Mark Andrew Jones

GONE HOME ON THE RANGE IN THE SKY

I don't know the kind of home
The father will provide.
I'm sure Al's got a barn, a corral,
And lots of room to ride.
I see him leaned against the tree of life
At the shores of the crystal sea
Sitting with his hat pulled low
And a guitar upon his knee.
The saints are gathered there
Listening to his simple song--
Elwood, Edna, and smiling Jack
And maybe King David playing along.
For some Heaven is no work,
But if we have to take a turn,
I hope they let him currycomb
The white horse used for Jesus' return.

Al's at home, at home on God's range.
In his art, the deer, and children, and ghost barns,
And farmers, and pioneers, and ranchers,
And vistas, and horses, and cowboys,
And the buffalo roam.
From Al I never heard a discouraging word.
His skies are not cloudy
With tears or fears,
With disappointment or heartache,
With confusion or doubt,
With pain or sickness,
With need or loss,
No, his skies are not cloudy
All day, every day,
Forever.

Hallmark Shakespeare

(I once tried to read a page of Othello to a friend with bad vocabulary, and my two young nieces. "I will never get it" ,one said. I began translating/paraphrasing it in words they understood. Today I am trying probably his most famous speech from Hamlet--to be or not to be)

To live or die, mmmmm?

Is it braver to take the bad stuff life throws at you, to choose life,

or fight the bad stuff by choosing to end it all?

 To die and look like you're peacefully sleeping.

To stop the pain and problems of living sounds like a good idea for a moment.

Is death like being asleep? Do you dream?

Yep, these two opposing ideas will chafe your mind raw.

If death is like sleep and you dream, you don't know what kind of dreams you have.

Really makes you stop and think.

It's not being sure that makes a long life kind of sad.

If you knew all the bad stuff in your life, like:

The scars time leaves on your body and soul,

Or how mean bosses and bullies can be,

Or how many arrogant jerks you'll meet,

Or how painful rejection and lost love is,

Or how little justice is in a legal system that doesn't help in time if at all,

Or how corrupt, lazy, or unfeeling those in authority can become, 

Or what a kick in the behind it is when you work hard and do good,

Yet some undeserving snake insults you and takes the credit or profit themselves.

Maybe if you tore open your shirt and plunged an actual knife in your heart,

They would all shut up and leave you alone--make your own peace.

Why do we choose to sweat and grunt under the heavy burden of this weary life?

It is the dreadful fear of something after death.

Death is a foreign place we have never personally experienced.

It is a one-punch permanent ticket with a no return policy.

That is what confuses the mind and makes the will run around in circles.

We end up putting up with the bad stuff in life,

rather than blindly jumping into an open grave with no safety net.

Our conscience makes cowards of us all.

The original bold plan to end it all is watered down by fearful thoughts.

So to keep from following through with it or even thinking about it,

We find a hobby or project that seems important and takes a lot of energy.

I better quit talking to myself, I hear my girl coming. She's so pretty.

When she prays, it's probably all about things I've done wrong.