Oh the ties that bind

We sit in our pews , like children on a school day.

Hands folded neatly in our laps. 

Bow ties, blazers , an old geezer in the back yawns and steals a nap. 

Empty lives, empty souls?

Are you here to check off your salvation ?

Going once , going twice...Sold! 

To the highest bidder?

What does it even matter to you? 

Let this be a relationship not a ritual.

You sit here week after week, 

fake smile, small talk... isn't this all trivial?

Do you claim to follow the man who was either lunatic, liar, or lord?

Many of us forgot his sovereignty and stared at our shoes and the church's old linoleum floor.

Wake up and smell the roses. 

Time is fleeting , even the common man knows this.

I do not preach of hell fire 

But at the end of the day even the scoffers and judgmental ones will sit wide eyed and listen.
To the story of depravity, forgiveness, redemption.

"A Son of Suburbia"

"I am a son of Suburbia"
A dreamer of dreams that are interrupted at the wrong moment.
A lover of lands that have been lost to a sea of blank faces.
Houses one by one that sit the same.
Back yard barbecues , flag football, and summer games.
Street lamps that blot out the stars.
This land is torn up , ruined and dying
...I still see the scars .
Man made game trails that all can follow.
Where are the times of the sycamore tree, whipper will call , and old barn swallow?
I sit and stare at the view in my head. Of the land , the trees , and of the old barn dirt in its can by my bed.
A son of Suburbia , I throw down these ties that bind
Over the city of walls, over these streets to the mountains I climb.
To a place I once knew. To a time I once loved.
Early morning walks through the pastures, I can almost hear the call of the mourning dove.
I open my eyes and see that all is the same.
A son of Suburbia's life is black , grey , and mundane.

A Confession of Sin with a Ray of Hope

We walk in the valley of the shadow of death, but there is a path
We are lost in the dark of night , but there will be a dawn
We are struck down but there is a hand.
We find that our lives are hard sometimes, its funny how that works
We complain , gnash our teeth and think about ourselves
We look to the floor , instead of looking to the heavens
We search for answers in culture , when they are in a book a few feet away ,or in a prayer that we need to pray
But there is hope. Hope in a God ; in a being that is ours and we are His.
"But for those who fear my name, a son of righteousness will rise , with healing in His wings."
So rise from this mire you are in. Bow your head , quiet your heart and pour out your praise , pour out your sin.
He is listening and quietly waiting.
For us to accept His gift of Forgiveness

A Challenge For Today. A Legacy For Tomorrow

     I am a dreamer. I'm always looking to the next thing or adventure. In my room I have a list on an old notebook called The List For Life. In this list are far away places , activities I want to do , and dreams I hope to fulfill. For a few years I have poured over magazines articles, documentaries ...the list goes on. I became obsessed with these future adventures and experiences. I found myself not even caring about the present. Why? As Christians we are called to look towards the kingdom and not to conform to things of this life. We are hardwired to look towards the final reward. The time when we will stand face to face with our maker and hear the words. "Well done , my good and faithful servant". 

        

    Last week was missions week at my school. We heard several speakers talk about relevant topics in society today. Such as Islam, Human Trafficking, and the Plight of developing countries. This week  taught me that we should not only live for the future but for today! We must rise up one and all and fulfill the call He has given us.

      I'm not saying that we shouldn't have dreams, in fact I believe all should have a list of aspirations. However, we should also keep an open heart and mind towards the will of God. People need the Gospel now! Not after your next trip, not after college. Not when you have a day off from work. Being part of the "Jesus Culture" there is a stereotype that we as Christians can only be missionaries if we sell everything we own and live in a mud hut for x amount of years. This is not true. We are called to our schools or vocations for a reason. Yes , it is true. You can evangelize in America. We often excuse ourselves from mission , saying it not our calling. That is wrong. So start the conversation , answer questions, just be a friend. You don't have to go all Billy Graham tent revival on someone. Let your actions reflect the faith you "claim" to be a follower of. Let them see that you are "different". This is my challenge for today. What will the legacy be, that you leave tomorrow?

Be thou my vision

   Call me old fashioned but I love hymns. One in particular is Be Thou my Vision. It's words ring true even today. It is a 6th century Irish hymn stemming from an old monastic chant. It is amazing that these God inspired words still ring true today. We sometimes  get so caught up in the flash and spectacle that is worship. Why can't we take a break from that on occasion?

      We are called to still our hearts and minds to meditate on God. This song is a great way of doing that "Be thou my wisdom, be thou my true word,Be thou ever with me, and I with thee Lord;Be thou my great Father, and I thy true son;Be thou in me dwelling, and I with thee one." When I found this version of this song, I immediately fell in love with it. If you get the chance, stop what your doing , sit down , and listen to it. Focus on the words and what they truly mean. Remember that Christ is enough, that God payed this debt for us. Let us be thankful, let Him be our vision. Let us not cast our eyes upon that which is not eternal. "Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise:Be thou mine inheritance now and always;Be thou and thou only the first in my heart;O Sovereign of Heaven, my treasure thou art."

Childhood

We walked through the land side by side
Hide and go seek games, tears wiped away when I cried .
Afternoons in the barn working on the old tractor that always broke.
The radio played Conway Twitty, Johnny Cash ,and George Strait.
I was raised right to love and cherish this way of life in the upstate.
Turkey hunts , and deer stand mornings.
Spinning yarns by the fire , and the old whipper-wills warnings.
Lunch at the old store, and a fishing at the duck pond.
These were days we loved.
Lessons learned, and a few taught as well.
Sunday mornings with Pop down the road at the church that preached of redemption, fire, brimstone , and Hell!
The heart of the land beats within me as I go about my life, carrying its dream on.
It's ashes, in my room on my desk it sits upon.
Sweet barn dirt fills my nostrils as I shut my eyes and remember.
Remember that snowy morning when the world was blanketed in white and the land froze time itself?
Remember when we beat the odds and did get home on a leaking gas tank?
Everyone has their story to tell. Stories of love, hate and redemption.
Together we put these stories away , as time moves on.
Will we ever go back to a day where we can stand as brothers and look out over that place once more?
I pray we do.

The Old Duck Pond 

But life has a way of working things out, one day I will stand on my own land, and look over the vista as ducks touch down on my pond, as cattle bed down and old bulls fight, as deer softly walk through the pines on a moonlit night. My children will learn to love the woods. Life will circle back to the days of childhood . But in a slightly different perspective. When I find this place, this place of healing , redemption, and joy I will sneak off into the woods. I will walk to the highest part of the land that looks over our slice of heaven and bury the ashes of lands of old , and memories of past days. I will make it part of the new land to bring together a central idea. A central idea of what life should be about. To finally go back to the basics of what my life should be. Hard work, friends and deposits in the memory bank. My great grandfather had a dream as he came back from WWII. He looked over the land before him and found a place where peace is abounding , and the majesty of God's handy work was everywhere. A place to go and just be still.To be able to go sit and just marvel at life. This is my dream, this is my prayer. That the innocence of childhood would come back to this life. That I may be able to capture that dream that my grandfather and his father once had. A place where the Cauthen Family Farm can find a home again.

The Barn

The Center Pasture. 

The reach- could relate to a lot of things

I reach out into the darkness hoping to grab on to something.
A word, a gesture, a feeling.
I want to understand ; to grasp true meaning.
I know what it is, but do I know why?
I play the part of the calm ,cool,and collected.
But I pray that I will not be rejected.
What is the purpose?
What is the part I must play?
I am here and ready for the lights to be lowered and the music to begin.
Nervously I read over the lines that were written by conformity.
Should I play this part?
Or should I throw down the script of life and act from the heart?
This cliche act of rebellion is seen all the time.
In hearts of angst filled youth time after time.
But this is different.
It is organic and new.
A script that has never been written.
It is my very own.
I turn through its pages
Memories are shown and remembered
This new script is a step into the unknown.
So hold out your hands and reach for this new part.
God is using it He's known of it from the start.
Let go of the old and grab onto the new
Because He, the father has a great work to do through you
Amen