A House by the Road

A blog has been on my list of things to do for quite some time. I have refrained for a variety of reasons, some nobler than others. Direct published online content can bypass the accountability that older, more traditional publishing methods provide. Online platforms can generate pressure to produce quantity at the expense of quality. The Preacher said that “of making many books there is no end”. But Solomon also draws a picture of “a word fitly spoken” being “like apples of gold in settings of silver”. The inspiration for this blog is the words that have been fitly spoken by men and women from the Creation of the world and have fallen on my ear. Words are often derided as being less than deeds, yet we cannot neglect the role of speech in the Creation of the world, and John the Apostle's introduction to his gospel, “In the beginning was the word.”

I do not wish to add to the noise of online discussion through my writing, but rather to inspire rich living and face to face conversations. I enjoy discussions and I hope to interact with readers, but my primary goal is that any “apples of gold” that may appear here would find a home among the silver settings of virtue in your life and the friends of God who you know and love.

In my life's sojourning I have spent time in places other than The House by the Side of the Road. And perhaps moments of hermitage, solitude and pioneering are experiences that are essential in equipping one to properly furnish the House and to be a Friend. But I find myself finding this house more and more homey. “Which house?” you might say. Ah yes, It is a bit imaginary but it really does exist and you will see in a poem by Sam Walter Foss, The House by the Side of the Road

The House By The Side Of The Road

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn In the place of their self-content; There are souls like stars, that dwell apart, In a fellowless firmament; There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths Where highways never ran- But let me live by the side of the road And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road Where the race of men go by- The men who are good and the men who are bad, As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scorner's seat Nor hurl the cynic's ban- Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road By the side of the highway of life, The men who press with the ardor of hope, The men who are faint with the strife, But I turn not away from their smiles and tears, Both parts of an infinite plan- Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead, And mountains of wearisome height; That the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the night. And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice And weep with the strangers that moan, Nor live in my house by the side of the road Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by- They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong, Wise, foolish – so am I. Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat, Or hurl the cynic's ban? Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.

Isn't it beautiful? Apples of gold arrayed against the silver backdrop of the creation of man, the incarnation, and resurrection.

Come on in, traveler! Have a seat! Will you take coffee or tea?