Morning Prayer, April 16, 2014. Psalm 39:3-7

Precious Heavenly Father,

I confess that I must know how frail I am before I can know anything else. I do not
know the measure of my days, or what the end of my life will be. Before You, my life
is but a vapor, a smoke wafted in the air, that appears for a few moments and then
vanishes away. All flesh is as grass and fades and vanishes away before Your heat....

We walk in a vain show, like shadows on the wall. We strut and perform and imagine
vain things; at our best state we are at most complete vanity and emptiness. The world
passes away and the lusts thereof, be he who does the will of God abides forever. This
I know and confess, Precious Father, for You are the reality; man is but an image
impressed upon the dust.

Your people pray, "Your kingdom come, You will be done, in earth as it is in heaven,"
but we act so contrary to that, seeking to build our kingdoms with the dry straw of our
own decisions. But we are like the chaff which the wind blows away. Vain Herods are
still eaten by worms; proud Nebuchadnezzers graze on the grass like oxen, Korahs are
swallowed by the pit; they all pass away for you have more means than we can
possibly imagine.

"Make me to know my end, and the measure of my days, what it is: that I may know
how frail am."

Then I may yet hope in You, O Precious Father, What am I waiting for? Ps 73:25
"Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside
thee." Why long I for vanity, when You are my shield and my exceeding great reward.

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4 LORD, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I
may know how frail I am.

5 Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing
before thee: verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity. Selah.

6 Surely every man walketh in a vain shew: surely they are disquieted in vain: he
heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them.

7 And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in thee. Psalm 39

Trophy Hunters

 Musings on Trophy Hunting

Twice a year from days of old
Some arm themselves to seek a prey
Mid snows of winter in ice and cold
They seek the jolly elf to slay.

In spring when dafodils appear
The prey is changed but not the game
'Tis time for braves to trophies take
Of colored eggs and bunnies tame.

It matters not that elves and such
Have long ago been overcome
Remain as children's games and sport
To gain the funds: Grandpop and Mom.

"Tis dangerous to the spirit it seems
When children's games are thus engaged
Elves and buns and colored eggs
Must not take place at center stage.

'Tis best to dye our vanity of faith
To make it seem to reek God's Glory;
Better yet, to fill the church
With painted Christs and carv-ed saints

To spend the nights with lighted screen
To laugh with fornication and lust
To join with those that mock the faith
And castigate the faithful and the just.

Far better 'tis than eggs and buns
To garnish thus the cross of Christ
And gild it with the finest gold
To hide the blood of precious price.

To strain at gnats and dead men's idols
To lodge in Vanity and Babylon
To seek the praise of men and gods
By waging war in Tinytown.

"'Tis for the children," chant the brave
All the time they avoid the font
The promise of God to bless their child
By the Spirit of God, the gift of Christ.

Instead, the offering of eggs and elves
Of tiny bunnies to remove the wrath;
So much expected of so little
A pinch of anise; then down the path.

"But we have left all, to follow Christ!'
"All?" said the Master. "Is that really all?
Do I care about bunnies and eggs and elves;
Should not the dead bury the dead?"