A Wreck on Life’s Highway

 

 

I was motoring down life’s highway

At quite a crazy clip

Negotiating some difficult turns

Not even caring about a slip.

 

Oh, I was a fantastic driver

With quite a bit of skill

And knowing just how great I was

There was no chance of a spill.

 

In my early years there was challenge

With quite a few in the home,

So many mouths to feed

No television, no piped water or phone.

 

At primary school I was avoided

As though I were the plague,

At secondary school I buckled down

And those memories became somewhat vague.

 

I did really well at school

Though I never came first in tests,

But whenever the scores came back

I was always among the best.

 

University was not as easy

But I adjusted to the task

And when I graduated,

My achievements were all first class.

 

On leaving school I landed a job

That paid a good salary,

That was the beginning of the trend

That changed my reality.

 

I really began to enjoy life

And motored towards my dream,

I left that initial poverty

Way back in my slipstream.

 

Out of the turns and into the straights

I motored on with ease

Steadily increasing my speed

Enjoying the rush of the breeze.

 

The rough time I had growing up

Was a far and distant memory,

The thrill I now enjoyed

Was a thing of rarest beauty.

 

My family I had left behind,

So were the church and Sunday school,

That kind of controlled life

Was for the poor and wretched fool.

 

I was fast into my groove,

This was what I had dreamed about,

Dollars flittering through my hand

And carrying a lot of clout.

 

Then I was really somebody,

I was held in great respect,

I was well to do and held my own,

My past was my only regret.

 

In the circle where I moved

Were the persons that were rich,

They were born into wealth galore

And never fell into the ditch.

 

They often boasted of their past,

Their present and future were secure,

I had to put up with their lengthy boast,

To me my past was a bore.

 

Occasionally I would hear or read

Of the passing of a relative

But that would filter through my mind

Like the proverbial sieve.

 

I had no time for such,

Sometimes I would send a card

But to attend, no way!

Those memories were already quite hard.

 

I really wanted to forget

My horrid growing-up past

Even though among my company

I did not belong in their class.

 

They merely tolerated me

For what I could do for them,

The jobs that they could never do

It was I they would always send.

 

They had the wealth but not the brains,

I was the lawyer in the group

But to maintain my membership

To their every request I would stoop.

 

To me that was a small price to pay

For the reputation that I enjoyed,

Where they went I was also seen

I was one of their envoys.

 

Money… there was more than just enough,

Friends in high places… more than a few,

Dignitaries, celebrities, the rich and famous,

All persons that everyone wished he knew.

 

These were all known to me,

They were at my fingertips,

I was having the time of my life

Just being with them on their trips.

 

What a drive as I motored along!

What a scintillating experience!

Compared to the struggle that I once endured

This was a desirable variance.

 

As the dizzying results reached my head

My foot responded in kind,

To the floorboard I pressed life’s pedal

And enjoyed the passage of time.

 

I took an extreme delight

In many a poor man’s plight,

The fact of the matter really was,

His nighttime was my glowing light.

 

As he suffered I prospered,

His discomfort added to my gain,

His representation was to my benefit

Even though it caused his pain.

 

I was my superiors’ puppet

But the poor was under my control,

And every one that I deceived

Took me closer to my goal.

 

To be rich and wealthy was my aim,

Nothing else could satisfy,

Whatever it cost to stake my claim

Nothing or no one dare deny.

 

I may be a puppet on their string

But I also had a plan,

At some point along the way

I would play the ace in my hand.

 

I should have slowed to take that curve

Instead my foot had remained flat,

I showed what I thought had been an ace

But it was the joker of the pack.

 

My journey came to a grinding halt,

My car would not respond,

I cranked the engine again and again

But there was not a sound.

 

I looked around for my support,

None of them was around,

They had set me up for this hard fall

Now I was prison bound.

 

I was smart but they were smarter,

At the time I could not see,

What they had I really wanted,

I did not care what it would cost me.

 

And as I hurtled down life’s highway

My ace was from their deck,

Too late I realized I had been fooled

Now I am a total wreck.

 

A wreck along life’s highway,

Another wreck by the side of life’s road,

Intoxicated by avarice and greed,

I ignored the highway’s code.

 

 

Lying on my back on my prison bed

My view my prison cell ceiling,

A lifetime incarcerated here

And not a hope after appealing.

 

Freedom is a precious gem

And liberty a pearl of great price,

The love of money is snow on life’s road

And avarice is like black ice.

 

My driving days are over,

My license has been revoked,

My friends are rollicking with laughter,

I am the butt of their joke.

 

Time after time I pinch myself

To stir me from this dream,

But then I hear the clang of a gate

Or hear a prisoner scream.

 

O how I wish with all my might

I could turn back the hands of my clock,

If only at best to my early past

That’s far better than this prison block.

 

If you are young and being care free

Don’t drive, rather I advise, take a trek,

It’s a better way to travel along life’s road

And avoid becoming one of life’s wrecks.

 

Stewart Russell © 2015

 

The Sunday School Teacher

 

 

The Sunday School is the feeder

Of the local church,

This should be obvious to all;

One does not need an expert.

 

A church without a Sunday school

Is destined soon to die

And that its future is rather short,

One cannot seriously deny.

 

The key to any Sunday school

Is the Sunday school teacher

And these two must go hand in glove

Like an open-air and preacher.

 

 

 

Earliest exposure to Bible truths

Is absolutely necessary

And so, the Sunday school teacher

Facilitates this necessity.

 

“Train up a child,” the Bible says,

“In the way that he should go.”

How we need the Sunday school teacher!

By now all of us should know.

 

I was once privy to a document

Regarding the former Glendairy Prison

In which, of its prison population,

Were no Sunday school children.

 

 

 

Not a single Sunday school pupil

Had entered in those gates,

This was back in the nineteen nineties

The information then did state.

 

A survey had been conducted

Re: the impact of the Sunday school

And the evidence was strikingly clear

Even to a fool.

 

Even in these COVID-19 times

In which much teaching is online

No genuine effort should be spared

To impact our children’s mind.

 

More than ever they now need

The enduring Biblical truths,

The present surge in criminal activity

Is more than adequate proof.

 

Hence, the Sunday school teacher

Has to be a definite necessity

If we are to halt this devious trend

And curb this criminal hostility.

 

 

“Train up a child,” I must repeat,

“In the way that he should go.”

If no Sunday school teacher, my friend,

How are they to know?

 

Stewart Russell © September 5, 2021

 

How Things Change!

 

I grew up hearing

About place and time

Today, however,

So much is out of line.

 

In my late teens

If I quarrelled with Dad

That would be a slap,

Quarrelling was bad.

 

I was working then

I had a job,

Thinking about it now

Makes my head throb.

 

Sunday school was a must

You dare not ask,

Once it was Sunday

That was your task.

Sunday morning

And in the evening too,

It was Sunday school

For the entire crew.

 

We had home chores

That had to be done,

No excuses accepted

From daughter or son.

 

Wares to be washed

House to be swept,

Yard fire bright

Or lashes you’d get.

 

Home by a certain time

School or church,

From such instructions

Don’t dare shirk.

 

My favourite spot

Was the front step,

Any further than that

And I could be wet.

 

With permission sought

The limit was the gap,

Any infraction

Could incur a slap.

 

No favouritism

Among the siblings,

All had a bit

In what was sharing.

 

 

If one was out

His share was kept,

Another demand

That had to be met.

 

Quarrels were short

Disputes brief,

They were not condoned

By either chief.

 

Mother or Father

It did not matter,

Cross this line

And there was bother.

Training was at home

Learning at school,

One was not allowed

To grow up a fool.

 

School was a must

Licks like peas,

Two biscuits and milk

Without any cheese.

 

We could not chime in

When adults fret,

Another bad decision

We would regret.

 

Respect your elders

Always be polite,

Stay away from trouble

Definitely no fights.

 

No bare back

Or whistling at home,

Not in this house

You’re not yet grown.

 

 

Four fast asleep

In one single bed,

In many cases

Just front house and shed.

 

Kitchen and toilet

Out in the yard

And if it’s raining

Things could be hard.

 

Plant something

And let it grow,

In this way

The less you owe.

 

Games fee a penny,

Hard to come by

But it was a must

One dare not defy.

 

With your teachers

Do not mess

Whether at school

Or holiday recess.

 

Manners maketh man

We were often told,

Slip up at anytime

And licks you’d hold.

 

 

In a child’s back

You’d find his ears,

Beat the back

And the child will hear.

 

An oft-made remark

From a teacher I knew

But most back then

Held that view.

 

But things changed

Nothing so now,

How it got to this stage

I’ll tell you how.

 

The right to do

As everyone pleases

No matter who

That one squeezes.

 

A crime is only if

You get caught,

A few in jail

But outside a lot.

 

Different stokes

For different folks,

Once known standards

Are now jokes.

 

Roles are reversed

It’s like a curse,

In very deep waters

We are immersed.

 

How to get out?

Only God knows,

The fact we ignore Him

Causes these woes.

 

 

It’ll only get worse

Yes, this curse,

There’ll be no reverse

Till we put God first.

 

Stewart Russell © February 2019

 

Sunday School

 

Sunday school was a must

When I was growing up,

Fifty years hence

It’s not many people’s cup.

For me it was Sunday morning

And in the evening too:

In the morning at my church

But in the evening a relative few.

I remember Sister Estwick

A very sweet old lady

That rang her bell on Sundays

To gather everybody.

Some walked behind her

To the open-air school

Where we learned memory verses

And recited the golden rule.

We sometimes received sweets

And other confectionary

As well as Bible tracts

That told interesting stories.

The benches were kept

At a nearby residence

And though they took up much space

We weren’t charged a cent.

They were often were put out

By the first children to get there

And they were eagerly wiped off

With the most diligent care.

There are many Bible lessons

That I can still recall

Which I learnt at Sunday school

With memory passages and all.

We were always encouraged

To take Jesus into our hearts,

It was definitely at Sunday school

Where I got my Christian start.

  

We were regularly told

That if we wanted to go to heaven

We must confess our sins to Jesus

So that they could be forgiven.

At the end of each session

We sang an invitation song

But at the beginning of the service

We sang “Come Along, Come Along”.

“Into my heart, into my heart,

Come into my heart Lord Jesus,”

And O, how we would respond

Whenever we sang this chorus.

Sunday school was good to us

And kept us out of the law courts

For when it came to Sunday school

Our parents didn’t make sport.

I thank God for Sister Estwick,

Aunt Pearl and my other teachers,

Today I teach Sunday school

And I am also a preacher.

My life, though not flawless,

Has been on a godly trend,

I owe much of it to Sunday school

And the fact that I still attend.

I doubt there are many in prison

That ever attended Sunday school

But if there are any at all

Then they must have been fools.

“Bend the tree when it is young,”

That’s what Sunday school did

But certainly not for those children

That from Sunday school hid.

I did not have a choice

And I am glad that I had to go,

You see because of Sunday school

I’ve got quite a lot to show.

Stewart Russell © March 2019