a Prodigal's song as sung by Another.

This is my Story.

This is my Song.

From a Sinner to his Maker

Your Prodigal son is on his knees.

Sweet God, please hold onto me.

A House Divided. A House on Fire.

His House is on fire, but he stands in the doorway with the Law held high, opposing any force that threatens the ideas his grandfathers passed down that have long been gathering dust, and now burn as tinder for the consuming flames of Truth and Progress. He'll lose it all for the sake of preserving it all. In the end out of the ashes will rise what some had been for years trying to bring about peaceably, but without the redeemable portions of the past that might have been preserved. And our children will tell their children of life before he let it all burn down, but they won't understand, and the House he left on fire will fade from the stories of time, only to be glimpsed in the reflection of the tears of the old men that recall a time when the House still stood.

These Days

These days I seem to think a lot

About the things that I forgot to do.

And all the times I had the chance to.

If I Die Young

Like me, many of you read, or were at least introduced to Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer as a child. For me it brings back memories of grade school musicals about the subject and my intense fear of Sawyer's nemesis, "Injun Joe",--incidentally I just at this moment realized how racist it is that the main antagonist is a murderous, thieving, Native American, but that will have to be saved for a later post on my literary blog.

My point in referencing Tom Sawyer is because of a specific scene in the book. After running away from home, and encountering a series of unfortunate events, Tom and a few of his friends are assumed to have drowned in the river. A funeral is planned, and I don't remember how or why, but Tom ends up in the rafters of the church as the funeral is being conducted. He sets up and watches the events unfold as his Aunt Polly and various others mourn his loss, and is privileged to see himself through the raw, honest eyes of those who grieve him.

I've been thinking of this story, and honestly been envious. I have to admit that the thought of being able to hear what people thought of me, or seeing who was really moved and affected by my death is an enticing thought to me. Don't get me wrong, I have no plans to be taken out anytime soon unless God so allows, but I think its something to think about. What would people say at your funeral? Who would show up? Would anyone? I think, if somehow given the chance, most people would be curious to see what actually transpires in response to their death. Its some kind of transcendent human need to know that our life held meaning outside of ourselves. That's what I'm getting at. How is my life impacting others? And the things I say, and thoughts I share, do they have meaning that transcend myself, or would they be buried forever with me?

_____________________

A penny for my thoughts,

Oh no, I'll sell 'em for a dollar.

They're worth so much more

After I'm a goner.

And maybe then you'll hear

The words that I've been singin'.

Funny when you're dead how

People start listenin'.

- excerpted from "If I Die Young" as sung by The Band Perry.