day 12
But regarding anything beyond this, dear friend, go easy. There's no end to the publishing of books, and constant study wears you out so you're no good for anything else. The last and final word is this:
Fear God.
Do what he tells you.
Fear God.
Do what he tells you.
And that's it. Eventually God will bring everything that we do out into the open and judge it according to its hidden intent, whether it's good or evil.
Ecclesiastes 12:12-14
I make life harder than it is. I worry over things that are not my concern. I strive and work and rarely stop to breathe. I have so much to teach my children and so little time with them I fear that I am teaching them how to rush and that is it. It has hit me hard in the face on the eve of my daughter's 13th birthday what little time to train, teach and guide them I have. I am so caught up in my own stuff that the important things are falling away replaced far too easily by the mundane.
Daughters, fear God. Do what He says. Examine your heart.
Everything I do I rush through so I can do
something else. In such a way do the days pass--
a blend of stock car racing and the never
ending building of a gothic cathedral.
Through the windows of my speeding car, I see
all that I love falling away: books unread,
jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?
What treasure do I expect in my future?
Rather it is the confusion of childhood
loping behind me, the chaos in the mind,
the failure chipping away at each success.
Glancing over my shoulder I see its shape
and so move forward, as someone in the woods
at night might hear the sound of approaching feet
and stop to listen; then, instead of silence
he hears some creature trying to be silent.
What else can he do but run? Rushing blindly
down the path, stumbling, struck in the face by sticks;
the other even closer, yet not really
hurrying or out of breath, teasing its kill.
Stephen Dobyns
something else. In such a way do the days pass--
a blend of stock car racing and the never
ending building of a gothic cathedral.
Through the windows of my speeding car, I see
all that I love falling away: books unread,
jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?
What treasure do I expect in my future?
Rather it is the confusion of childhood
loping behind me, the chaos in the mind,
the failure chipping away at each success.
Glancing over my shoulder I see its shape
and so move forward, as someone in the woods
at night might hear the sound of approaching feet
and stop to listen; then, instead of silence
he hears some creature trying to be silent.
What else can he do but run? Rushing blindly
down the path, stumbling, struck in the face by sticks;
the other even closer, yet not really
hurrying or out of breath, teasing its kill.
Stephen Dobyns

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