Occupy My Thoughts

Occupy my thoughts
Invade my mind
Captivate my heart
Fill me with your Spirit
Surround me with your love
Consume me with your presence
Let all that I do bring glory to Your name
May my reflections be pleasing to You
Cause my speech to be seasoned with Your word
Save me from myself
Forgive me of my sin
Transform me into Your likeness
I am at your disposal

A Friend I Never Had

Distant memories of time spent together
But never a mutual conversation
Mutual observers and quite admiration
Childish repultion or bashful demeanor
Would limit our talk to necessity
Sporadicity and brevity
And now as years have deceased
Nostalgia remains
Reminders of
A friend I never had

The Jar

With contemplative precision and deliberate acuity, I nested the earthen vessel among the luminous flowers. The pale ceramic surface juxtaposed the vibrant colors of which the garden was formed. Yet the jar could hold no water, for the slightest rupture appeared along the edge of the base. No marigolds or lavender could reside in such an arid desolation. Perhaps the flower bed was not an appropriate location for a cracked clay receptacle.
A potential remedy came to mind. With high aspirations of arising beauty, I carefully mended the gap. Still, my clumsiness resulted in a hopeless calamity as the jar fell through my hands upon the cobblestone path. Only through a great amount of patience and diligence could this article be restored.
Who could posses the level of mastery required for this task other than the creator himself. So I scrutinizingly gathered all the shards and brought them before his bench. Through various tactical processes, the jar was finally reassembled.
I enthusiastically ran back to the garden, anticipating the growth of the tulips I wanted to plant. As the months progressed, I observed the flowers surrounding the jar shroud out the pathetic perennials as fir trees extinguish all undergrowth. My initial excitement dimmed at the display of apparent uselessness.
In humble defeat, I brought the jar before the potter and watched dejectedly as he ground up the jar into a fine powder. Then he added some water and began to knead the mixture. As I peered over the ledge of his desk, I saw the flames of the furnace engulfing the remains of my vessel.
My hands grasped the lustrous object that the craftsman handed back to me. He had exceeded my own plans and hopes for the meager jar that I began with. What I held was no longer a fruitless vessel, but an emanating fountain; and as it took its rightful place in the center of the garden, it towered above the chrysanthemums and roses with elegance and dignity. All it needed was a steady stream of water that glistened in the light and nourished the surrounding blossoms.
I sat in the garden until the sun threw its magnificent colors across the horizon, and the moon illuminated the sparkling navy canvas.