A metaphoric story......

I'm not sure who wrote this.


My father and I are standing in a field rich and lush with Montana
prairie
> grass.  It is the lightest golden color of straw and it shimmers with the
> reflection of the hot August sun.  My father, always a giant to me, is
small
> against this forever field that matches the vastness of the blue Montana
> sky.  We stand silently, side by side, our relationship, as always, marked
> by few words.  I hold a bucket of water in my hand as we watch for the
first
> of the flames that are surely going to ignite this dry, dry grass.  We
> search, our hands shading our eyes, watching, waiting for what seems like
> days.  Our legs and arms are hot and heavy with exhaustion from the
constant
> vigil.  And then, seemingly out of nowhere, a spark begins a small fire
very
> close to our feet.  It could have started anywhere, but it began so close.
> Surely we would be able to extinguish it before it turned wild.  I hand
the
> bucket to my father; it is the heaviest bucket I have ever held.  He takes
> it easily from me,
> >  always strong, always sure of the task ahead and the manner in which it
> should be handled.  My father dumps the water on the flames, but as he
> pours, we can both see that it is already too late.  The water kills very
> little of the fire that has already started to spread through our Montana
> prairie.  It is not enough.  We were ready.  We were waiting.  And yet, we
> were powerless in the face of natures wrath.  It is one of the very few
> times in which my father and I stood together as a team, and we have lost.
> There was nothing we could do.  The forces against us were just too big.
> And we turn and run, just hoping to escape the roar and the heat that is
> rapidly closing in behind us.

Where is the fine line between giving up and facing the reality of life.

Lindy Lindy.......

....come the chants of the children as they walk to the playground and
see the old island local walking, or as in today's case lounging
about.  Lindy is a tall man, tall enough for me to turn my neck up to
look at him, and i am 6'3.  He would make a great basketball player at
this height.  Maybe not in the pro's, but on these islands courts he
could turn an eye.  Just skin and bones, he has long lanky legs and
arms.  Its hard for him to find clothes on this island to fit his long
slender body. Rumor has it Lindy is an unbelievable piano player.
Someone who when they play, people just sit and watch in amazement.
This is of course past tense.  No one knows how long ago this musical
genius lost his ability, but his tired eyes say it has been a while.
The chants of Lindy Lindy are not a chorus of endearment, but a
childish mocking of fright.  Lindy is a local crazy eyed whino.  Today
he was feeding that stereotype as he sat on the bleachers nursing his
cheap bottle of wine.  They say he has family around who support him
by giving making sure he eats, and probably the occasional bottle for
dessert.  You wouldn't know this, however, by his frame, which is all
that holds him up.  He walks the streets of St. John trading clothes.
Not in a barter system manner, but by finding something on the ground,
putting it on, and placing in the spot the clothing he was wearing.
Sadly enough, he does not trade up every time, many times it is a
worse artical of clothing than before.
He sat there sipping on his bottle.  The children use him as a way to
pass the time.  They run to see if he is still sitting there, and then
run off again.  He slumps over to his bottle and he shows some sort of
emotion.  At first you think he is weeping, but it is hard to tell
because sometimes he appears to be laughing, just chuckling to
himself.  It makes no difference.  It's a sad story either way you
tell it.  He was good enough at something for people to still talk
about it.  I don't know what kind of music he played.  It could have
been blues, or jazz, or classical for all i know.  What i do know is
that this one time prodigy will be a legend.  Not for his talents, but
for the sadness his life has now become.  The children will scare
their kids one day with stories of old Lindy.  They will say his ghost
still haunts the courts at night, looking for half empty bottles of
booze.
This story is familiar enough, but it's not the way its intended to
be.  People will say, "How can God let things like this happen."  We
say the same thing when someone steals something from us, or there is
a murder, or a drunk driving accident.  Lindy is a tragedy as much as
the things i just listed.  But God gave us free will.  But in giving us free will, he still has a will for our life. It is then up to us whether or not to make his will our own.