Friday, January 10, 2020

A Sophisticated Man

He is a sophisticated man. Every morning his mirror smiles at him. His white hair and beard are perfectly coiffed. Each hair is examined, snipped, combed, and smiled upon.

He is a sophisticated man. His library is the envy of friends. The patina on the one hundred fifty year old wood is an intoxicant to the eye. Soft light is cast by Tiffany lamps and solid brass wall sconces. His books line one wall. He looks upon them often and smiles. His smile reacts as his eyes fall upon his first editions of Hawthorne and Webster. The great works of literature speak softly to visitors that here lives a sophisticated man.

He is a sophisticated man. His leather chair is one of the finest. Hand crafted and covered in Romanza Leather, it is exquisite in every detail. The brass buttons at the top of each arm bear the marks of his fingers over long years. The trained eye can see the faint color change in the leather where his elbows have rested as he enjoyed his pipe and brandy.

He is a sophisticated man. To the left of his chair, his Gillow’s Pembroke Table is within easy reach. His pipe and pouch rest within an Ebony bowl, placed exactly at the far left end of the table, though still in reach. The decanter of Courvoisier brandy rest upon his 16th century silver server. The snifter sits next to the decanter, with her opening covered with appropriate sized linen. 

He is a sophisticated man. But, every morning his mirror is deceived. The visage of the perfectly groomed man fails to reveal his uninhabited soul. During the day he rests within the safety and luxury of the finest leather on his chair. His lips enjoy his fine brandy. The scent of expensive pipe tobacco lingers long into the night. He will soon sleep in his self quarantined cell.

He is a sophisticated man. With the warmth of his brandy still smooth on his lips he reaches into the drawer of his exquisite Pembroke table and rests his manicured fingers on the cold stainless steel barrel.

He Was a Sophisticated Man.

Saturday, December 21, 2019

We Need Christmas-Bad

We need Christmas. We need Christmas really bad. We need Christmas so bad that, let me just say, the world would have fallen apart without it. We need to believe in the magic of Christmas. For it is magic you know that Santa has. You can watch it working on the faces of innocent boys and girls wherever he is sitting and they are hoping. You can hear the magic when they whisper in his ear what their heart's desire is. You can see when they scribble out a letter and send it to the north pole.

Christmas brings miracles, to a little girl on 34th street and millions on main street. Christmas brings out the best in people. When a man faces absolute ruin at the hands of an evil man the best in people and the best people come to his side. They prove that it really is a Wonderful Life. Christmas brings back the voice of an iconic man and iconic song. When he sings, Have a Holly Jolly Christmas, every listener must smile.

We need Christmas because it brings out the compassion in us. People stand in the freezing cold on street corners, at grocery stores, at the mall, ringing brass bells. With every clang of the bell they hope for a dollar to find its place inside a red bucket. The collected dollars help bring a smile to a child's face. Who, no fault of their own, might go without a pretty package under their tree.

We need Christmas because millions of us still believe in gifts that change lives. We still believe that Mary took great care in bringing the swaddling clothes for her soon to be delivered son. We still believe that the son she was carrying within her fragile body would ride a donkey down the streets of Jerusalem.We still believe that her son would walk through that city on his way up to the executioner's hill.

We need Christmas....I need Christmas. Christmas means more than feeble words could ever express. I need Christmas because I need a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

Be blessed this Christmas.
Tedd Galloway
tedd@teddgalloway.com

Saturday, December 7, 2019

The Angel Feather

The air brushed past my cheek like a feather, ever so slightly touching my skin.
No noise, just movement.
Again it moved across my face, my senses heightened, ready to discern the presence.
Now stillness, nothing.
Stillness for such a long time, still nothing.
Perhaps it never was, my wish, my dream, my hope.
Closed eyes, closed out world, listen, sense.
Lids shut, the air moves again past my face.
A glow, faint, then growing brighter.
Eyes still closed, every cell, every sense in tune and anticipation.
The glow, now as bright as the sun fills me.
The air moves, growing stronger as it begins to push against me.
A noise, like the movement of wings comes near.
Now with each sound of movement comes the rush of air.
And then the Voice, a voice like thunder in the mountains.
The words, " Behold the dwelling place of God is with men."
The Seraphim speaks and I tremble.