Parables, Portraits, Stories, and Songs
​
The Sower
A blind man went to sow some seeds and just  threw them everywhere, not knowing where they would land. 
Some fell on a well-worn path; sparrows ate them  almost immediately.
Other  fell in the shade of a tree; they grew fast but were too skinny from stretching for sunlight; they tipped over.
Others fell on good soil and grew well but unfortunately powerful weeds ended up choking them!
Still others fell on good soil that had no weeds; the plants thrived, flowered, and each gave fruit, some a little, some a lot. 
Parable of Two Daughters
​The good Father gave his daughters all they needed to live bountifully, purposefully, happily.
One daughter took everything for granted, was insatiable, impossible, entitled, rebellious.
She left the family fold, blaming them for being boring, stuck and the root cause of her restlessness.
Her delusion led her to an ever-more-tragic, painful, shameful experience of life.

One day, when frustration and terror drove her to utter hopelessness, 
the thought came, "why be  chilled to the bone suffering in this cheap motel, when at my Father's house,
there may be a place for me?
Let me return to my Father and beg forgiveness."

When the Father saw her approaching,
he ran towards her with loving arms open wide;
he wrapped her in a warm embrace and called for a party to celebrate her return 
with curries, pastries, cheeses, and cakes, music, dancing, and a giant bonfire under the stars.

The other daughter was furious. 
"She messed up while I've been here all along serving you and  this giant fiesta is for her!?
You never did that for me!"
The Father said to her, "You have always been here faithfully; I appreciate and love you.
But I can't help rejoice!
My child who was lost is found!!!


An Interpretation of "The Sower."
The blind person is the generous, unconditionally loving God who offers truth and a rich life to all. The seed is the truth.
The seeds that fall on the "well-trodden path" represents my hard headedness when I have all the answers, have become unteachable. (characteristic of me in denial, drunk, entitled, invested in the status quo, "with time"... etc.)
The seeds that end up skinny from "stretching for sunlight" are me  when I reach for the sunlight of the Spirit and neglect to assure my roots are firmly in place: spiritual materialism it is sometimes called. At times I want to  graduate from the 12 Step path in favor of more intense spiritual paths.
The seeds that end up choked by weeds are me when I grow well but then succumb to the world's priorities: family, jobs, prestige... etc. Often "good" things!  (the weeds). 
The seeds are me as I continue to seek God, truth, and thereby continue to heal and sponsor others, the fruit. 

The Dagger
Great talent was bestowed on her at birth; she loved to sing and dance, to express with color, lines, shapes on paper. At fourteen, Mother gave her a beautiful dagger with a fancy embossed handle. The gift seemed random to her and she brushed it off as  a sweet but misguided gift from a mom who didn't really know her well.  Moving to an apartment in a new city seven years later, the dagger sometimes came in handy prying off nails, breaking up ice, opening a coconut one time, too! Then she tapped it between wood slats in the kitchen wall and hung dish towels on it. 

Meanwhile, she became a really good dancer, singer, artist, but...not quite good or lucky enough to get big roles or support herself.  As time went by, this "missing the mark" began to fill her her with despair. One late night, after not receiving a call back, she took the dagger out of the wall and carefully cut herself with it, a shallow, maybe one-inch line,  just under the rib cage on her left side, drawing a little blood;  somehow the process relieved her despair. After that day, this practice became more and more frequent. Seven years went by; the cuts got deeper and longer; the scars started to become increasingly difficult to hide; a new lover commented with concern.  Ashamed for the first time, she broke up with him quickly and continued the ritual but now with remorse after each cut. The shame started its own cycle and resolutions began, "I'm not going to do that any more" but when the agitation got too extreme to bear, she would surrender once again, swearing this would be the last time.

One night, it was a real mess: blood on her clothes, all over her body, on towels, the bathroom. As she started to clean, she looked at the dagger's embossing as if for the first time. The words "I am" were set within the design. An electric sensation went through her body; all power gone, she collapsed and prayed from the bottom of her heart, "Help me, God."  She awoke the next morning on the bathroom floor all messy with blood. The dagger was there beside her.  The words, 'Tell them "I am" sent you' came to her, crystal clear.. 

That was twenty eight years ago now; the scars remain to bear witness to her-story, but the wound has healed.
​


​​A Banquet Parable
A Rich Man decided to throw a banquet
with hors d'oeuvres,  an open bar, filet mignon, vegan burgers,
wine, dancing, brandies, cigars, live music -
 the works.
He sent out exquisite invitations
to friends, family, associates.
The RSVP brought replies:
"My children are flying into town that weekend!"
"A property is pending sale."
"I'm away those dates to inspect my business.es"

He had already ordered all the booze, food,
had paid the musicians, caterers in advance 
so  it became a block party
and out went a new round of fancy invites.
This time, many RSVP's went unanswered
while others spoke of problematic dietary restrictions,
medical conditions,
investments needing attention, and conflicting theater events.

"Hmmm" thought the Rich Man.
He then asked seven servants to hit the streets
to invite the homeless, the crippled, disabled, the lame,
elderly, the single moms from the projects,
providing tender baby sitting  and comfortable transit.

The People came and all were soul-filled
at the Rich Man's banquet. 


​
A Child's Song
Two evangelical women came to a house on a  calm, warm evening, their last stop after a long day.  A pond to the right of the walkway reflected the moon's light. 
Advancing towards an open door, one knocked gently; a small child came forward from the dark interior.
"Is your mama or papa home?" they asked.
"My name is Photini," whispered the child. "Would you like some living water?"
"Why, that's just what we wanted to speak to your parents about."
"Does that mean yes?"
A little confused, both women said "yes" in their own way.
Photini opened the door, stepped out and, looking up at the women, started to sing with sweet beauty; soon, her voice evolved  into a deeply resonant,  gravelly sound with substance and weight.  An overwhelming sense of peace flowed through the women who had been so tired before.  After a few minutes, as the song continued, water rose up from under both the child's tip toed feet, wound through her super-straight legs, torso, neck, hair, outstretched arms and fingers and beyond her body into the air, forming a glistening, liquid tree with a web of  silver branches extending out and up.
The women stood transfixed, unable to move, then seeming to all of a sudden come to, they jerked back, turned, and ran away as fast as they could;  Photini's song continued to reach them as they hurried down the road... and on through all their remaining days.



The Parable of the Discouraged Patient
Years ago, Charlie sickened 
and went to the hospital
but had no insurance;​
he had been struggling
for many years
with a ravaging drug addiction;
the treatment for his new disease
was very costly,
millions of dollars, 
and he could not afford it.
He wept bitterly
and begged;
he wrote letters
and pleaded.
he went before the great Doctor
and asked forgiveness.
Finally, the Doctor agreed
to treat him, to show
that all his past was forgiven.
Oh! how Charlie  rejoiced
and danced
and praised the Doctor
and got well.

One day, out walking,
he saw an acquaintance approaching
seeking treatment
for a crash injury
because another driver
​had run a red light;
the acquaintance had heard
of Charlie's healing;
he confessed
 his payments were lapsed
on his health insurance.
Charlie  said,
"Oh! They will never treat you then!"
His acquaintance suggested,
"maybe if you go with me
and speak on my behalf, 
they might?"
But Charlie replied, 
"They might think me ungrateful
and besides, look what you brought
on yourself by failing
​to pay your insurance!"

While they were speaking,
one of the Doctor's nurses
happened to be listening.
She went to her Boss and told him 
what she had overheard.
the Doctor called the first patient to him.
"I forgave you, and healed you
and you in turn have discouraged another?
I can no longer bring myself  to pay
for your medication." 
Charlie sickened and died quickly.

​
​
Flight
Mother Eagle's eggs lie cradled in her nest, perched high above the fourth hole's fairway.  Divinely designed to want out, each chick initiates exit by tearing the inner membrane and gulps its first air, now accessible through porous shell.  New energy from this breath empowers itsy bitsy beaks, equipped with a perfect scratching tool, to poke a hole and break into a world of twigs, branches, sky. 

Now outside the egg, majestic Mama is revealed; she provides so that feathers grow, wings flap and strengthen, legs begin to hop. Three chicks watch her ways as she springs, launches with wings spread, reaches and folds upon return; they copy.  One day, the first-born eaglet  lifts off for a milli-second from the surface;  just this tiny taste is the beginning; all three begin to to hop and soon two were able to perch on nearby branches and take fledgling flight beyond the tree.

The third chick is clearly as powerful as the others and can do what it will not do.  Mama begins to nudge the nest. At first she is gentle, but as the days go by, she pushes harder and finally shakes it violently. The nest no longer safe, the eaglet takes flight and soars past the limbs of the tree, high above and beyond the golf course into the Kingdom that can never, ever be shaken. 


Isaiah  41
Listen up!
Take the cotton out of your ears and put it in your mouth!
You, who stand where the desolate arrive, let them approach, be heard, unified;
I called the One who brings truth, that warms,  who chases in ways that have no footprint, except on hearts.
Who does this? 
The great "I AM." 
Greeters, angels, saints, guides, conduits all know the deep import of their role and are humbled, afraid to fail.  So everyone helps, encourages one another to pay attention to their respective positions so that what results is unshakable. 
Don't be discouraged!
Don't be afraid!
For "I AM" is and says,
"I will strengthen and help you.
I will hold you up!
Internal and external oppressors will be as nothing - gone!
I will continually whisper to you 'Don't be afraid because I AM and I help you.'
You will have my power to see mountains vanish and tempests calm.
When your spirits are low, I'll show up in sure-fire ways so you can't miss me.
I challenge you to get any of your counterfeit gods to do anything real.
So tragic are people who grab for order, clothes, family, drugs, job, booze, money, celebrity, purity, reputation, prestige, control, guns, cars, homes, serenity, schedules,... whatever, to prove themselves!
There is nothing to prove except that I AM.
Let your lives sing that song!
Those gods have nothing to offer."




Picture
Ala Abnajelah: A Portrait
​The Mechanic's hands knew to feel for vibration, sensation, to listen for whirrs, sound cycles, to watch for white smoke, smell liquids, "is there fluid in the oil?" Gently holding the fan to force the engine to heat, he reached for a tool to loosen a hose, first squeezing to expel dead air? to see the effect on the radiator's water?
I stood, a silent watcher with scarves and coat, still cold but unable to leave; his slender lithe energy swung under the engine; only his feet touched the ground, swung up again.
"I love my job. My father taught me. He hit me when I made a mistake, 'pay attention!' and I learned  - he's ninety, back in Jordan now, came for one year and went back."
Ala started to pour the Blue Devil into the radiator, slowly, with care, patience, pace,... would it work? he wasn't sure but over the half hour of wait time, the smoke lessened from the tail pipe, the air in the truck started to warm, the shaking lessened. He lit a cigarette. We smiled at the same time.  I was grateful to have two crisp seemingly new hundred dollar bills to give him .

He has eleven brothers and six sisters. His father had four wives because that is permitted in his religion. 
When stopping by to check out the job,  Ala  (not pronounced Allah but Ale with 'e'as in egg) had driven up in a long, perfectly polished shell-blue Mercedes Benz sedan in his Sunday best, returned forty five minutes later with "Mobile Mechanic" branded on a van's door, dressed in dark grey work cotton and a short, black, thin insulation vest for the cold day. Trunk opened up to organized tools now just a few feet from the pickup's open hood. A tight black rubber glove was on his delicate right hand. I had noticed earlier that his hands were very clean, his big watch shiny. 
"I have to work to pay the bills."  ​
He was a blessing that day, truly a blessing. I was in the presence of an artist who loved the truck that I love and brought it back to life with his touch. 

A Daughter's Intercession
The LORD heard many complaints against the Domalicans and felt a closer inspection would allow him to see the truth of whether it was necessary to obliterate their city.  

On the way, his daughter met him. "Are you considering wiping out an entire city? What if there are fifty good Domalicans? People who serve you faithfully, are passionate about their businesses, who pay their employees generously, give good health benefits, who pay attention to safety conditions and the welfare of their workers and donate a share of their profits to the poor? Yes, I know they resent and cheat a bit on taxes but in the balance, how could you harm those people, sweep them away with the rest? Shouldn't you, LORD, do what is right and fair? Shouldn't you show compassion? 
The LORD agreed and said he would save the city if there were fifty good Domalicans. 

But his daughter persisted, "What if there are ten?  ten people about to see the error of their ways, ten who are a hair's breath away from surrendering their lives to you, who, in the quiet of the their hearts, have been convicted, have just begun to stand up and do right. Why, just a week ago, I saw Marcos on the East Side  on his knees begging forgiveness for caving in to the demands of investors and paying so many workers minimum wage. The next day, he spoke to his wife about his pained conscience and called a meeting for the board of directors next month and plans to propose change.  It's a beginning, Abba! 
The LORD definitely saw her point and agreed he would save the city if there were ten such people.

Again she persisted. "What about one?" she asked.  You know it is darkest before the dawn. Brenda's children are disgusted, her husband is about to throw her out the house, her business is bankrupt. She's angry, raging about how no one understands, and yet deeply humiliated. Just last night, she called out, "Help me, God!" I know you heard her.  She is so so close now that I feel her breath on your shoulder. 
The LORD had heard Brenda, felt her near him, and was unable to interfere with the chance of her awakening, "I will not destroy the city since there  is clearly at least one such Domalican."

The truth is, the LORD wasn't capable of obliterating the city, never had been or would be, just not in His nature.
Song 29

The voice
is over the waters,
powerful,
full of majesty;
it breaks the trees,
causes the land
to skip like a calf,
stars to be like wild cubs.

it flashes forth flames of fire,
shakes the wilderness,
makes the deer give birth
strips the forests bare;

In the beginning
​was the Voice,
with God,
and it was God,
Life
that shines
in the darkness;
all was made through it;
not to be overcome.


​Song 22

Are you their shepherd?
Are you taking care of their needs?
Are you giving them time
to plop down in a field
or on the beach in peace?
leading
 to where you refresh,
restore their soul?
How are you leading in the right way? 
Show yourself!

They are walking
in the shadow of death,
doubting your love,
your power,
afraid more ill may come, 
not sure you are with them,
almost sure you are not,
disheartened by the trials,
the new set backs.

Where is the table lovingly set
in the presence
of all these internal questions,
the bounty meant to reassure them?
Where is the oil
for the anointing of their head?
How is goodness and mercy with them?
how will they dwell
​in your house forever?

Why God, why have you forsaken them?
Why are you so far from saving them? 
They cry out at night and by day
and you are silent.

Their parents trusted in you
and you showed up,
when they cried out,
you rescued them
but now,
where are you for the children?

​

​
Live!

listen to the flutes
and dance;
hear the lone trumpet
and grieve:
watch the waves break
and play in their foam;
see the nations rage
and fear;
how can we rest
without first welcoming
these many house guests?

be very still
and know;
.
.
.
then get up and go!
.
once mist,
once clay,
we animate
with breath
we agitate 
'gainst injustice 
with suffering
for our loved ones
our beloved children
Oh!
that there was a way
without inner turmoil
Oh!
but how can we rejoice
without sorrow?​



​Song off Breakage

hopeless,
adrift
on the Adriatic
two hundred seventy six
on that ship;
to be saved, they
heed
Paul's angel and
broke 
fast 
after two weeks; 
prayers said; he
broke
bread,
all encouraged
and when awoke
saw a bay
yet vessel
struck a reef,
broke
boat,
those
unable to swim
grabbed planks
and reached shore
to warm
with good people
who ward off cold
kindle a fire,
to enfold
welcome; 
a viper entered in
sensed warmth
broke
skin
but it dies
in the fire
and makes a God
of the one who faired well
did not swell
from the venom
and the natives
who gave 
kindness and refuge
bowed down;
the angel
broke
​not the promise
"God has granted life to you
and all those who sail with you ." 

​
Song 100 

Sing your heart out!
Bang your joy on drums!
Play that trumpet, keyboard, flute!
We fold into God that way!

We are made by the One
belong to our Maker;
we are the notes of "I Am"'s music
so empty out, play music, chant, pray;
open, dissolve the separation, 
clear away the wreckage!
Don't hold back!
Give thanks and bless the Lord with songs
for God is Good, endures forever,
is unchanging.

We all, all that lives,
​exist in and with each other
and return back to our original image
our original nature, name, energy,
our original root.

Sing!
Play the drums
Let music resonate
to re-member that root. 
Praise the Lord!


​

A Worm's Testimony
​
A little worm was addicted to decaying roots  but was awakened in winter to find the world!
He joyfully sang:
"Just look at the fountains of energy springing up from the ground,
shooting skyward, how the flow rushes out thick but  diverges, streams stem out, then brooks and tiny rivulets with blossoms at the tippy tips. 
Don't call them 'trees,' 
Ugh! PLEASE!
I'm plugging my ears, shielding my heart! How diminishing, how minimizing, domesticating;
Words! help me find words! What  possibly be said?"
He hesitated and then began to whisper, speaking very slowly, each syllable carefully articulated, each new idea preceded by a thoughtful pause.
"These are vibrations of divine energy somehow kicked off from itsy bitsy seeds that crack open and say what?!
how do roots ensue?
how does this happen? 
We know not. yet each shares its own story of twists and turns, wind wounds, buzz-saw bruises, unexpected freezes.
These creatures live together in community, in peace, reach to one another, entwine, house others, and yet stand alone."
He paused again substantially...
then wiggled to puff up his worm body and belted out,
"And to think, 
I could have spent my whole life buried deep in decayed root eats!"
He paused yet again,
then whispered fiercely,
​"Thank you God for my awakening!!"
​​
Song 29 is derived from Psalm 29,  Song 22  is derived from Psalms 23 and 22, Live is derived from Matthew 11:17, Song of Breakage is derived from Acts 27 and 28, Isaiah 41 is derived from Isaiah 41. Song 100 is derived from Psalm 100 and the Gospel of Mary Magdalene's first lines. A Worm's Song is inspired by Rumi's poem "The Worm's Waking" from about 1250 A.D. A Daughter's Intercession derives from Genesis 18:22-33.
The following are directly derived from the parables of Jesus: The Sower,  Parable of Two Daughters, A Banquet Parable, The Parable of the Discouraged Patient