Musings

So basically sometimes I do math. (sometimes.) And sometimes my brain gets so full of random different things that something has to kind of spill out before I can continue whatever I was doing. (like math) And so sometimes I write stuff like this. Sometimes. See what you think. Helpful criticism is also always appreciated. (sometimes) Just so you know.

Sometimes
I wonder why
Things fit so perfectly
Like a puzzle
With one piece missing.
Sometimes I wonder
Will we ever be happy?
.........
Why do you
put up with us
God?
..........
Sometimes I wonder
If a flower knows
What it's here for.
....To look pretty?
Sometimes I wonder
Can this go anywhere
Safe?
And sometimes I wonder
Should it?
and Sometimes
I wonder why
Me anyway?

Wow

Malachi 3:3
says: 'He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver.'
This verse puzzled some women in a Bible study and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God.
One of the women offered to find out the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible Study.
That week, the woman called a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn't mention anything about the reason for
her interest beyond her curiosity about the process of refining Silver.
As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over
the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver,
one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where
the flames were hottest as to burn away all the impurities.
The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot; then she thought again about the verse that says: 'He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver.'
She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there
in front of the fire the whole time.
The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding
the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire
time it was in the fire. If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed.
The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, 'How do you know when the silver is fully refined? He smiled at her and answered, 'Oh, that's easy -- when I see my image in it.'
If today you are feeling the heat of the fire, remember that God
has his eye on you and will keep watching you until He sees His
image in you.

Blink (written after seeing the aftermath of a car accident)

What did you think
When you woke up this morning
What were your plans
For this day bright and new
A tiny speck
On the world as it's turning
Yet somehow you thought
It revolved around you.

Then you blinked
Turned around
All you knew was upside down
Like the glass
Lying shattered on the ground
What's prestige?
What is power?
What is money now?

As the lifeblood slowly fades
From your face
The disguise is wearing thin
The mask is ripped away
Who were you?
Who was this man?
You convinced yourself to be
What were the lies?
The empty life
That you simply couldn't see

Until you blinked
Turned around
All you knew was upside down
Like the glass
lying shattered on the ground
What is prayer?
What is Jesus?
What's salvation now?


It's too late.

Randomness

Ok, so I was going through some files on my laptop and this was kind of interesting... sometimes when I am trying to write essays I get sort of a brain-fart type thing and something like this comes out:


from the deserts of ardgrid at the north end of marsupial regime, the order of the juplingals remains firm.
the day is hot and all around are feeling the sweat of their bodies sticking to the clothes on their forehead.

by why, say, am I writing this? i must confess, my friend, that when the snow is falling, the fireplace is cosy, and there are essays to write, one has no better occupation at all then spewing forth nonsense from the depths of one's soul.

but minutes are precious, they say, and i know in my heart that once they are gone they are irretrievable, so i suppose at this moment the "history value and preservation of a family" is much more important then the order of the juplingals. Unfortunately for them, as they must now remain forever in the recesses of my imagination, to wilt in the hot summer sun until there is nothing left of them but a small slimy puddle in the back of my brain.