Look What The Wind Blew In

A person never knows what a strong north wind will blow in. With a knock on the door, I soon found out it also was a cold north wind. There stood a man dressed in a friar's smock, cheeks red from the wind.

"Could you spare a meal and a hot cup of tea?" he asked.

"Come in and warm up, did your car break down?" I immediately wondered which side of the fence this guy was on, God's side or satan's. At least his frock was not black, like a satanist, but the traditional brown like a monk's.

He sat at the bar in the kitchen, (I thought that was funny, a monk sitting at a bar. "Did ya hear the one about a monk walking into a bar...."), and we talked of life and of faith. He was walking across the United States, carrying nothing but his Bible. He placed it on the bar, the black leather cover worn, cracked and torn. It looked as if he had sewn it back together, the binding and the covers, all stitched together, somehow holding the pages together.

"This is why I'm walking, to tell people what is in this book, the hope and the joy of Jesus Christ. If by begging for a meal I can share the Good News, then I'll beg for the rest of my days."

I was cooking bacon and eggs when I opened the refrig and saw the steak that I was going to cook that night. I pick it up and fired up the grill, fixed a mixed salad and poured the iced tea. While we sat at the table, between bites he told me of his love for his God. He finished up and headed for kitchen, "I'll clean up, it's the least I can do."

"No, you've paid me in full. Your words of wisdom and the passion you have to tell the Story, you not only paid in full, but you have inspired me also. I need to grow to have a relationship like you have, not a church service in this world would have opened my eyes to that."

With that he headed to the door, "Blessings on this house, may all who come here find Jesus waiting on them," and out the door he went. I ran to the door and was going to ask him to spend the night but as I ran outside, I couldn't find him. I ran to the road and looked up and down, the wind reminding me that I should have grabbed a jacket, but no monk. I looked all around and the only living thing I saw was the neighbor's dog, doing what dog's do, in my front yard.

Then I remembered something from the Good Book, "For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in......"

Thanksgiving Poem

Thanksgiving is the time of year
When family gathers from far and near.
A turkey based all golden brown
The best dressing in all the town.
Gathered together around the dining table

We bow our heads to the one born in a stable.

Thank you Lord, you have blessed us great
You’ve once again overflowed our plate.
But as food fills our physical demands
You’ve blessed us through the scars in your hands.
Salvation is what I’m thankful for
I praise Your name which I adore.

Thank you Lord for saving my soul,
Thank you Lord for making me whole.
Thank you Lord for giving to me

Thy great salvation so rich and free.

The Guitar and the Woman

I'm probably going to get in trouble here, but that never stopped me in the past. Have you ever considered how much a guitar is like a woman? Here is some ways that they are alike....

1. They have a sensual shape. The curves, the smooth touch, the different complexions. It's pleasing to run your hand over either set of curves, to feel them close.

2. They have a sensual fragrance. When you open up a guitar case and the aroma of wood floats to your senses, it makes you want to make music. The fragrance of a woman, even when she is perspiring is a sweet aroma that makes you want to make a different music.

3. They make sensual music. In the hands of a novice, the music is satisfying but often it is rough to the senses. In the hands of an artist, the music is uplifting and reaches to the soul.

Isn't it time to make some music?

A Royal

The silence was deafening as I sat before my typewriter. My deadline is in two days and all I have is a non-descriptive title. Why is it so hard to write about a presidential election? All the drama and glitz and glamor that the muse would need and yet nothing goes from my finger tips to the keys to the paper. The only thing that takes my attention away from the blank white piece of paper rolled into the machine is the pile of wadded up white paper where I had unsuccessfully started this five hundred word report. Maybe it's the sudden letdown after months on the campaign trail and now for a couple of months all I have to do is write this stupid report and
relax.

I long for the ding of the carriage return, the tapping of the keys as they hit the paper, the scent of white-out covering the mistakes. I look at my old gray typewriter and wonder how it will look on my desk in the oval office. It should fit in perfectly, after all it is a Royal.

Fall Back

Changing my clocks. Fall back. I hate falling back, it is dark when I go to work and now when I come home. No sun makes Walk an old grouch. Mrs. Walk don't much care for the grouchy side of me. I get grouchy, she gets grouchy and before long I done went and kicked the dog. We don't even own a dog. The neighbor called the police on me last year which wound up with the SPCA having me doing community service. I cleaned kennels for six months. I can't even look at another dog. The neighbors across the road lost their dog a couple of nights ago. The first door they knocked on was mine. They must have known that if I was within kicking distance of that little fu-fu dog it would have made it through the uprights. Three points! But no, I hadn't seen it and they found out later that someone driving by grabbed it. It was such a good dog that the people that stole it brought it back just to get it out of their house. I imagine it yipped in that high pitched yap that any self respecting dog would hate, until they couldn't handle it anymore and brought it back. They brought it back on halloween which scared the crap out of me. I was sitting here in the dark so it looked like no one was home and from out side I heard that yip yip yipping and thought the mutt was haunting me. I peeked through the blinds and saw the kids playing with the powder puff and smiled that all was right at the neighbors house on this night of fright. And I didn't even have to hand out one piece of candy. It was indeed a good night.