Life is mellow, sweet and pleasant.
Driving a convertible reminds me that it really is possible to buy happiness. I've been pondering how easy it is for people to ignore God or to think they simply don't need Him. External luxuries like a convertible prompt me to respond with praise to the Father of heavenly lights from Whom all good things are given. But think of all the people who have external luxuries and praise only themselves. And they are satisfied.
I am reminded of Luke 18:25. Don't look up the verse. Just read what's written below.
by Karsten Piper
He spread his blanket on the sand,
kneeled and arranged his bowls and tools:
hook, mallet, clamp, chisel, rasp, razor.
His smile glinted in the rongeur's claws,
and upside down in the curette's spoon.
Light shone out of the needle's eye.
"Hoosh," he said, and began plucking hairs,
paring calluses, shearing wool, shaving
to the follicles, cutting to the quick.
He sorted these, trimming skin with skin,
hair with hair, into rows of clay bowls,
and set a large basin to catch each sour drip
as he sliced the hide and used both fists
to yank back the whole stubbled, gray pelt,
as wet and red on its underside as afterbirth.
He piled this heavily away, draping it
in clean linen, and turned to the meat and bone
heaving under sheer, tight membrane.
Sawtooth chewed into femur, rib and shoulder.
Pliers twisted and wrenched away tendons
until everything softened, canted and collapsed--
yet not one sliver dies. Each ribbon and shard
bawls for the horror and hurt of their missing,
wishing for the old braying wholeness.
Pain bloodies evening and morning,
stabbing day after day from even the first cuts,
like the slow light of far stars.
Eyeballs and heart float alone in the last bowl,
dark and defenseless, quavering when he leans down
and they recognize in his eyes how little is left.
"Easy now, Camel," he says and lifts me
in his fingertips, one quivering strand at a time,
through the eye of the needle.