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Church Upon a Hill Monday
#1 · November 7, 2004, 2:47 pm
Posted by: bigguyhereagain <bigguyhereagain@...>
"Church Upon A Hill"
His old and shabby clothing
Revealed a strong determined will
With shaky legs and tattered Bible
He’d go to the church upon the hill.
T’was just a crooked little building
In a state of needed repair
But, it didn’t really matter much
Come Sunday, he’d be there.
Taking his place at the broken down pulpit
He preached about heaven and hell
Thumbing through the yellowing pages
Of the book he knew so well.
Looking over the empty wooden pews
Each Sunday would bring more pain
He’d pray for a congregation
But, nobody ever came.
He knew his days were numbered
One day he felt gravely ill
But, he took his Bible with faltering steps
To the church upon the hill.
Perhaps, just this one Sunday
They would come to hear him speak
But, with tear filled eyes, he realized
With them he’d never meet.
He preached a wonderful sermon
To a room so empty and still
Then, he died there at the altar
In the church upon the hill.
A simple funeral was provided
Yet, nobody even came
To pay regards or last respects
To the preacher with no name.
Epilogue
But, little did the people know
The end of time was near
When Jesus came on judgment day
They ran around in fear.
“Oh Jesus, you must save us
Our hearts have been sincere”
But, Jesus turned away from them
Their cries, he did not hear.
He knew their tongues were full of lies
Their souls, he could not heal
For, he was the man who preached and died
In the church upon the hill.
"Double Duty"
As a member of a "dog family," I had long been
conditioned to believe that cats simply didn't possess the
ability or desire to be loving companions. This belief was
so deeply ingrained that, while I didn't actually dislike
cats, I found them, for the most part, uninteresting.
Arriving home from work one afternoon, I discovered a
cat at my doorstep. I ignored him, but apparently he was not
offended, because he was there again the following day.
"I'll pet you," I told him, "but there's no way you're
coming in."
Then one night soon after, as the rain beat down and
thunder clapped, I heard a faint meow. I couldn't take it
anymore; I became a cat owner.
My new roommate, now named Shotzy, quickly became more
than just a stray cat to feed. I liked the way his soft
purring greeted me every morning and the way he nudged his
head against my leg when I came home each day. His playful
antics made me laugh, and soon Shotzy seemed more like a
longtime friend than a pet I hadn't really wanted.
Although I suspected Shotzy had been an outdoor cat for a
good portion of his life, he seemed perfectly content to
stay inside, except for one remarkable exception. As if an
alarm had gone off, at about 6 o'clock every night he'd cry
to go out. Then, almost exactly one hour later, he'd be
back. He did this for several months before I finally
discovered what he had been up to.
One day a neighbor who knew about Shotzy showing up at
my doorstep told me she thought the cat might belong to an
elderly woman who lived down the street. Worried that I had
mistakenly adopted someone's pet, I took Shotzy to the
woman's house the next day.
When a white-haired woman opened the door, Shotzy
bolted from my arms, ran into the house and made himself at
home in a big recliner. The woman just threw her head back
and laughed, saying, "Jimmy always did love his chair."
My heart sank - my Shotzy was obviously her Jimmy.
I explained I had taken him in and only discovered the
day before that he may have already had a home. Again, the
old woman chuckled. She invited me in and explained that the
cat did not belong to her.
"But, I thought you called him Jimmy," I questioned.
The woman, who said her name was Mary, explained that
Jimmy was her husband's name. He had died about a year
before, just a few months after being diagnosed with cancer.
Before Jimmy died, he and Mary would eat dinner at 5
o'clock every night. Afterward, they would retire to the
living room, Jimmy to his favorite chair, to talk about the
day's events. The couple had followed that routine every
night for the 60 years they were married. After Jimmy's
death, with no other family nearby, Mary said she just felt
lost. And more than anything, she missed their nightly
after-dinner talks.
Then one night a stray cat meowed demandingly at her
screen door. When she cracked open the door to shoo him
away, he ran straight to Jimmy's chair and made himself
comfortable, as if he had lived there forever.
Mary, who had never had a pet in her life, found
herself smiling at the animal. She gave him a little milk
and then he cuddled on her lap. She talked to him about her
life, but mostly about Jimmy. At about 7 o'clock, at which
time she normally turned on the TV and made herself some hot
tea, the creature slipped off her lap and went to the door.
At 6 o'clock the next evening, the cat was back. Soon,
Shotzy and Mary had their own routine.
"Now, I believe in the Good Lord," Mary told me. "I
don't know about all that reincarnation stuff, but sometimes
it feels just like I'm talking to Jimmy when that little cat
is here. I know that sounds strange, and I guess it doesn't
really matter; what's important is that the cat is a real
comfort to me. But it's interesting to think on, all the
same."
So Mary and I continued to share Shotzy. At my house,
he revealed to me the many daily joys that come with living
with a cat. At Mary's, his presence served to fill the six
o'clock hour with happy companionship.
Our marvelous cat seemed to have an uncanny knack for
always being in the right place at the right time.
conditioned to believe that cats simply didn't possess the
ability or desire to be loving companions. This belief was
so deeply ingrained that, while I didn't actually dislike
cats, I found them, for the most part, uninteresting.
Arriving home from work one afternoon, I discovered a
cat at my doorstep. I ignored him, but apparently he was not
offended, because he was there again the following day.
"I'll pet you," I told him, "but there's no way you're
coming in."
Then one night soon after, as the rain beat down and
thunder clapped, I heard a faint meow. I couldn't take it
anymore; I became a cat owner.
My new roommate, now named Shotzy, quickly became more
than just a stray cat to feed. I liked the way his soft
purring greeted me every morning and the way he nudged his
head against my leg when I came home each day. His playful
antics made me laugh, and soon Shotzy seemed more like a
longtime friend than a pet I hadn't really wanted.
Although I suspected Shotzy had been an outdoor cat for a
good portion of his life, he seemed perfectly content to
stay inside, except for one remarkable exception. As if an
alarm had gone off, at about 6 o'clock every night he'd cry
to go out. Then, almost exactly one hour later, he'd be
back. He did this for several months before I finally
discovered what he had been up to.
One day a neighbor who knew about Shotzy showing up at
my doorstep told me she thought the cat might belong to an
elderly woman who lived down the street. Worried that I had
mistakenly adopted someone's pet, I took Shotzy to the
woman's house the next day.
When a white-haired woman opened the door, Shotzy
bolted from my arms, ran into the house and made himself at
home in a big recliner. The woman just threw her head back
and laughed, saying, "Jimmy always did love his chair."
My heart sank - my Shotzy was obviously her Jimmy.
I explained I had taken him in and only discovered the
day before that he may have already had a home. Again, the
old woman chuckled. She invited me in and explained that the
cat did not belong to her.
"But, I thought you called him Jimmy," I questioned.
The woman, who said her name was Mary, explained that
Jimmy was her husband's name. He had died about a year
before, just a few months after being diagnosed with cancer.
Before Jimmy died, he and Mary would eat dinner at 5
o'clock every night. Afterward, they would retire to the
living room, Jimmy to his favorite chair, to talk about the
day's events. The couple had followed that routine every
night for the 60 years they were married. After Jimmy's
death, with no other family nearby, Mary said she just felt
lost. And more than anything, she missed their nightly
after-dinner talks.
Then one night a stray cat meowed demandingly at her
screen door. When she cracked open the door to shoo him
away, he ran straight to Jimmy's chair and made himself
comfortable, as if he had lived there forever.
Mary, who had never had a pet in her life, found
herself smiling at the animal. She gave him a little milk
and then he cuddled on her lap. She talked to him about her
life, but mostly about Jimmy. At about 7 o'clock, at which
time she normally turned on the TV and made herself some hot
tea, the creature slipped off her lap and went to the door.
At 6 o'clock the next evening, the cat was back. Soon,
Shotzy and Mary had their own routine.
"Now, I believe in the Good Lord," Mary told me. "I
don't know about all that reincarnation stuff, but sometimes
it feels just like I'm talking to Jimmy when that little cat
is here. I know that sounds strange, and I guess it doesn't
really matter; what's important is that the cat is a real
comfort to me. But it's interesting to think on, all the
same."
So Mary and I continued to share Shotzy. At my house,
he revealed to me the many daily joys that come with living
with a cat. At Mary's, his presence served to fill the six
o'clock hour with happy companionship.
Our marvelous cat seemed to have an uncanny knack for
always being in the right place at the right time.
Have a Blessed Day
Dave and Barbara
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