We speak

We speak that we do know. John 3:2

"Inward peace is the special and true inheritance of all truly holy persons; the natural result, as well as the most satisfactory and certain evidence, of inward sanctification." Catherine Adorna.

Memory of Job

by john clare

Upon the death of the Seer his will was read,
To my heirs hear now these words from the dead.
If my wealth you would at last possess,
First you must pass this consuming test.
Memorize the entire book of Job,
And my untold riches you shall finally hold.
Possessing not a Bible the heirs were most distressed,
How could he place this burden upon the dispossessed!
So out they stomped to purchase the unknown word,
This was the cruelest inheritance they ever heard.
Forty-two chapters! Why we will die before we memorize,
So they began, though the task they did despise.
By chapter three they opened their mouth and cursed the day,
But the lust of riches kept them memorizing away.
Chapter seven and the months went by the appointed time,
Three miserable souls living like hirelings.
A year to chapter ten and their souls were weary of life,
The bitterness of soul, complaints and strife.
Chapter fourteen two years hence and troubles full,
Man born of woman is of days too few!
By seventeen they cried their days extinct, the grave was ready,
The wealth from the Seer they never would see.
Five years it took to chapter twenty-four and the Almighty,
The hidden things began to reveal and they thought less of the money.
Surely there is a vein for the silver we mine!
Surely there is a place for the gold we fine!
By thirty, no longer young, most held the old Seer in derision,
Why make the Memory of Job the terms of the decision?
Seven long years and their hearts trembled and moved out of place,
Little did they realize it was less the mammon and more of grace.
By thirty eight and ten years after the word did wend,
They now memorized the word of the God in the whirlwind.
The time of the wild goats upon the rocks were gone,
They were as new hinds ascending to their mountain home.
The day came in year eleven to draw forth the word,
The lawyers and in-laws were astonished at what they heard.
We at one time were as Leviathans, consumed with hooking mammon,
We detested this Seer who dared dangle this cord down.
But as the years went by and we read beyond the book of Job,
We found the riches offered were not at the end of memory road.
And not from a man in the land of Uz,
Whose name was not Job, but the Son of Man!
And we eternally thank the Seer for this wealth we now possess untold!
Thus the inheritance was dispersed to the widows and those unable to pay,
And so they lived, being old and full of days.

Last day to see Roger

It was a Sunday evening and we had visited Roger our friend at Shands in Gainesville. Myself, Terri Harty and Rick Bringger in the photograph. On Sunday afternoon of this week Rogers daughter Liz called and said I may be interested in some of his bicycle stuff.
I met her at Rogers and made a sad tour of his house. It was an uneasy feeling. I had the impression that Liz wanted me to have the stuff, but Alan didn't. He got Rogers bicycle out from the side garage shed that he thought I would want. It was his Trek Mountain bike.On the bike was he waist pack, which I was interested in as well for sentiment, but Alan took it, looked inside and kept it.
After that, I just kept silent, telling them, they should keep this and that, explaining to them about this bike, that huret counter, that little bottle for dogs, etc. I do think had Alan not been along, Liz perhaps would have been a bit more giving. Not that I wanted anything at all, but she offered. Anyway, I have seven bikes now, and it really was the last thing I needed.
I will take the bike to Harry's Bike Shop and let him put the components on a frame that Roger gave me from a trip to Wisconsin. He always asked if I had built it up, but never had the components. Had I been able, I would have asked for some of his bike repair tools, but...I will take it to Harry. The old red frame I will take and display in a shadow box with Roger memento's.

Nathaniel and ole mcdonald

We were joyed to keep Nathaniel this past Tuesday. It was only for around three hours, but long enough to keep the bond.
He loved this toy that belonged to Pearce, Allison's 5 year old, that sang old mcdonald when you squeezed where my finger is.
Yesterday my sister Paula found a pack and play at a consignment shop for thirty dollars, so we can now let him take a nap without worrying about him crawling off the bed.
Now we wait patiently for the call to come can we keep Nathaniel?

No Nets Below

Burning Daylight

Burning Daylight
by john clare

The Century was on as the grand Peloton pedaled away
The red flag drops as the clock was all our friend
We watched and waited for the coming tempo to begin
Who can hold the spin of hand at break of day?

Through the quiet countryside past the grazing cattle
Not a word was heard as all thoughts were on the road
The climb ahead to the devil's abode
In the tranquil valley they steeled for the looming battle.

Suddenly, jolted from wrestling the inner angels
A lone rider breaks from the coiled Peloton
The snake of men shift to try and catch on
To the heights of thin light singly they propel.

Roiling in the azure heavens time descends to toll
Wafting among the struggling cyclists he had his way
Plucking at will those the price unable to pay
No mercy, no mercy on the cadence lost souls.

But leaning low in the ribbon wrapped drops
One continues upward unfazed by tolling time
The devil chides alongside upon the hors categorie climb
You are mine! You are mine! I toll the time! Stop!

The clouds enclose and darkness obscures the way
Gales and gusting snow freeze to steel the clenched grip
Dim goes the light and the rider begins to slip
Has time and his minions at last won the day?

In a turn of squares in the lowest cog left
Ahead the faint sound of cheering amid a warm glow
Dance! Dance! Upon the pedals dance so slow!
One comes to pull you beyond the rocky cleft.

In the arms at last the cyclist is held so tight
You are mine! Well done my chosen weak one!
As the tears of victory fall downward and run
We behold the glorious end of the burning daylight.

Fall

Fair Havens

In the book of Acts Chapter 28 there was the port of Fair Haven, where the sailing was dangerous, with Paul the Apostle admonishing the crew in verse 10, "Men, I can see the voyage is going to end in disaster and great loss not only of the cargo and the ship, but also of our lives.
Last evening, we journeyed from Fair Havens, not heeding the warning of disaster ahead. When a gentle south wind sprang up, they set sail along the coast. And as warned, soon, there arose against them a tempestuous wind called Euroclydon. This continued day and night, as the ship drove on with all hope taken away.
After long silence, Paul stood forth and said, Sirs, ye should have harkened unto me, and not have loosed from Crete, and to have gained this harm and loss.
But Paul had a word from an angel to be of good cheer, that while the ship would be lost, their lives would be spared.
While in the hall and upon the dark grounds, discussions ensued as to the direction of the ship, a remnant sat in the sanctuary and listened to the lesson of Jonah. The word was, "when you sin, you may get a boat load of people in trouble with you." Our disobedience affects many and when you are criticized or slandered, instead of biting back, perhaps you should take it as an opportunity for introspection,examination. Perhaps, while the words were not clothed in love, there was a certain truth to the words, a cause for humility, for prayer on our part. That in the end, if it comes down to being right or suffering humility, humility is the better course.
These latter winds that are blowing have taken the ship in a direction we shall just have to ride out.
We must for the time heed Paul's admonition, " Except these abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved."

Burning Daylight

Burning Daylight

Burning Daylight
by john clare

The century was on as the grand peloton pedaled away
The red flag waved as time was all our friend
We watched and waited for the coming tempo to begin
Who can hold these steeds at break of day?

Through the quiet countryside past the grazing cattle
Not a word was heard as all thoughts were on the road
The hills ahead and the devils abode
In the tranquil valley they steeled for the coming battle.

Suddenly jolted from the wrestling with inner angels
A lone rider breaks from the coiled peloton
The snake of men stretch thin to try and catch on
To the heights of thin light singly they propel.

High in the azure heavens time came down to toll
Wafting among the struggling men he had his way
Taking at will those the price unable to pay
No mercy, no mercy on the cadence lost souls!

But leaning low in the ribbon wrapped drops
One continues upward unfazed by the sly time
The devil chides alongside the hors categorie climb
You are mine! You are mine! I own the clock! Stop!

The clouds move in and darkness obscures the way
Gales and gusting snow freeze to steel the clenched grip
Low goes the sun and the rider begins to slip
Has time and the demons at last won the day?

In a turn of squares in the lowest cog left
Ahead the faint sound of cheering amid a warm glow
Dance! Dance! Upon the pedal dance so slow!
One comes to pull you beyond the rocky cleft!

In the arms at last the rider is held so tight
You are mine! Well done my chosen weak one!
As the tears of victory fall downward and run
We behold the glorious end of the burning daylight!

Remembering Roger

Tonight at 10:07PM, my long time friend Roger Sessler passed from this life into the grand eternal never ending century. In this life few are privileged to have a friend such as Roger. There are many people on Rogers "route" of friends who will dearly miss his presence in our lives. While we may have been put off with his open honesty, calling our handiwork a piece of junk, our habits poor, our maintenance of things lacking, we will not miss Roger and the gruff in Roger's endearing way he told us these things.
It only served to improve and help raise us to a higher standard. We were urged not to throw out the old, but to try and repair it. We were encouraged to save, to not live in excess. We were taught many lessons, all for the good upon looking back.
If not for Roger, I would never continued with my love for bicycling. He taught me how to ride on the roads in a group of riders, and many times upbraided me for cutting him off without signaling or pointing out some glass in the road. Even up until two years ago, I could not keep his pace on the bicycle for long distances.
Today was the Annual Gainesville Cycling Clubs Cycling Festival, the Santa Fe Century today and the Horsefarm 100 tomorrow. For years, Roger helped man the rest stop at Watermelon park on Saturday for the Santa Fe and would then ride the Century on Sunday for free for helping. He took great pride in his tee shirts earned from these events. It was Roger who rooked me into helping out at the Watermelon park stop and who also helped me through my first century the next day.
He was always a throwback to the carbon fiber and aero bicyclists lining up with him. He continued to ride with leather toe clips, he rode a steel lugged Vitas and later a steel Guerceotti. He concocted his own bag to carry his tire changing kit and food over the front handlebars. He used an ancient Huret belt driven mile counter and faithfully logged all his miles in his notebooks. He wore custom made T-Shirts with mesh sewn into the back and front by the ladies at N&W Cleaners. His Lycra pants were always long since given their last stretch and sagged. It was many a carbon fiber and titanium bike he passed too en route to a steady pace and finish at Morningside Nature Center.
Roger in addition to a cyclist was a runner. I first met Roger at one of our Lake City Runners Club outing. Again, always the teacher and coach, he usually was seen helping a slower runner or walker along, pacing them at their own pace, offering advice and companionship.
He was able to train for and complete several Jacksonville Marathons. Many were the miles we spent running through the Osceola National Forest trails with Bob Jones and many other running friends.
I could wax long on Roger and the times we spent here and there, as well as could his many friends he kept on his daily route and phone log. He was quite faithful to check in on us and keep us abreast on each other. It would probably embarrass greatly some if they knew that we knew this and that about them through Roger. But, we were all like a great family. Many I have never met, but feel as if I know, simply from hearing Roger tell of you.
There is probably no one left who was like Roger. This great circle of friends connected through Roger will now end. We shall continue in our tinkering and blundering and getting things all wrong. We will not have Roger to come and bail us out, to repair it, to show us how it works. We will have to now buy new things, for the old things will not be repaired.
I do not know how some of us will get along. I do not know at this point how I shall. Though I lost my biological father this past March, tonight I lost my father and friend, Roger Sessler.