From: Gary West
Sent: Saturday, August 09, 2008 10:55 PM
Subject: First Something
Funny how many notebooks look alike.
Billions of pages forming Millions of notebooks, how many just alike?
I picked one up and shoved it in my case unknowingly.
Later I opened it to work........sketches of camps, beach homes, ideas,
schemes, plans, shooting houses sketches....they were there first...
Lines on paper, old scribble, a doodle here, a doodle there, like
ancient art, primitive carefree.
Like drawings on a cave wall. No perfect rhyme or reason except to me.
The lines are mine. The evolution of my sketches can be seen in many
notebooks over the years.
They represent something so familiar and yet so foreign at the same
time. They are like a snap shot of a reflection in a pool before the
pool dried up.
They represent plans for dwellings that we could all share. I could see
the heavy timber frame hammer beam trusses. The Tennessee dry stacked
stone fireplace. The glass over looking the water. The wrap around bar
that allowed me to cook and serve a small army all while being able to
see them and talk...share.
I could see the decorator colors of the camp, deep red, green, and gold.
The colors of Christmas and fall. The camo bedding in the bunk room for
the grandchildren (to come).
The beaded wood ceiling. The cypress 6 panel doors stained different
colors to designate the red room the green room...
The stained concrete floors, saw cut and printed with wildlife patterns.
The heads of game and the bookshelves full of books.
Those are the things I can see in the sketches, the doodle, the scribble,
the ugly notes.
I can visualize the camp like I am there. I can see the water, the
colors, the fall leaves, the ducks landing. I can smell the oak burning.
I can feel the approach of a cold front.
I can see in my mind the seasons change as we move from staying at the
camp to the gulf.
The earth going green to red, red to gold and then the grey of winter.
Spring buds light green and then we begin again.
I can smell the grill and the food. I can hear the vehicles pull in. The
music, the voices, the laughter.
I can see the little ones jump out with the adventure of life all over
them.
I can feel the heat of the fireplace in winter and the cool of the water
in summer.
I can see the firsts.
The first deer, bass, squirrel, brim, snapper, rifle shot, bow shot, and
popping bug.
The first time to skin a deer, or clean a fish.
I loved my dreams, I wanted to finish what I have been dreaming about
for years.
I wanted the space, the individual privacy and the togetherness all in
one design.
I worked on it over and over and over. Justin looked at my drawings when
I put them on AutoCAD. He stood behind me just like Allen did and would
just say awesome. That was his word. I wanted something big enough to
never leave anyone out. I showed him his room, the guest room, the great
den, the kitchen.
This was within the last two weeks of his time with us.
I now sit and slowly close the notebook. The sketches are not valuable
anymore. They have served the purpose. They are a vanishing reflection
of a previous image.
My hearts desire was to have my family expand, grow and grow.
I wanted to just relax and enjoy them, serve them, teach them, and love
them.
I think about my ability to sketch and build for mine and then I am
reminded of Jesus when He said "I go to prepare a place for you"
I am set back but He is not. He is preparing a place that I cannot
imagine.
Allen and Justin looked over my shoulder, they know how I saw the
future.
I wish I could look over theirs now, to see the real future.
To see the "first something" the Lord is showing them in my stead.
Lord,
Thanks for the ability to dream, now I dream of heaven. My heart skips
when I think of it and I feel your Spirit confirm that you are waiting
on me.
Waiting to show me some "first somethings".
Gary
Friday, August 7, 2009
August 7, 2008
From: Gary West
Sent: Thursday, August 07, 2008 7:21 AM
Subject: Balance
Oh Lord please,
Help me,
Strike the balance,
Between heart and mind,
Between my will and Yours,
Between this world and the next,
Between work and family,
Between dreams and destiny,
Between intentions and actions,
Let me be placed on your scales,
And my life be perfect in the measure,
Let me be balanced for you Lord,
All parts saturated with You,
All parts equally Yours,
Please balance me,
Wring me out, dip me,
Dip me in you,
Deep and cool,
You satisfy,
G
Sent: Thursday, August 07, 2008 7:21 AM
Subject: Balance
Oh Lord please,
Help me,
Strike the balance,
Between heart and mind,
Between my will and Yours,
Between this world and the next,
Between work and family,
Between dreams and destiny,
Between intentions and actions,
Let me be placed on your scales,
And my life be perfect in the measure,
Let me be balanced for you Lord,
All parts saturated with You,
All parts equally Yours,
Please balance me,
Wring me out, dip me,
Dip me in you,
Deep and cool,
You satisfy,
G
August 6, 2008
From: Gary West
Sent: Wednesday, August 06, 2008 11:30 AM
Subject: Greatest gift
Lord,
Thank you,
For letting me know,
For the lives, they tell the story,
The Spirit confirms the tale,
The story is continuing,
The threshold to eternity is breached,
The adventure is on,
No card, no letter, no call, no conversation can confirm,
What you reveal,
By your Spirit
By your Power
By your voice
The pain of loss is blocked by the Spirit revealing,
Revealing the hem of the garment,
Allowing a touch, a handful.
The word is alive in this world, calling us out, calling us back,
Back to Him, and on.
On to our destiny,
On to the great unknown, on to the adventure of serving under the great
I AM.
On to the next level, on to the reality beyond,
Beyond our imagination,
Beyond our comprehension,
Beyond our understanding,
Beyond our dreams,
Our destiny with him.
It is beyond and the greatest gift,
Is knowing...
G
Sent: Wednesday, August 06, 2008 11:30 AM
Subject: Greatest gift
Lord,
Thank you,
For letting me know,
For the lives, they tell the story,
The Spirit confirms the tale,
The story is continuing,
The threshold to eternity is breached,
The adventure is on,
No card, no letter, no call, no conversation can confirm,
What you reveal,
By your Spirit
By your Power
By your voice
The pain of loss is blocked by the Spirit revealing,
Revealing the hem of the garment,
Allowing a touch, a handful.
The word is alive in this world, calling us out, calling us back,
Back to Him, and on.
On to our destiny,
On to the great unknown, on to the adventure of serving under the great
I AM.
On to the next level, on to the reality beyond,
Beyond our imagination,
Beyond our comprehension,
Beyond our understanding,
Beyond our dreams,
Our destiny with him.
It is beyond and the greatest gift,
Is knowing...
G
August 3, 2008
From: Gary West
Sent: Sunday, August 03, 2008 7:37 PM
Subject: Beginning of the ending
I am without the words to express my view, my emotions, my present
world.
Perhaps that is my lot. To be locked inside a maze unable to even
describe it.
I wonder what God is thinking, I wonder what I am to glean from
this...other than true misery.
The cut is not healing, it seems gangrenous. I pretend that it doesn't
exist.
Then an image of a boy, a couple, a child, a young man, a set of
shoulders, a pair or work boots, a labeled hard hat, a fishing lure or
old cap. They bump into the wound and the pain is all controlling and
migrates over and into my whole being.
So I am permanently flawed with the inverse of my great love. The
missing parts of my life are larger than I can explain. Larger than I
can ever replace.
The memories once so cherished, so taken for granted are the foundation
for the attacks on my heart. I hate that I cannot stop them. At the same
moment I could not live without them.
So there I am.
Stuck between a lagoon of misery filled with memories, and the cliffs of
questions, ringed with boulders of doubt.
I have tried to get out and for a while it seems that I actually
disengage from my reality and function in a non-real, shallow thought
field.
Where I just act like the whole event is some tragic novel that I am
reading. I just quit reading it for a while. Just pretend to be normal.
Just disconnect from the characters in the book. Just let it lay and act
normal. Don't read it, don't touch it, don't disturb it, just ignore it.
I just act normal hoping normal will come back.
I pretend to push, I pretend to care.
I run at the pile, I try and make it move out of the way.
And then I slow enough to be bumped by a memory. A memory that is
spurred by reality around me.
I miss my life. It is gone and I can't seem to find a handle on what is
left for me.
I wonder if the commentary will be "He was never the same, man did he
sink fast".
"He could never recover, he lost it..."
That is not what the boys would have liked. They would have thought me
tougher.
But I know now that my weakness is exposed. My soft sides are zeroed in
on. The spot that is sensitive to the touch is now gored out.
I stand in a state of hemorrhage.
I am not tough, I am found out. I am weak.
Weakness in the flesh, but calloused in the Spirit. I have had to call
on the Spirit man to work in this time. He has made blisters in an
effort keep me in Gods grip.
He is needed, he must muscle up. He must be stronger still, for the
battle is yet to come.
The battle for the beginning of the end.
I have a destiny, just as the boys did. I must win this battle inside to
meet up with them and see the end of time, and the beginning of eternity.
G
Sent: Sunday, August 03, 2008 7:37 PM
Subject: Beginning of the ending
I am without the words to express my view, my emotions, my present
world.
Perhaps that is my lot. To be locked inside a maze unable to even
describe it.
I wonder what God is thinking, I wonder what I am to glean from
this...other than true misery.
The cut is not healing, it seems gangrenous. I pretend that it doesn't
exist.
Then an image of a boy, a couple, a child, a young man, a set of
shoulders, a pair or work boots, a labeled hard hat, a fishing lure or
old cap. They bump into the wound and the pain is all controlling and
migrates over and into my whole being.
So I am permanently flawed with the inverse of my great love. The
missing parts of my life are larger than I can explain. Larger than I
can ever replace.
The memories once so cherished, so taken for granted are the foundation
for the attacks on my heart. I hate that I cannot stop them. At the same
moment I could not live without them.
So there I am.
Stuck between a lagoon of misery filled with memories, and the cliffs of
questions, ringed with boulders of doubt.
I have tried to get out and for a while it seems that I actually
disengage from my reality and function in a non-real, shallow thought
field.
Where I just act like the whole event is some tragic novel that I am
reading. I just quit reading it for a while. Just pretend to be normal.
Just disconnect from the characters in the book. Just let it lay and act
normal. Don't read it, don't touch it, don't disturb it, just ignore it.
I just act normal hoping normal will come back.
I pretend to push, I pretend to care.
I run at the pile, I try and make it move out of the way.
And then I slow enough to be bumped by a memory. A memory that is
spurred by reality around me.
I miss my life. It is gone and I can't seem to find a handle on what is
left for me.
I wonder if the commentary will be "He was never the same, man did he
sink fast".
"He could never recover, he lost it..."
That is not what the boys would have liked. They would have thought me
tougher.
But I know now that my weakness is exposed. My soft sides are zeroed in
on. The spot that is sensitive to the touch is now gored out.
I stand in a state of hemorrhage.
I am not tough, I am found out. I am weak.
Weakness in the flesh, but calloused in the Spirit. I have had to call
on the Spirit man to work in this time. He has made blisters in an
effort keep me in Gods grip.
He is needed, he must muscle up. He must be stronger still, for the
battle is yet to come.
The battle for the beginning of the end.
I have a destiny, just as the boys did. I must win this battle inside to
meet up with them and see the end of time, and the beginning of eternity.
G
August 3, 2008
From: Gary West
Sent: Sunday, August 03, 2008 7:14 PM
Subject: Boy search
Can I run a search?
Will my boys show up?
Can I type in the names and the reason for this madness be displayed?
Will someone out there know what is going on with them?
Will I be able to get the article that will sooth my wrinkled heart?
Will I do a mapquest to where they are and start my journey?
Will I find the plan behind the removal?
Will it display on the screen so I can read with my eyes the words of
explanation?
Perhaps if I search for Gary’s short comings, the boys name will appear
as a by product.
What if I search for the perfect plan of God...will this tree be
explained?
Did I push too hard? Do I hold my ground too fiercely? Did I miss the
mark?
Did God punish my faults with surgery...amputation.
So now...the screen is empty of answers,
My life is floating but broken...
I wonder around the ship. It is desolate, the sails are shredded, the
fuel is empty, the rudder is broken, there is no wind, no waves, only
the heat of loss and the smell of death.
The doldrums of summer, the heat of depression. They are all around us.
We pretend for others but the reality is like carrying a disorder, a
disease, a plague. It cannot be fully shared without infecting others.
The event plays like a recording in vivid color, over and over. The
slightest remembrance starts the recording over.
Our mind is over shadowed by our emotions, our Spirit is tranquilized by
the deep pain.
So we are made powerless by the weakest element of our being.
Our raw emotions, they tear at our reasoning, breaking into the mind and
wearing us down.
They are most susceptible to the dark side.
They are where he takes a grip, they are where he shouts accusations and
suggestions.
The mind is unable to answer the bell to the fight, it has worn itself
down. Fatigue is its new nick name.
So it throws the keys to the Spirit, the Spirit is thin, It alone is
unable to flush out the doubt.
The Spirit must have help,
Then I pray, then He comes.
To the rescue, like a warrior He runs to me, He comforts me, He holds
me, He cradles me, He forgives me.
He is mine, He is here, always in time, always in strength.
He is my only answer, He is my only response, He is my only ally.
He floods in, He puts in order the disorder.
He cleans, He shines, He renews.
Lord,
Thank you for loving me "the unlovable" thank you for saving me "the
lowest of the low" and thank you for giving me Allen. Thank you for
bringing him home and thank you for helping me to see he and Justin
again.
I await the next level with you. My heart is for you, my life is for
you.
Make me strong "in you"
G
Sent: Sunday, August 03, 2008 7:14 PM
Subject: Boy search
Can I run a search?
Will my boys show up?
Can I type in the names and the reason for this madness be displayed?
Will someone out there know what is going on with them?
Will I be able to get the article that will sooth my wrinkled heart?
Will I do a mapquest to where they are and start my journey?
Will I find the plan behind the removal?
Will it display on the screen so I can read with my eyes the words of
explanation?
Perhaps if I search for Gary’s short comings, the boys name will appear
as a by product.
What if I search for the perfect plan of God...will this tree be
explained?
Did I push too hard? Do I hold my ground too fiercely? Did I miss the
mark?
Did God punish my faults with surgery...amputation.
So now...the screen is empty of answers,
My life is floating but broken...
I wonder around the ship. It is desolate, the sails are shredded, the
fuel is empty, the rudder is broken, there is no wind, no waves, only
the heat of loss and the smell of death.
The doldrums of summer, the heat of depression. They are all around us.
We pretend for others but the reality is like carrying a disorder, a
disease, a plague. It cannot be fully shared without infecting others.
The event plays like a recording in vivid color, over and over. The
slightest remembrance starts the recording over.
Our mind is over shadowed by our emotions, our Spirit is tranquilized by
the deep pain.
So we are made powerless by the weakest element of our being.
Our raw emotions, they tear at our reasoning, breaking into the mind and
wearing us down.
They are most susceptible to the dark side.
They are where he takes a grip, they are where he shouts accusations and
suggestions.
The mind is unable to answer the bell to the fight, it has worn itself
down. Fatigue is its new nick name.
So it throws the keys to the Spirit, the Spirit is thin, It alone is
unable to flush out the doubt.
The Spirit must have help,
Then I pray, then He comes.
To the rescue, like a warrior He runs to me, He comforts me, He holds
me, He cradles me, He forgives me.
He is mine, He is here, always in time, always in strength.
He is my only answer, He is my only response, He is my only ally.
He floods in, He puts in order the disorder.
He cleans, He shines, He renews.
Lord,
Thank you for loving me "the unlovable" thank you for saving me "the
lowest of the low" and thank you for giving me Allen. Thank you for
bringing him home and thank you for helping me to see he and Justin
again.
I await the next level with you. My heart is for you, my life is for
you.
Make me strong "in you"
G
August 2, 2008
From: Gary West
Sent: Saturday, August 02, 2008 12:31 PM
Subject: Sort
Each thought is measured,
Each goal is defined,
Each motive is checked,
Each move is predicted,
Each opportunity is considered,
Each comment is accounted for,
Each omission is noted,
Each heart is weighed,
Each work is melted and purified,
The sheet of all is placed in the creators hands,
Then he watches as they sort themselves into order.
The formula is perfect,
The method is sure,
The work from the heart is paired with work for the heart of God,
The work from the mind to influence the mind of man is paired,
The column where sin is noted is checked instantaneously for the blood
formula. When it is present the column vanishes as if it never existed.
All that is done for the smile of women or the eye of men is discarded.
The focus is the works of the heart. That is all he looks for.
Fame and works performed to be seen are discarded.
Gifts and offerings for acclaim are tossed out.
The works are piled, the flame of purpose, the flame of truth, the flame
of purity is applied.
Only the pure, from the heart, for the heart, works remain.
The sort is continuously applied.
The value we placed is replaced by the value that God places on every
thought, every move, every motive, every intention, every gift, every
use of the talents and opportunity that he gave us.
The flame is swirled into, around and through, in the end only His
remains,
The product of our entire life is shifted by the fire, the fire
predicted by the word of the creator.
Is this the place where the greatest becomes least?
Where the pile of works done for the eyes of man disappear as if they
never existed.
Where we find that the true measure is our motive paired with our
portion.
Did our works measure up to our capacity.
Did our gifts measure up when compared to our capacity to give?
Did we out give others by a tiny bit when our capacity was a hundredfold?
Did we make peace on a few occasions when we could have made peace a
thousand times?
Did we support our ministers above us all the time, or when we wanted
their ear.
Did we love only the lovable, or did we reach out to the unloved?
When the master of all, with the rulebook, sorts our life, purifies our
works....
What will the remains look like?
Will they be as small as we think ourselves grand in this life?
Or will they be as large as we think God is in this life?
Sort of a question..........
Gary
Sent: Saturday, August 02, 2008 12:31 PM
Subject: Sort
Each thought is measured,
Each goal is defined,
Each motive is checked,
Each move is predicted,
Each opportunity is considered,
Each comment is accounted for,
Each omission is noted,
Each heart is weighed,
Each work is melted and purified,
The sheet of all is placed in the creators hands,
Then he watches as they sort themselves into order.
The formula is perfect,
The method is sure,
The work from the heart is paired with work for the heart of God,
The work from the mind to influence the mind of man is paired,
The column where sin is noted is checked instantaneously for the blood
formula. When it is present the column vanishes as if it never existed.
All that is done for the smile of women or the eye of men is discarded.
The focus is the works of the heart. That is all he looks for.
Fame and works performed to be seen are discarded.
Gifts and offerings for acclaim are tossed out.
The works are piled, the flame of purpose, the flame of truth, the flame
of purity is applied.
Only the pure, from the heart, for the heart, works remain.
The sort is continuously applied.
The value we placed is replaced by the value that God places on every
thought, every move, every motive, every intention, every gift, every
use of the talents and opportunity that he gave us.
The flame is swirled into, around and through, in the end only His
remains,
The product of our entire life is shifted by the fire, the fire
predicted by the word of the creator.
Is this the place where the greatest becomes least?
Where the pile of works done for the eyes of man disappear as if they
never existed.
Where we find that the true measure is our motive paired with our
portion.
Did our works measure up to our capacity.
Did our gifts measure up when compared to our capacity to give?
Did we out give others by a tiny bit when our capacity was a hundredfold?
Did we make peace on a few occasions when we could have made peace a
thousand times?
Did we support our ministers above us all the time, or when we wanted
their ear.
Did we love only the lovable, or did we reach out to the unloved?
When the master of all, with the rulebook, sorts our life, purifies our
works....
What will the remains look like?
Will they be as small as we think ourselves grand in this life?
Or will they be as large as we think God is in this life?
Sort of a question..........
Gary
July 27, 2008
From: Gary West Sent: Sunday, July 27, 2008 9:23 PMSubject: Storm walk
The storm rages,
Inside and out,
The vessel is battered,
The waves they rise,
The winds they howl,
The rain is flung,
The lightning pops and sizzles
The clouds invert dumping their contents
They spread and swell like a wild fire,
The white plumes of water are driven in hurricane winds
The thunder is all around, near and far.
The streaks across the sky form like instantaneous spider webs
Cracking and drawing ever closer
The salt burns the eyes, the mist, the spray, the rain, the darkness blot out the vision
The fear is gone, only trust remains
The maker of the universe strolls out to show His dominance, to enjoy the show.
He is the ultimate surfer, no board required.
He feels the surge of electricity at each bolt.
He created the bolts,
He sees the sea rage, the waves rise; He knows they all answer to His voice.
He is looking for trust, coupled with courage.
A rare combination, He knows the depth of the water, the height of the waves.
He knows the depth of the heart, the height of our faith.
Yet we are called…
Out into the storm, out to the place where we haven’t been before.
He beacons us, come…
The vessel we are in is sinking; the promise of its security is withered and dead.
Then we call out…He answers with a request. Step out and walk.
Walk to him.
The trade of a known death for an unknown life.
By faith we step, we focus, we stride, we surf the swells, and we lather in the sea mist and inhale the salty flumes.
Then we lose our vision, our focus is encumbered.
Suddenly we are ankle deep, and then knee deep, then thigh deep, soon we are to the belt, the chest and then we remember to cut our eyes back to Him.
He is there, waiting for us to take His hand. Waiting for us to see Him as He is.
The maker, the creator, the breath of life, the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords. The beginning and the end.
We are in a constant state of submission to His Lordship. The waves, the rain, the thunder, the lightning, they all submit.
We surface in His grip; we are secure in His grasp.
When we doubt…we sink, when we trust …we rise.
We must truss in what we cannot see to rise above what we can see.
The turmoil, the storm, the fear, is all real.
But when our vision of Him is held firm, our faith rock solid… then we can rise above the substance of our fears.
As we experience the rise from the depths, the sea, the storm, the wind, the rain, the turmoil try to draw our attention.
They try to distract us. The culprit is found in distraction, the weakness is not in our inability to stop the storm but in our inability to stop studying it. To stop focusing on the mess around us.
God please help my focus, please forgive my stare at the circumstances.
Let me only see you.
Let me only hear you.
Let my fear only be of you.
Let my love only be for you.
gary
The storm rages,
Inside and out,
The vessel is battered,
The waves they rise,
The winds they howl,
The rain is flung,
The lightning pops and sizzles
The clouds invert dumping their contents
They spread and swell like a wild fire,
The white plumes of water are driven in hurricane winds
The thunder is all around, near and far.
The streaks across the sky form like instantaneous spider webs
Cracking and drawing ever closer
The salt burns the eyes, the mist, the spray, the rain, the darkness blot out the vision
The fear is gone, only trust remains
The maker of the universe strolls out to show His dominance, to enjoy the show.
He is the ultimate surfer, no board required.
He feels the surge of electricity at each bolt.
He created the bolts,
He sees the sea rage, the waves rise; He knows they all answer to His voice.
He is looking for trust, coupled with courage.
A rare combination, He knows the depth of the water, the height of the waves.
He knows the depth of the heart, the height of our faith.
Yet we are called…
Out into the storm, out to the place where we haven’t been before.
He beacons us, come…
The vessel we are in is sinking; the promise of its security is withered and dead.
Then we call out…He answers with a request. Step out and walk.
Walk to him.
The trade of a known death for an unknown life.
By faith we step, we focus, we stride, we surf the swells, and we lather in the sea mist and inhale the salty flumes.
Then we lose our vision, our focus is encumbered.
Suddenly we are ankle deep, and then knee deep, then thigh deep, soon we are to the belt, the chest and then we remember to cut our eyes back to Him.
He is there, waiting for us to take His hand. Waiting for us to see Him as He is.
The maker, the creator, the breath of life, the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords. The beginning and the end.
We are in a constant state of submission to His Lordship. The waves, the rain, the thunder, the lightning, they all submit.
We surface in His grip; we are secure in His grasp.
When we doubt…we sink, when we trust …we rise.
We must truss in what we cannot see to rise above what we can see.
The turmoil, the storm, the fear, is all real.
But when our vision of Him is held firm, our faith rock solid… then we can rise above the substance of our fears.
As we experience the rise from the depths, the sea, the storm, the wind, the rain, the turmoil try to draw our attention.
They try to distract us. The culprit is found in distraction, the weakness is not in our inability to stop the storm but in our inability to stop studying it. To stop focusing on the mess around us.
God please help my focus, please forgive my stare at the circumstances.
Let me only see you.
Let me only hear you.
Let my fear only be of you.
Let my love only be for you.
gary
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
