanks for listening.  Willie