Life is Short and God is Long

Life is short and God is long;
He the Singer, we the song.
We are small, the world is vast,
And marches on when we are past.

There are so many stories here,
So many things worth smile or tear,
So many joys and pains and hopes
Villains, victims, philanthropes-

So many books that can't be read,
So many tears that won't be shed,
So many songs that can't be heard,
To which we're deaf as if they were-

Were not, had never been at all,
A thousand passions' trumpet calls
Which, as soldiers far away,
Wake not our night, nor stir our day.

So many stories left untold
By those who lived them- now grown old,
So many thoughts and dreams and fears
And deeds of daring, kindness, cheer,

So many little looks and sighs
And little children's lullabies
And winter nights and summer days,
And heroes never known nor praised,

They all march past- for what we see
Is but a glimpse of melody,
An echo of celestial song-
And life is short, and God is long.

And yet, as short as it may be,
And sin-blind as so often we,
There's life, and opportunity
To hear and taste and touch and see,

And though we cannot see all now,
Can't read beyond our final bow,
Yet what surrounds us, and the path
That's laid before our feet- to laugh,

And never waste a moment when
The LORD says "Go," but to begin,
To see it all- though it's not much,
It's all our tiny hands can touch,

Can grasp, for now- to live, to leave
No stone unturned, no moments sheathed,
To look at them, and Him, not me-
No mirror- there's too much to see!

And if we're blinded by the scope,
That only serves to give us hope,
For God has given us a part,
Our daily bread, our beating heart,

The lost bewilderment that must
Fill every mortal serves to just
Send childish excitement through
The veins of chosen people who

Once lost in sin have now been found,
And lost again in glory-sound,
Lost not in fear, but wonderment,
And thankful to be called and sent,

Surrounded by so many gifts,
And joys and pains and falls and lifts,
The myriads we cannot know
Are not for us, but these are so!

So thank our God for what He gives,
And beg Him to cause us to live
A faithful life, with nothing left
When double-bar is writ by Death-

For though it ne'er can all be seen,
Nor felt nor heard, all that has been,
Yet God has granted us to see,
To feel, to hear, to live, to be,

And while in Christ eternity
Will uncover the mysteries,
The poetry of Time, of lives
Will all be laid before our eyes,

Yet here and now I hope and pray
That while it yet is called "today"
I'll fill my ears, my eyes, my heart
With my God-given story-part,

And drink it in, and pour it out,
And live, and die, and have no doubt
That I sang all that was my song.

For life is short.

And God is long.

Epitaph

Many things it could be wished to etch upon the memory

That sleeps behind coruscant eyes of upward-looking babes-
To leave glinting as embers behind life's flaming ephemerae-
To weave into the trail left by the drop among the waves.

A thousand things he would want said by fellow players on his page,
Fellow fleeting droplets in the wave that bound him to his destiny,
Who shared with him a moment upon God's eternal story-stage,
Until, their moment past, they left a faint but changeless memory.

But now, just now, around him swirls caressing, kindly summer winds,
An ember-sun leaps auburn off the evening ground to whence it came,
It burned him yesterday, you know- that little, happy pain just lends
Another note that sings into a story writ to praise The Name

Of its great Author, Jesus Christ, Who makes it all to shimmer bright,
The notes of life- sad, gleeful- dance together to His symphony;
Overwhelming beauty, glory-weight enough to crush the night,
To call to life His children and to write His foes their elegy-

A thousand tons of water shatter, broken, now a million shards
Of sparkling life and looming death that fall back to the ceaseless flow
Of ocean, hissing down the sand, and there resume the ceaseless march,
But not for him- his march will end; the tide of history will grow;

Triumphant, it will fill the earth, 'til all the nations bow the knee,
'Til mountains melt and cedars fall invisible beneath its swell,
For all the world will tremble, all the world will soon rejoice to see
The Glory of the Monarch Whose great story it was made to tell.

And telling, now, of course it is!  His mind returned to simpler things,
Sticky honey on his fingers, the sound of laughter carried clear
And long by wind, echoed by the waves, gulls with their percussive wings
A song, to which great counterpoint he was sent, with note, and ear.

So maybe, if his years were melted into lines of epitaph,
The thousand wondrous things he'd love for those few words to say-
Here, at least, and for right now, he can see his final paragraph,
The words he yearns to see upon the stone that marks his going away-

Here lies a man who would give thanks for blessing and for chastening rod;
Who always found the treasures every little thing would fain disguise;
Who fought to see the glory in each word of life hand-writ by God;
A man who read His story with a child's wide and wondering eyes.

Marshmallow Boy

How many young men out there have big dreams for the Kingdom of God?

How many of those young men are actually doing big things for the Kingdom of God?

I myself have wrestled with this; I've talked to brothers in Christ about it; the recent Southwest Family Vision Conference put an exclamation point on it.  

"In all labor, there is profit, but mere talk leads only to poverty."  That's how Solomon put it.  Mike Wazowski took a more in-your-face approach- "Less talk, more pain, marshmallow boy!"

Guys, we're getting old quick.  If you're like me, you probably have big goals and dreams.  I want to marry young, have a boatload (read: army) of kids, be an elder in my church, a successful entrepreneur and businessman, maybe write a few books...

Those dreams are great.  Taking those dreams out of the metaphysical realm and applying them to our daily decisions, however, is not an easy task. 

We’ve all heard of the “starving artists”; people who, ostensibly for the noble love of their craft, are still flipping burgers at 30 years of age, eking out a living so they can chase their dream.  And our culture tells us that this is a noble thing.

I don’t think Scripture agrees with our culture, though.

As young men, we all have a huge calling as members of the Body of Christ.  We can’t be spinning our wheels; we can’t be wasting God's time (Eph. 5:16).  We’re in the middle of a war, and we’re at a cataclysmic point in that war.  This is not a time for apathetic, lackadaisical manhood.

We can't be playing video games and watching movies.  Rome is burning, and we, the young men, who should be using our youthful vigor to build the Church of Christ and tear down the gates of hell, are fiddling around on our Xbox.

Now is the time to be seeking God, building foundations for our families-to-be, working, working, and working.  Now is the time to be getting married.  Now is the time to draw swords and leap into the colosseum of Reality.  Now is the time to be doing manly things.  Not tomorrow.  Not next week or next year.  We don't have time to waste.  We must assume the responsibilities of manhood.  We are the next wave, and we are sorely needed on the forefront.

We need to be focused leaders-in-training, loving our local churches, praying, studying, honoring our parents, investing in our families, making the most of our single years (and trying to bring them to a rapid conclusion!), paying our own bills, starting the next generation of Christian households, cutting out the good to invest in the best.

Or, as Kipling put it, filling every unforgiving minute with sixty seconds of distance run.

So guys- men- what are you doing?  Are your works and your words matching each other?  Are you a man, or an adolescent?  Has God called you to marriage?  Then what are you waiting for?  Does something prevent you?  Then what are you doing to eliminate that barrier?  Are you paying your own bills?  Driving your own car?  Are you contributing to your local church?  Are you making disciples and being discipled?

Are you working, or wishing?

Please pray for me on this.  I need it.  I want to be a faithful warrior- not one who spent so much time sharpening his sword that he never actually joined the fight.

All it takes is a little sleep, a little slumber, a little free time, a little dreaming, and enough busy work to make us feel like we're actually accomplishing something, and ten years of marriage and five kids have been lost in the great black hole of "could have been."

---------------

Many a man claims to manhood,

Many a runner to run,

Many a runner to finish the race,

Which yet he has hardly begun.

Many a man is convinced

That what he's done is good enough,

Many a man has calmly called quits

Just because the going got rough.

Many a man has spent many a year

Dreaming his life's thrilling plot,

And come to the end and realized

He'd already done it- or not.

Yet there are a few who have chosen,

By the Grace which God chose to outpour,

To turn the few talents they're given,

To run 'til they can run no more,

To forsake the good for the better,

And the better for that which is best;

Spend six full days upon labor,

And the seventh on diligent rest;

Rather to work for slight profit,

Than talk of great things and have none;

Spend their time waking than dreaming;

Embracing the sweat and the sun;

To live out their life to its fullest,

And breathless, arrive at the end,

Knowing they've done, and not talked about doing,

Chose to climb, even slow, ne'er descend.

Few men can say this, for most, in their prime,

Succumbed to the comforting whisper of time,

Which says that tomorrow will gladly fulfill

Whatever today is too difficult still.

But that far-seeing man who prays for the grace,

To redeem the time he may run,

That is the man at whom history quakes,

That is the man who has won.

Dad, I remember...

Dad, I remember...
(A collage of memories for Fathers' Day, in honor of my Dad)

G. A. Hudelson

The time we had those frosties,
Almost cold enough for snow,
Outside Wendy's with no shirts on,
We'd call that naked, now!

Then there was the time that you
And friendly Uncle Bill
Were playing shuffleboard and I
Suddenly felt a thrill

And you carried me inside
And saved me from the bees-
I remember shoveling gravel,
Breaking a window, cutting trees,

Debating hefty topics,
Making films and building nations,
Crying on your shoulder as
I feared for my salvation,

Studying and praying hard,
Striving for the vision
Of the children who are yet to come,
And who must make their own decision,

To follow in the footsteps of
The vision that you've forged,
A choice to remain faithful
To the covenant of our Lord,

A choice made only by The Grace
Of the Sovereign God that chose to place
Together all us Hudelsons-
Oh that this would be the case!

The times when we'd work out with Tony-
That was quite the exercise-
Wakeboards, Latin, and shooting hoops-
You were too skilled, to my demise-

The times that we rejoiced and cheered,
The days of rest and celebration,
Ebenezers of remembrance and
Moments of commemoration

The times I failed to honor you-
The times that I'd repent-
The times that you would do the same,
Modeling a godly heart that was rent,

Those times that we were happy and
Those times that we were sad-
And as I look back on it all-
I'm glad that you're my Dad.

I love you Dad.

Men

Men
G. A. Hudelson
9/23/08

It will be a dreadful fight,
This, obvious, looking at the night,
The night which might think that it is right,
But which causes this terrible blight,
For this night puts into dreadful plight,
The spineless men that turn to flight,
And will not stand against the night.

It will be a dreadful fight,
The darkness Justice strangling tight,
Giving all a horrid fright,
The drowning of the Glory-Light,
Causing pain with all its might,
To men who cannot bear the sight,
And will not stand against the night.

It will be a dreadful fight,
If there is perhaps one noble knight,
Who brave will stand beside The Light,
And live and die with all his might,
To Love and Freedom holding tight,
A man who cannot bear the sight,
And proudly stands against the night.

It will be a dreadful fight,
And I shall stand beside The Light,
Though lesser men may turn to flight,
My King commands me not to slight,
The covenant I’ve made with Right,
And I shall die, but I shall fight,
And proudly stand against the night,

And proudly stand against the night.