God speaks

There are people who say God does not speak.  These people either hold no faith there is a God; or, whatever faith they may carry, tells them God only spoke in the past, to the men of old, those honored and holy ones of renown.  It is through their words alone we today can know anything of what God would say, and has to say, for those of us occupying the present moment of here and now.

While this means of viewing life is a simple one to comprehend, it fails to acknowledge the basic reality of God being God.  He is able to do whatever He wishes to do.

Naturally, this concept will not take into consideration the belief in no belief.  For those who believe not in a God who created the heavens and the earth, any further discourse on the matter is pointless.  There is no discussion if one fails to accept the essential premise of 'God is.'  Since i operate from the starting point of 'God is', I will continue on that basis.  For the purposes of discoursing on the concept of 'God is', such is a matter to be left for another time.

God is able to do whatever He wishes to do.  If He wishes to speak, He speaks.  He does what is right and what is good, for He is the one who established the rules for the creation He made.  This is all a matter evinced by a simple story coming out of the plain living of life.

It happened one evening at my place of work, a grocery store, where I go about the business of shopping orders for those who either cannot, or would rather not, because of time restraints or whatnot.  As it occurred, in the midst of this process, an elderly gentleman approached me, asking, in a very heavy, thick accent (it sounded Russian, or possibly Jewish), if I knew where to find the Equal.  

I suppose it was due to the accent, or it could have been because my mind was engaged in the order at hand, but my mind failed to register precisely what the man was asking.  Because of this, I replied to him that I did not know where the item was he searched for, but if he had a moment, I would find a manager who would.  

My first though was to walk to the Customer Service desk at the front.  My second thought, seeing my friend Linda, who worked as a Demonstrator at the store and who knew where items were as good as any, to ask her input.  Upon thinking of Linda, I hear behind me the voice of another customer, addressing the elderly man, inquiring for himself what the man was looking to find.  At this moment, I ask Linda if she knew where Equal could be found, to which she tells me it would be in the sugar aisle, while brightens the bulb of inspiration over my head, reminding me what "Equal" actually was, and I turn back to where I left the elderly man, who is waving me off as he stands next to another customer of the store - clearly the same man who inquired of him what item he was searching for.

As I begin walking back into the direction of where I left the man, I see him pushing his cart  into the direction of where the Equal would be found, the sugar aisle, as Linda said, aisle seven, as my memory and experience recalled.

I found myself oddly incensed - in a very slight manner - as it was my intent to assist this man in need of help; and another customer, who was not an employee of the store, steps in and assumes my task, as if I was incapable and he was privileged.  Of course, such thoughts were utter nonsense.  So my pride was wounded - who cares.  If I had been found in the position of customer, and I knew I could assist someone in need, I would be remiss if I did not carry myself with the same manner as did this person.  I had absolutely no right whatsoever to be offended.

Thus, as I battled through my wounded pride, I returned to the order of groceries I was shopping for that time.  As I searched for my own next item on my own list, the notion struck me to go after the elderly man.  Follow him.  You know the aisle where he will be found.  Make certain he locates what he seeks.

So, I pushed my own cart off into the direction of aisle seven.  When I turned onto it, I saw the man in the distance.  He was starting at a particular portion of shelving.  Before I reached where he was, he started pushing his cart away, to which I caught up to him and asked whether or not he found the Equal he was searching for.  In his thick accent, he replied to me that he had not; to which I turned to the shelving, spied the sugar, which I remained familiar with, and saw the Equal nearby.  Rather than being displayed with the block letters I anticipated, it was written with a script I assumed the elderly man could not read.  I took it from the shelf, and asked him if this was what he was needing, to which he answered it was.

God speaks in ever so subtle ways.  For those who listen, people can be helped.  I could easily have ignored this prompting within my spirit to seek out the man on aisle seven.  It made no sense to follow behind him.  He was directed to the appropriate aisle in the store; he would locate the product he needed.  Only - he would not have found what he sought, as evinced by his walking off, without the product, as I approached.

God does speak.  All required of us is to listen.  Whoever has ears to hear, may he hear.

why ask why

A week or so back, I found myself within an interesting experience at my work.  I cannot say it was anything all that unique, as I am certain everyone goes through these type of experiences in their work, or even especially, their relational environments.  My reasoning for mentioning my particular experience is my own reaction to it.

What occurred was simple.  I was part of the closing crew for the evening, as is the customary practice for my workdays; and in addition to myself were a collection of high school boys who found employment in the same work as I did myself.  I always enjoyed working with these fellows, as it appeared they were consistently hardworking and responsible, taking seriously the tasks of the job.  Such was my experience with them in the past, and such is what I anticipated seeing that particular day.  In fact, since most of the work of the had been already accomplished, and we were beginning to start on the tasks for the following day, I was expecting our combined effort to set the morning crew for the next day in excellent condition.  They would not be rushed to finish work awaiting them when they arrived at six in the morning, as we would have finished most of the orders the preceding night, the night of which I am referencing.

Well, only a few hours into the shift, I am told by one of the teenage boys they had been given permission by one of the managers, since all the work for that day had been finished, to leave early so as to study for final tests at their school.  It was the end of a semester, and finals were an apparent reality (though I must admit, thinking back to my own high school days, I could not recall "finals" being part of my own high school experience - only that of my college time).

This did not set well with me.  I found irritated and upset at their departure - and, frankly, I do not know why.  Of a fact, I could say, it emanated from the disappointment stirring from the expectations that would not be met now; but that explanation seems a bit too shallow.  These boys, though indeed boys, were more mature and responsible than I could claim for myself at the same age.  Their studies should come before any such work commitment, especially when that work commitment had been fulfilled.

So why did this action bother me so?  A few weeks after the event, it still perplexes me why I became so vexed.  Why do we become upset?  Why do we rejoice?  Why do we weep?  Why do we laugh?  There are certain songs I hear which cause me to weep.  There are a few television programs which cause me to laugh.  There was a time when my mother and my father would anger me so.  Why?  Is this evidence of activity going on beyond our physical senses?  Is there an unseen spiritual realm which affects the affairs of man, both to his welfare and to his demise?  

I believe firmly in an unseen world, where actions take place to affect the directions we take; but I am not ready to acquiesce to the myth0s of a devil on my shoulder pushing me along the path of unrighteousness and hardship.  It seems for good or for ill, many of those decisions lie within our own grasp.  My example in my workplace - I could easily have allowed myself to dwell in the disappointment of my coworkers leaving early, allowing that discontent to fester into outright rage, showing to everyone else an unstable and irrational person who should be avoided and rebuffed at all costs; or I could quiet my soul and continue on with my own work, acknowledging fully the affairs of only myself could I control.  What others chose to do, or not to do, lied not within my grasp to ordain.  They each must decide for themselves how they are to respond to their steady supply of multi-pronged forks in the road of this life's travels.                                                                                                                            

what's in a name

What's in a name.  

I contemplated this matter yesterday, as I was hoping to add to my initial entry of two days ago; yet the words I sought, when I found a moment to write, would not accompany the time available.

Have they made an appearance today?

Perhaps.  For the topic of 'words', 'names', 'titles' and the like is one I often ponder.

What's in a name?  Is it the character of the thing one hopes to express?  Or is it an empty shell desirous to receive the characteristics of said word?  There is a penchant for believing today anything can be imbued with whatever characteristics a word may hold.  For example, recently I asked the question, in reference to a collection of apples myself and another soul were perusing at the local market, "If one buys a 'Red Delicious Apple' and determines it not 'delicious' can they request the return of their money for the false advertising of promoting something that was nothing close to what it was stated as?"

Granted.  This is a simplistic example for the truth I am attempting to convey; yet it still, it is an example of people using words to identify, rather than using words to reflect.  I hearken back to my original entry, 'A writer must write; otherwise, how can he be called a 'writer'?'

So, what might any of this have to do with what I am attempting to convey here and now?  Quite simply, it is the process of naming.  When I made the decision to rejoin the blogosphere, with a renewed attempt to write in obedience to the vision, I began to ponder what name this renewed effort at writing should hold.  I have never claimed any particular talent in conjuring names or developing titles.  For the reasons already expressed, I cannot blandly toss any random word, or collection of words, onto a piece of writing I compose, believing it renders to that piece the substance my creativity sought.  If I am writing about the blueness of the sky, how can I entitle such work the greenness of the grass.  

Words carry meaning - or, at least, there was a day when they did.  Today, I am not so sure.

Yet, for my purposes, I shall continue to strive labeling my work with names which reflect its meaning; hence the name of this blog, 'Observations and Opinions', as such is what it is: my observations of life and my opinions as to what those observations mean.  In hindsight, my belated thoughts told me to name it with my standard moniker, wendallpauls, which would have been more on target, fully encompassing the intent of 'observations and opinions', as well as identifying those as my own.  Nevertheless, it is what it is; and whatever is to become of it remains in the hands of God Almighty above.  My call is simply to remain obedient to the vision and to write.

an epiphany

I had an epiphany.

What is an epiphany, you ask?  To the uninformed, to which I often find myself cast, it is a light shining in the darkness.  It is an understanding, or a perceived understanding, where previously there was none.  It is a revelation, leading one towards new truths and new hopes with a simple realization of clarity where once all was bland mud.

My own epiphany was simple: if one calls oneself a writer, one should write.

Basic.  Elementary.  Plain as the nose on my face.  

A runner must run.  A dancer must dance.  A leader must lead.  To do otherwise is to stand contrary to the very title one purports to hold.  If I was to continue believing myself to be a writer, and yet I never wrote, how could I claim it as my own any longer?  There must exist action behind the word; otherwise, the word cannot, and does not, apply.  How can it?  Words identify action.  If there is no action, there is no word.

Thus, to maintain the integrity of my steadfast belief, that writing is the purpose God has stirred deep within my soul, that I have been created to create, to employ the words I know and the words I hear to share the ideas fostered by the observations I see and the opinions I develop, I need to write - and no more excuses can be tolerated.  There may be no venue to reach thousands upon thousands of readers - and even if there were, no guarantee suggests those thousands upon thousands would care a whit of what thoughts or notions fly from my pen.  The goal, the purpose, the action is simply to write.  

The Apostle Paul talks of one person plants, while another person waters, and it is God who gives the growth.  

Whether any comes of this effort here or not, I cannot say.  I am here simply as one who plants.  It is God who gives the growth.