by Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream-and not make dreams your master;
If you can think-and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings-nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And-which is more-you'll be a Man, my son!
--
Posted by Jim Bob Howard to Poetry at 4/05/2006 07:20:00 AM
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Monday, April 03, 2006
[Poetry] Blueberries
by Robert Frost
"YOU ought to have seen what I saw on my way
To the village, through Mortenson's pasture to-day:
Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb,
Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum
In the cavernous pail of the first one to come!
And all ripe together, not some of them green
And some of them ripe! You ought to have seen!"
"I don't know what part of the pasture you mean."
"You know where they cut off the woods-let me see-
It was two years ago-or no!-can it be
No longer than that?-and the following fall
The fire ran and burned it all up but the wall."
"Why, there hasn't been time for the bushes to grow.
That's always the way with the blueberries, though:
There may not have been the ghost of a sign
Of them anywhere under the shade of the pine,
But get the pine out of the way, you may burn
The pasture all over until not a fern
Or grass-blade is left, not to mention a stick,
And presto, they're up all around you as thick
And hard to explain as a conjuror's trick."
"It must be on charcoal they fatten their fruit.
I taste in them sometimes the flavour of soot.
And after all really they're ebony skinned:
The blue's but a mist from the breath of the wind,
A tarnish that goes at a touch of the hand,
And less than the tan with which pickers are tanned."
"Does Mortenson know what he has, do you think?"
"He may and not care and so leave the chewink
To gather them for him-you know what he is.
He won't make the fact that they're rightfully his
An excuse for keeping us other folk out."
"I wonder you didn't see Loren about."
"The best of it was that I did. Do you know,
I was just getting through what the field had to show
And over the wall and into the road,
When who should come by, with a democrat-load
Of all the young chattering Lorens alive,
But Loren, the fatherly, out for a drive."
"He saw you, then? What did he do? Did he frown?"
"He just kept nodding his head up and down.
You know how politely he always goes by.
But he thought a big thought-I could tell by his eye-
Which being expressed, might be this in effect:
'I have left those there berries, I shrewdly suspect,
To ripen too long. I am greatly to blame.'"
"He's a thriftier person than some I could name."
"He seems to be thrifty; and hasn't he need,
With the mouths of all those young Lorens to feed?
He has brought them all up on wild berries, they say,
Like birds. They store a great many away.
They eat them the year round, and those they don't eat
They sell in the store and buy shoes for their feet."
"Who cares what they say? It's a nice way to live,
Just taking what Nature is willing to give,
Not forcing her hand with harrow and plow."
"I wish you had seen his perpetual bow-
And the air of the youngsters! Not one of them turned,
And they looked so solemn-absurdly concerned."
"I wish I knew half what the flock of them know
Of where all the berries and other things grow,
Cranberries in bogs and raspberries on top
Of the boulder-strewn mountain, and when they will crop.
I met them one day and each had a flower
Stuck into his berries as fresh as a shower;
Some strange kind-they told me it hadn't a name."
"I've told you how once not long after we came,
I almost provoked poor Loren to mirth
By going to him of all people on earth
To ask if he knew any fruit to be had
For the picking. The rascal, he said he'd be glad
To tell if he knew. But the year had been bad.
There had been some berries-but those were all gone.
He didn't say where they had been. He went on:
'I'm sure-I'm sure'-as polite as could be.
He spoke to his wife in the door, 'Let me see,
Mame, we don't know any good berrying place?'
It was all he could do to keep a straight face.
"If he thinks all the fruit that grows wild is for him,
He'll find he's mistaken. See here, for a whim,
We'll pick in the Mortensons' pasture this year.
We'll go in the morning, that is, if it's clear,
And the sun shines out warm: the vines must be wet.
It's so long since I picked I almost forget
How we used to pick berries: we took one look round,
Then sank out of sight like trolls underground,
And saw nothing more of each other, or heard,
Unless when you said I was keeping a bird
Away from its nest, and I said it was you.
'Well, one of us is.' For complaining it flew
Around and around us. And then for a while
We picked, till I feared you had wandered a mile,
And I thought I had lost you. I lifted a shout
Too loud for the distance you were, it turned out,
For when you made answer, your voice was as low
As talking-you stood up beside me, you know."
"We sha'n't have the place to ourselves to enjoy-
Not likely, when all the young Lorens deploy.
They'll be there to-morrow, or even to-night.
They won't be too friendly-they may be polite-
To people they look on as having no right
To pick where they're picking. But we won't complain.
You ought to have seen how it looked in the rain,
The fruit mixed with water in layers of leaves,
Like two kinds of jewels, a vision for thieves."
--
Posted by Jim Bob Howard to Poetry at 4/03/2006 04:26:00 PM
"YOU ought to have seen what I saw on my way
To the village, through Mortenson's pasture to-day:
Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb,
Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum
In the cavernous pail of the first one to come!
And all ripe together, not some of them green
And some of them ripe! You ought to have seen!"
"I don't know what part of the pasture you mean."
"You know where they cut off the woods-let me see-
It was two years ago-or no!-can it be
No longer than that?-and the following fall
The fire ran and burned it all up but the wall."
"Why, there hasn't been time for the bushes to grow.
That's always the way with the blueberries, though:
There may not have been the ghost of a sign
Of them anywhere under the shade of the pine,
But get the pine out of the way, you may burn
The pasture all over until not a fern
Or grass-blade is left, not to mention a stick,
And presto, they're up all around you as thick
And hard to explain as a conjuror's trick."
"It must be on charcoal they fatten their fruit.
I taste in them sometimes the flavour of soot.
And after all really they're ebony skinned:
The blue's but a mist from the breath of the wind,
A tarnish that goes at a touch of the hand,
And less than the tan with which pickers are tanned."
"Does Mortenson know what he has, do you think?"
"He may and not care and so leave the chewink
To gather them for him-you know what he is.
He won't make the fact that they're rightfully his
An excuse for keeping us other folk out."
"I wonder you didn't see Loren about."
"The best of it was that I did. Do you know,
I was just getting through what the field had to show
And over the wall and into the road,
When who should come by, with a democrat-load
Of all the young chattering Lorens alive,
But Loren, the fatherly, out for a drive."
"He saw you, then? What did he do? Did he frown?"
"He just kept nodding his head up and down.
You know how politely he always goes by.
But he thought a big thought-I could tell by his eye-
Which being expressed, might be this in effect:
'I have left those there berries, I shrewdly suspect,
To ripen too long. I am greatly to blame.'"
"He's a thriftier person than some I could name."
"He seems to be thrifty; and hasn't he need,
With the mouths of all those young Lorens to feed?
He has brought them all up on wild berries, they say,
Like birds. They store a great many away.
They eat them the year round, and those they don't eat
They sell in the store and buy shoes for their feet."
"Who cares what they say? It's a nice way to live,
Just taking what Nature is willing to give,
Not forcing her hand with harrow and plow."
"I wish you had seen his perpetual bow-
And the air of the youngsters! Not one of them turned,
And they looked so solemn-absurdly concerned."
"I wish I knew half what the flock of them know
Of where all the berries and other things grow,
Cranberries in bogs and raspberries on top
Of the boulder-strewn mountain, and when they will crop.
I met them one day and each had a flower
Stuck into his berries as fresh as a shower;
Some strange kind-they told me it hadn't a name."
"I've told you how once not long after we came,
I almost provoked poor Loren to mirth
By going to him of all people on earth
To ask if he knew any fruit to be had
For the picking. The rascal, he said he'd be glad
To tell if he knew. But the year had been bad.
There had been some berries-but those were all gone.
He didn't say where they had been. He went on:
'I'm sure-I'm sure'-as polite as could be.
He spoke to his wife in the door, 'Let me see,
Mame, we don't know any good berrying place?'
It was all he could do to keep a straight face.
"If he thinks all the fruit that grows wild is for him,
He'll find he's mistaken. See here, for a whim,
We'll pick in the Mortensons' pasture this year.
We'll go in the morning, that is, if it's clear,
And the sun shines out warm: the vines must be wet.
It's so long since I picked I almost forget
How we used to pick berries: we took one look round,
Then sank out of sight like trolls underground,
And saw nothing more of each other, or heard,
Unless when you said I was keeping a bird
Away from its nest, and I said it was you.
'Well, one of us is.' For complaining it flew
Around and around us. And then for a while
We picked, till I feared you had wandered a mile,
And I thought I had lost you. I lifted a shout
Too loud for the distance you were, it turned out,
For when you made answer, your voice was as low
As talking-you stood up beside me, you know."
"We sha'n't have the place to ourselves to enjoy-
Not likely, when all the young Lorens deploy.
They'll be there to-morrow, or even to-night.
They won't be too friendly-they may be polite-
To people they look on as having no right
To pick where they're picking. But we won't complain.
You ought to have seen how it looked in the rain,
The fruit mixed with water in layers of leaves,
Like two kinds of jewels, a vision for thieves."
--
Posted by Jim Bob Howard to Poetry at 4/03/2006 04:26:00 PM
Saturday, April 01, 2006
National Poetry Month
Well, some bureaucrat somewhere decided that April is National Poetry Month. Not sure what that means we're all supposed to do: read poetry? write poetry? speak only in quatrains? iambic pentameter? do haikus count?
So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to post some of my favorite poems (I already had a Poetry category, so it seemed only logical).
I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to post some of my favorite poems (I already had a Poetry category, so it seemed only logical).
I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
[Scrapbook] Boyz in the Wood
In January, we moved to what we affectionately call, the "Treehouse," just outside of Abingdon. It's a small homestead, barely an acre on the side of a hill—but we LOVE it! The views are wonderful.
Views from the Treehouse
We've already planted carrots (see my bride's blog for details), two cherry trees, two cherry bushes and two blueberry bushes. By the light of the moon, we'll be planting lettuce and peas in our kitchen garden. When the snow stops, we'll really get going with the rest of the gardens: vegetable and herb.
Until it stops snowing...
In the meantime, when the weather is nice, the boys and I have started taking hikes in the woods up to the top of "our" hill.
Boyz in hoods in the woods
God has blessed us tremendously with this house and we look forward to many years here, Lord willing.
--
Posted by Jim Bob Howard to Scrapbook at 3/25/2006 06:11:00 PM
Views from the Treehouse
We've already planted carrots (see my bride's blog for details), two cherry trees, two cherry bushes and two blueberry bushes. By the light of the moon, we'll be planting lettuce and peas in our kitchen garden. When the snow stops, we'll really get going with the rest of the gardens: vegetable and herb.
Until it stops snowing...
In the meantime, when the weather is nice, the boys and I have started taking hikes in the woods up to the top of "our" hill.
Boyz in hoods in the woods
God has blessed us tremendously with this house and we look forward to many years here, Lord willing.
--
Posted by Jim Bob Howard to Scrapbook at 3/25/2006 06:11:00 PM
Thursday, March 23, 2006
New Blog: Amy Joe Jim Bob
My precious bride has begun blogging, as a journal of what God is teaching her, in the hope that God might use it to encourage others in the spirit of Titus 2.
I invite you to read her blog and let her know your thoughts:
Amy Joe Jim Bob
Blessings,
Jim Bob
I invite you to read her blog and let her know your thoughts:
Amy Joe Jim Bob
Blessings,
Jim Bob
Friday, July 01, 2005
Announcing: Charlotte Virginia Howard
Charlotte Virginia Howard was born at 1:25PM EDT, July 1, 2005.
She weighed in at 8lbs 8oz, and is 21.5 in. long.
Mom and daughter are both recovering nicely. Big sister, Faith, doesn't know what to think. Big brothers Rowan and Tommy are excited, but haven't met her yet. They'll meet her after the Ice Cream Social tonight.
She weighed in at 8lbs 8oz, and is 21.5 in. long.
Mom and daughter are both recovering nicely. Big sister, Faith, doesn't know what to think. Big brothers Rowan and Tommy are excited, but haven't met her yet. They'll meet her after the Ice Cream Social tonight.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
[Thoughts] In praise of Mr. Phillips
Things didn't start off so well, but they soon got better...
Two Thursdays ago, DJ, a friend from Saint Peter, picked me up on the way to retrieve Doug Phillips from the airport along with his daughter, Jubilee, and his personal assistant, Peter. Just before we got to the exit for the airport, the transmission went out on the car. We coasted to a stop on the side of the road... and, well... stopped.
Doug's plane was due to land in 20 minutes and here we were, three miles from the airport, stranded. A quick call to RC and a vehicle and driver were dispatched from Mendota, 45 minutes away. Another call and a tow truck would be there within the hour. After waiting 50 minutes, another car and driver were dispatched from the Tennessee side of Bristol—15 minutes away, I was told. Twenty minutes later, I had a short phone conversation with Peter assuring him our ride was "five minutes away." Ten minutes later, Driver A pulls up. I hop out and meet him while DJ waits for Driver B and the tow truck.
We finally arrive at the airport an hour and 10 minutes after the plane landed. Doug and Company are waiting for us with smiles and quickly load up. We're finally on the way to the Sprouls. (As we pass DJ, we see that indeed, Driver B and the tow truck have arrived.)
Now, I find it a rare pleasure to get to work with RC. This is the great encourager who writes those convicting articles for dads (for me, that is!) in Homeschooling Today; the author who wrote the book that challenges me daily in leading my family, When You Rise Up; the teacher who helps me understand the battle between the Seed of the woman and the seed of the serpent; the pundit who helped me see the validity of not voting for the lesser of two evils; the agrarian who is the reason I'm considering getting chickens this summer.
He's also my pastor; the baptiser of my children, who presented them to the congregation as three of the "stars" or "grains of sand" promised to Abram; my neighbor; my friend... and my boss. That God would bless me with the job of serving this man is a great testimony to His grace and I thank Him for the privilege, while begging for the wisdom to serve him well.
But, here I am, riding in a van with Doug Phillips, the great encourager who first exhorted me to lead my family well; the preacher of the Gospel who first challenged me to believe the Bible that children are a blessing, a reward from God; the promoter of Beautiful Girlhood and Courageous Boyhood who offers tools for training boys for manhood and girls for womanhood; a pundit who helped me see the validity of not voting for the lesser of two evils; the standard-bearer of honor and loyalty who has taught me the meaning of honoring those in authority over me.
Thinking Peter and I would be working out the details of Doug's visit while Doug worked on his presentations or relaxed from the flight and the wait at the airport, I didn't expect to have much talk time with Doug. In actuality, he spoke more than anyone. After interrogating our driver, young Jonathan Kiser, Doug turned his attentions to me.
"So, are you here doing work for RC or did you just decide this is place for your family?"
"I decided this was the place for my family."
"Oh! And have you found work here?"
"Yes. I work for RC."
"Oh! You're the one we've been praying for!" Doug exclaimed.
Wow! I hadn't thought about the fact that I was an answer to the prayers of so many people who read ETC and support the work of the Highlands Study Center... including Doug Phillips! That was inspiring and humbling all at the same time.
A little later in our journey, Doug stated that he wished to share something that was unprecedented and unsolicited and asked my permission to share it. What was I going to say? Out with it, man! RC wrote a squib after Vision Forum's Christian Film Festival last year about that fact that Doug's parents had given him the wrong name; that they should have named him Barnabus ("The Encourager"). I'm here to tell you... it's not just to his peers that this is true. He spent the next 15 minutes encouraging me, exhorting me, mentoring me.
I was privileged to spend several other occasions with Mr. "Please call me Doug" Phillips during his 4-day visit to the Highlands Study Center: lunch, brief chats in the speakers' lounge, driving him to his hotel, dinner with the Sprouls and Windhams, third Sunday picnic, breakfast, and driving him to his flight on Monday. He was always considerate, always encouraging, always respectful, always honoring.
I can't wait until next year when he comes back with his father, Howard Phillips, to speak at our annual conference again. He'll join the intrepid Dr. R. C. Sproul Jr., and his father, Dr. R. C. Sproul. If you want to know more about next year's conference (including registering for it), visit the Highlands Study Center website.
--
Posted by Jim Bob Howard to Thoughts at 4/30/2005 12:07:00 PM
Two Thursdays ago, DJ, a friend from Saint Peter, picked me up on the way to retrieve Doug Phillips from the airport along with his daughter, Jubilee, and his personal assistant, Peter. Just before we got to the exit for the airport, the transmission went out on the car. We coasted to a stop on the side of the road... and, well... stopped.
Doug's plane was due to land in 20 minutes and here we were, three miles from the airport, stranded. A quick call to RC and a vehicle and driver were dispatched from Mendota, 45 minutes away. Another call and a tow truck would be there within the hour. After waiting 50 minutes, another car and driver were dispatched from the Tennessee side of Bristol—15 minutes away, I was told. Twenty minutes later, I had a short phone conversation with Peter assuring him our ride was "five minutes away." Ten minutes later, Driver A pulls up. I hop out and meet him while DJ waits for Driver B and the tow truck.
We finally arrive at the airport an hour and 10 minutes after the plane landed. Doug and Company are waiting for us with smiles and quickly load up. We're finally on the way to the Sprouls. (As we pass DJ, we see that indeed, Driver B and the tow truck have arrived.)
Now, I find it a rare pleasure to get to work with RC. This is the great encourager who writes those convicting articles for dads (for me, that is!) in Homeschooling Today; the author who wrote the book that challenges me daily in leading my family, When You Rise Up; the teacher who helps me understand the battle between the Seed of the woman and the seed of the serpent; the pundit who helped me see the validity of not voting for the lesser of two evils; the agrarian who is the reason I'm considering getting chickens this summer.
He's also my pastor; the baptiser of my children, who presented them to the congregation as three of the "stars" or "grains of sand" promised to Abram; my neighbor; my friend... and my boss. That God would bless me with the job of serving this man is a great testimony to His grace and I thank Him for the privilege, while begging for the wisdom to serve him well.
But, here I am, riding in a van with Doug Phillips, the great encourager who first exhorted me to lead my family well; the preacher of the Gospel who first challenged me to believe the Bible that children are a blessing, a reward from God; the promoter of Beautiful Girlhood and Courageous Boyhood who offers tools for training boys for manhood and girls for womanhood; a pundit who helped me see the validity of not voting for the lesser of two evils; the standard-bearer of honor and loyalty who has taught me the meaning of honoring those in authority over me.
Thinking Peter and I would be working out the details of Doug's visit while Doug worked on his presentations or relaxed from the flight and the wait at the airport, I didn't expect to have much talk time with Doug. In actuality, he spoke more than anyone. After interrogating our driver, young Jonathan Kiser, Doug turned his attentions to me.
"So, are you here doing work for RC or did you just decide this is place for your family?"
"I decided this was the place for my family."
"Oh! And have you found work here?"
"Yes. I work for RC."
"Oh! You're the one we've been praying for!" Doug exclaimed.
Wow! I hadn't thought about the fact that I was an answer to the prayers of so many people who read ETC and support the work of the Highlands Study Center... including Doug Phillips! That was inspiring and humbling all at the same time.
A little later in our journey, Doug stated that he wished to share something that was unprecedented and unsolicited and asked my permission to share it. What was I going to say? Out with it, man! RC wrote a squib after Vision Forum's Christian Film Festival last year about that fact that Doug's parents had given him the wrong name; that they should have named him Barnabus ("The Encourager"). I'm here to tell you... it's not just to his peers that this is true. He spent the next 15 minutes encouraging me, exhorting me, mentoring me.
I was privileged to spend several other occasions with Mr. "Please call me Doug" Phillips during his 4-day visit to the Highlands Study Center: lunch, brief chats in the speakers' lounge, driving him to his hotel, dinner with the Sprouls and Windhams, third Sunday picnic, breakfast, and driving him to his flight on Monday. He was always considerate, always encouraging, always respectful, always honoring.
I can't wait until next year when he comes back with his father, Howard Phillips, to speak at our annual conference again. He'll join the intrepid Dr. R. C. Sproul Jr., and his father, Dr. R. C. Sproul. If you want to know more about next year's conference (including registering for it), visit the Highlands Study Center website.
--
Posted by Jim Bob Howard to Thoughts at 4/30/2005 12:07:00 PM
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