In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. (John 1:1 NIV)
The Lord says...:
They worship me in vain; / their teachings are merely human rules
Therefore once more I will astound these people
with wonder upon wonder;
the wisdom of the wise will perish,
the intelligence of the intelligent will vanish.”
Woe to those who go to great depths
to hide their plans from the Lord,
who do their work in darkness and think,
“Who sees us? Who will know?”
You turn things upside down,
as if the potter were thought to be like the clay!
Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it,
“You did not make me”?
Can the pot say to the potter,
“You know nothing”?
Isaiah 29:13-16
(Septuagint, NIV)
Today around noon I stopped by Burger King to get a drink from one of the new Coke machines that has a rainbow of flavors. I sat at a table and a gentleman dressed like a hobo (maybe a shower would be helpful too) came from the bathroom and stood at the table next to mine. Soon he said a few words to me and then we shortly became intently engaged in conversation. I left about 3 PM having to put vacation time on my time sheet when I returned to the office. But the time during our conversation flew by as if in a fleeting time warp. I am convinced I had a conversation with God today. The hobo, like God, was in the redeeming business. He salvaged discards from refuse (such as scratch paper) and recycled them for his own use. He had a creative mind the like of which I have never seen before and completely leveled man's penchant for fine distinctions. At first I was concerned that he might be gloriously intelligent but, as we sometimes sadly see, that intelligence undercut by the flaw of mental instability. But joyfully such was not the case. His knowledge about anything and everything (from physics and engineering to historical regulatory phenomena) was broad, deep, and exhaustive. He was of sound mind and I soon realized that his spirit was as equally reliable as his creative intelligence. He had a wonderful sense of humor—the type based on wit with an exponentially sane lunacy—of which he was throughly and judiciously aware. I know we could be great friends, but don't expect to see him again even though I gave him my personal cards. It was tremendously encouraging to know the resilient spirit, kindness and love of an exceptional—perhaps even the ultimate—creative mind.
The “Little Poem” he gave me written on the back of a Publix receipt:
Out of synch
with the band
You aren't sent
down below ------
when you blow-it.
Clashing bashing
puts the player
in the
Arrythmiattic!
[or arrhythmia – the vibration of the heart.]
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