Self-induced misery...
Have you ever talked to someone who had such a jaundiced view of life that you went away feeling a bit slimed? Some people can't look at the world unless it's through a veil of paranoia or distrust, so jaundiced they can't perceive that another might not have an ulterior motive, might not want in their pants, might not want to con/steal/scam, might not want to take something from them. Even if bad things happen sometimes, it's not always that it was planned.
I think there are good people in the world. By good, I don't mean sinless, for none of us are, but well-intentioned people, people who want to be right, do good, give happiness. I hope I'm one of them. I talk to so many of the others. They have no clue that most of their misery in their miserable lives is self induced.
Here is an excellent poem about a man's self-induced misery. Think of the carpenter who made Jesus' cross....
The old carpenter shuffled slowly to the park bench.
He placed his wooden tool box reverently on the ground.
He had to put his hand on the bench to support himself,
While he lowered his creaking frame down to sit.
He surveyed the area, hoping to find a friendly figure
With whom he could converse, to pass the time,
But it was late November, and the park was empty.
And so it should be, he thought, so it should be.
A crow, with shiny black feathers, landed on the bench.
It cocked its head, and looked up at the carpenter
With an expression that brought to mind the words,
Have you been here before?
Many, many times, the carpenter said to the crow,
Though his voice was silent as the long dead leaves
That were still scattered about the park's broad expanse.
I have been coming here since 'fore this place's time.
I am the carpenter. I am the one who built the Cross.
I am the one who watched on the mount as the man
They called Jesus was nailed to what I had built.
I am the one who helped Him down, and laid Him to rest.
My penance for carving out the wood, and making the cross,
Is to wander the world until such time as I find that
I can forgive myself for what I have done.
I have many more years to wander, I fear.
As the carpenter turned to gaze at the crow,
The bird gave a squawk, and flew off to seek less noisy things.
The carpenter looked again over the park, with eyes
That contained no joy, no light...only the pain of ages.
The old man slowly reached for his tool box.
He stood up, wincing at the pain it brought,
And shuffled down the park path towards places unknown.
The crow watched, with a coal black eye, from a barren tree.
© Copyright J. John 2005
Php 4:8 "Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."
I think there are good people in the world. By good, I don't mean sinless, for none of us are, but well-intentioned people, people who want to be right, do good, give happiness. I hope I'm one of them. I talk to so many of the others. They have no clue that most of their misery in their miserable lives is self induced.
Here is an excellent poem about a man's self-induced misery. Think of the carpenter who made Jesus' cross....
The old carpenter shuffled slowly to the park bench.
He placed his wooden tool box reverently on the ground.
He had to put his hand on the bench to support himself,
While he lowered his creaking frame down to sit.
He surveyed the area, hoping to find a friendly figure
With whom he could converse, to pass the time,
But it was late November, and the park was empty.
And so it should be, he thought, so it should be.
A crow, with shiny black feathers, landed on the bench.
It cocked its head, and looked up at the carpenter
With an expression that brought to mind the words,
Have you been here before?
Many, many times, the carpenter said to the crow,
Though his voice was silent as the long dead leaves
That were still scattered about the park's broad expanse.
I have been coming here since 'fore this place's time.
I am the carpenter. I am the one who built the Cross.
I am the one who watched on the mount as the man
They called Jesus was nailed to what I had built.
I am the one who helped Him down, and laid Him to rest.
My penance for carving out the wood, and making the cross,
Is to wander the world until such time as I find that
I can forgive myself for what I have done.
I have many more years to wander, I fear.
As the carpenter turned to gaze at the crow,
The bird gave a squawk, and flew off to seek less noisy things.
The carpenter looked again over the park, with eyes
That contained no joy, no light...only the pain of ages.
The old man slowly reached for his tool box.
He stood up, wincing at the pain it brought,
And shuffled down the park path towards places unknown.
The crow watched, with a coal black eye, from a barren tree.
© Copyright J. John 2005
Php 4:8 "Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."
posted by Johnny at
5:27 PM
5 Comments:
Iva told me you were going to use my poem. I heartly approve of the lead in, and am honored that you would use my poem.
True words indeed. We could be so much happier if we could only learn to forgive ouselves.
I know of only one person who ever walked on water. The rest of us try to do our best, but we are all weak creatures compared to Him. As long as we do our best, I'm sure He can recognize that.
By
Anonymous, at 6:50 AM
Thanks, John, for visiting my blog. I have enjoyed your poem so much. You have a talent, my friend.
We humans have a way of getting ourselves into hot water, but one can't help but feel sorrow for the 'carptenter.' How many times do we look back and think 'if only I didn't do that.' You are right, though. We can try to do our best, and I believe that's acceptable service to our Lord.
Blessings!
By
Johnny, at 11:00 AM
Interesting poem. I'd like to know how much the carpenter was paid to make the cross?
Carl
By
Anonymous, at 3:36 PM
And since he did not stay dead he was not killed, So the carpenter has nothing to forgive right?
You seem to be saying that since things turned out well (Jesus lives) that anything the carpenter did to hasten his death was all right. Not so. Although Jesus did not remain dead, he suffered agony and died. The carpenter made a cross, maybe many crosses, for a man to die upon in agony. That one of the men was Jesus is really not the question. Should anyone die that way? The carpenter was right to feel guilty, and his 'wrong' was not imagined. He suffered eons for his sin although he could have had forgiveness at any time. He still was making illogical choices. And, for the record, God did not kill Jesus. He knew what would happen but real people made real choices that resulted in Jesus' crucifixion. I hope this clears it up for you somewhat.
Carl
By
Anonymous, at 12:44 AM
I thought Carl's note was pretty good myself. lol If you still have questions, YB, then email me.
Carl, I have no idea of the cost of the cross to make. As I understand it, they came in pieces, i.e., the long pole and the crossbar part. Someone(s) had to make the crossbar part probably.
By
Johnny, at 8:21 AM
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