Some Are (story)

* I wrote this in response to a prompt for a writing contest.... (that I didn't actually enter, but I thought someone might enjoy reading this anyway. :-))



Some Are

               A somber silence settled on the school room as the bell chimed the students’ dreaded death knell. It was now 8 AM on another Monday morning and the fall term had begun. As the teacher began writing the first assignment on the board, the children stared in numb shock and listlessness. Once the ominous omen had been read, the odiferous pungency of its directives consumed the olfactory senses of the slaves now firmly refastened to their stocks for another grueling seven hours of torture. A collective groan escaped from the lungs now tainted with the putrid air of forced education. Yet amidst the gasps of horror and despair, on the back row of the Coliseum of death, two small grins emerged.
                It had been a wide open world of wonder at first in the golden days. The sweet release of freedom rang loudly in the air with the rush of a thousand voices singing with glee. This is what real living was meant to be- a walk in the park or a day on the beach with none, no-never, nary a care. The possibilities were endless and so were the days it seemed. Oh, the expeditions to be mounted- the explorations to be endeavored! The pursuits of a myriad of activities lay stretched before all the willing participants of the intoxicating allure of such holiday pleasures. Time was a loyal and trusted ally then.
                Somewhere between the fanciful flights of the crimson marred streaks of light and the subtle creeping of the nomenclature of learning’s renewed siren call, a change came over the terrestrial ball and its congregants. It came with its share of hints- a rustle in the breeze, a purple haze at close of days and a baleful rooster’s crow in the morning. Somehow the signs were missed by many and the adrenaline rush drenched the world with energy but not perspicacity. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,” came the old refrain from which many did indeed refrain. The days left unseized by unseasoned had been seized by another.
                Then it was that distant doldrums came, beating out their rhythm of quiet despair and gathering gloom. Whence came the mourning mist that envelopes everyone everywhere in the midst of halcyon heights marked by a barefoot blazed trail? The gleam of gold wanes as a maze of gazes questions the questions in the malaise that travails upon their travels. Oh, the eternal paradox of the vernal equinox! All the time in the world available for the asking but nothing to do in the days passing! The strawberry fields are ripe for but a short stretch of Father Time’s arms. The fields are plentiful in harvest, but those who would be workers work hard in flittering frivolous pursuits.
                So the story begins as it ends. No matter how tenuous its hold amid enchantments of warm star-lit nights, the clarion call rings true in the end with the experiment house in session once again. Oh, the cruel tests of inhumanity to be wrought upon an unsuspecting class of young pupils- it’s too much for the eyes to take in. Look and see, hear and be amazed! Yonder light still shines from golden shores in those who boldly face the entrenching entrapment with a lion’s roar. No vanity in the lion’s pride, but an informed hope that spans the ages enraptures each soul with an unthinkable delight. Through conniptions aroused at the cavalcade of crosses and bars set forth from the teacher, the cavalcade becomes the calvary that keeps the summer sun rays glowing with the joyous thought of the glory coming.

The God of All Seasons (poem)

With the weather finally seeming to recently move into spring and/or summer weather (as it tends to go where I am) ;-), this seemed like an appropriate time to post this. This is a poem I wrote a little while back in an attempt to kind of turn on its head the common theme I tend to see in poetry and songs celebrating spring and/or summer as a reminder of God's love. (Not that those works are bad and not those seasons aren't, of course. I think everything is a reminder of God's love-even that which would be its antithesis only serves to remind us of how much we need God and His love.) So this is my ode to fall and winter and the ways that they also remind us of God's love.

The God of All Seasons

Original poem; copyright Nathan Ludwick December 2013
(Nehemiah 9:5-6, Psalms 19, Isaiah 55:8-11, Psalms 124:8, Psalms 147, Ecclesiastes 3, Psalms 136, Psalms 148, Psalms 139, Job 38-41, Isaiah 40:25-31, Psalms 113:3)

The God for all seasons
Loves us- won't leave us alone- so let's go!
(So come on!)
God is the God of order
I see His order in the progression
of seasons just like
He orders the steps of a righteous man
I feel the love of God in all the seasons all year long.
In spring, summer, fall and winter
In the chill and cold of winter
God's love warms the heart of this forgiven sinner
The winters and nights of my life remind that God sets everything in motion
The sun and seasons progress in His time- and in the summertime, the living is easy.
Sunshine on my shoulders makes me feel happy.
But it's the rainy days and Mondays that always bring me down from
an artificial high that comes with the good times and days of our lives.
It seems it's these times most of all
that I go and run to The One
Who loves me in every season of life.
Every good and perfect gift comes
from above-from the Father of Lights, The Lord Almighty.
And He makes everything alrighty then whatever the situation.
Praise God for the pain that He allows to rouse a deaf world.
I love a rainy night when my power's shut down and my distractions
are suddenly shut off.
It reminds me to look to the God
of Light and Love who turns it on
and brings me The Power.
It's not that I want discomfort and
trials and struggling, but it's what
I need so often- like a gun at my
head to keep me honest 'cause a good man is hard to find.
And anything good in me is Christ and not me.
I know He's still shaping me into His mold of
perfection and will finish one day at last-
But until then, it still stings to burn away the chaff.