I LOVE THE SNOW

Usually on Labor Day I am either having a picnic or out in the apartments playing with kids because they are out of school. Most of the jobs I had before this one I would have been at work on Labor Day. America we have lost sight on this holiday is all about!

The first Labor Day was in 1882, which was a time when 12 hour work days were the norm in the factories here; a time that a 10 or 12 year old could be working those hours for a few cents an hour. Labor reform changed all that in our country long ago, but we have chosen to forget that piece of history and it is not even honored on the first Monday of September as planned. Labor Day is now the time to recognize the end of summer, a time when the laborers of this era have to work. Cooks, retail worker, and other 21st century labors have to supply the service for those who do get off.

Edmund Burke once said, “Those who don’t know history are destined to repeat it.” That seems to be what happens. We don’t know the reason for Labor Day and we are drifting back into a country where 12 hour work days and 6 day work weeks are a norm. Sure working conditions are better but where is time for family, relaxing or even to be still and listen to the Lord.

The American Dream tends to crush everything in its way. That is why family and the Great Commission suffers as we all pursue the dream of hording things that are just wood, hay and stubble to be burned one day.

Just some thoughts.

Let it kiss you
while caressing your neck
like a lover

Let it wake you
from comfort
and leave you

Let it whispers to you
a voice within your head
that you question.

Let it haunt you
causing you to jump
at the least little sound

Let it write you

I write notes on the back of my hands almost daily, it drives my wife crazy. I have tried carrying notepads and electronic organizers but some how my hand ends up with a phone number, and appointment or a name written on it. You see my average day is crazy and my crazy days are well indescribable. When you work in at-risk communities life is a crisis. So I don’t always have time to fish out a notepad, much less try to type something into my Droid phone, so I grab a pin and scribble on the back of my hand. The other positive aspect for my hands to be my notepads is that it leaves the note ever before me. Anyone who has worked with me for 15 minutes will tell you my memory is, well not good. A combination of brain cells killed at Concord College and an ever changing schedule has left me that way. So if I write a note and put in out of my sight it will soon be forgotten. But not on my hand it is constantly in my ADHD line of sight.

I take great comfort that God keeps notes on His hand. The fact that I am engraved on His hand gives me two types of comfort. It is a reminder that I am important to him and that I am ever before him. You see God’s commitment is well beyond that of mine. Because the notes on my hands are written in ink that will eventually fade, but God engraves my name on his hand. A reminder that I have a security in Him that is beyond my understanding.

Today I saw something I haven’t seen since like May:

You have no events scheduled today.

What a beautiful sight

GOOD STUFF