Jack Pelham

As in the kitchen, it is possible
To make a mess of one’s own life—
And even of the lives of others.

Yet as in the kitchen, it is possible
To clean it up again.

And just imagine what kind of life one can have,
Who is the sort not to mind the work!

I have a belief,
And I’m quite adamant about it—
Even though a great many
Will remain either unconvinced,
Or certain that its opposite is true.

Who among us could do no better?

Who is so devoted to truth and goodness and love
As never to fall short in his willingness and strength?

Many generally approve of truth as a way of life,
Even if we do falter in it from time to time
And in various ways.

And if some truth is harder than the rest,
And more likely to cause us to stumble,
I suppose I have seen that it is,
More often that not,
Truth about self
That does it.
For that comes hardest of all.

It’s funny, how a person can love the truth
When he doesn’t know all of it yet.

But like a journey in a new land,
It simply cannot be discovered all at once.

And this is our humble lot.
And if we don’t like it,
Whatever shall we do?

Pout about it?

So let us not assume the end
As do the fools,
But let us journey on,
Altering ourselves as needed
To stay the course.

Some make too much of mankind
And his capabilities.
And some make too little.

I don’t suppose that in a hundred years of trying,
I could ever calculate the total investment
That mankind has sunk into believing
That God must not have really meant
All the things that he said.

To say thank you, for some, is obligatory. And in the culture of some, it’s mandatory.
For some, it’s a hassle, and for others, a vain tradition. And for some, it’s an afterthought, at best—if it’s even a thought at all. And there are those, of course, who are simply not thankful, even when they probably should be.

When the yard man leaves half the back yard unmowed, and refuses to come finish the job when it’s brought to his attention, what does forgiveness look like? Does it mean having him back in two weeks for another service?

If so, is this what you do?

Sugar lies,
Swearing it can satisfy,
When it cannot.

And we,
Believing the lie,
Eat more and more
In pursuit of the dream,
Until we are sick from it—
Perhaps in the near term,
But certainly in the long.