Poems, Personal Stories, and Observations

Archive for February, 2013

The River of Life

Through death and birth,

Ill health and woe,

Through laughter, tears,

Through joys and fears —

The world’s still here.


It didn’t stop

To take a pause

When someone died,

When someone cried;

When someone lied,

The world went on.


Through war and peace,

Through health, disease;

Through daring feats,

And cowardly deeds —

Life still flows on.


It might be wise

To take a pause,

To look at all

The many flaws

Which unknowing —

Suffering cause.


And learn, and learn,

And finally learn,

That Love is waiting

With open arms,

When all does cease.

Wash Me Clean

(Inspired by the heavy rain today.

I felt it was washing me clean as I drove along in my car.)

Wash me clean, Oh Lord!

Like drops of rain that coalesce,

Cleanse me with Your tenderness —

Oh, wash me clean.

Like rivers rushing to the sea,

Like waterfalls that roar at me,

Like river rapids wild and free —

Wash me clean.

With Holy Spirit water let

My soul revive and not forget —

My sins were scarlet —

Now washed clean.

Let rain fall down from up above,

Cleanse the stain of sin with love,

All filth and dirt are washed away;

Close by Your side my soul must stay.

Faulty Memory

My memory is really shot

Was that man’s name Ted or Scott?

Was that woman Sue or Sharon?

Perhaps it’s Shawna? Rose? Or Karen?

Do I turn at Madison?

Or Grant, or Tadd, or Addison?

Make a left at Allemany?

Daisy, Mayzie, or Allegheny?

But the place I really stall

Is forgetting who You are

And who I am before Your throne —

I am Your child

Just a faulty memory,

A broken circuit,

A sin, maybe.

Just a faulty memory.

Where’s that paper I can’t find?

Where’s the bill for the telephone line?

Where’s the lid for that open can?

The remote that goes on the TV stand?

Who did I forget to greet?

That lonely person on the street?

Who did I forget to call?

Where did I last drop the ball?

It’s just a faulty memory,

A broken circuit,

A sin, maybe.

Just a faulty memory.

Bring it back to me, Oh Lord.

Make harmony of dissonant chord.

Remind me, Savior, strong and mild,

That I am still your little child.

A Far and Distant Land

There is a far and distant land

Of which we all must dream

Where tears turn into diamonds

And laughter runs in streams

Where children play along that shore

And dance in bright sunbeams


Where hungers are all satisfied

And wounds long held do mend

Where strife and sin are but a dream

And troubled thoughts at end


There is a far and distant land

To which we all must look

And if I knew it very well

I’d write it in a book

‘Til then while life’s strains take up time

Our hope is in that land divine


April 12, 2012

Sing Anyway

Many tears I’ve often cried,
Some sorrows lived and more just seen.
Heard of many tragedies —
Heartbreaks, pain and misery.

But never mind,
I still must sing
‘Cause otherwise the pain would crush,
And anyway I have a King
Who has a deeply healing touch.

Illness, sickness, death and doom,
Madness, jealousies and gloom,
Accidents not meant to be;
Misunderstandings — let them be.

But anyway,
I still must sing,
‘Cause otherwise the load’s too great,
And anyway I have a King
Who in the end will sadness take.

Don’t even know the reason why
Such sorrow seems to seize my soul.
Another’s pain can often rend
My heart — and then —
It takes a while for it to mend.

And still,
I will keep on the song,
‘Cause otherwise I’d die of pain,
And anyway I have a King
Who in the end will vict’ry gain.

So sing with joy,
Let sorrow flee;
The King will have the victory.

October 21, 2012


No matter what I do or say,

Jesus, You will have your way.


I fight, I beat against your chest,

Though I know You want my best.


I know You have an awesome scheme,

A plan beyond my wildest dreams.


My blinded eyes, my stopped up ears,

Surely You will calm my fears.


Kicking, screaming, still I go;

Your plan for me I do not know.


When sweet surrender finally comes —

Not my will, but Thine be done.

The Village Kitty

Under a spreading Christmas tree

The village kitty lies;

The kitty, mighty cat is he,

With large and glaring eyes;

The talons of his furry paws

Are sharp as kitchen knives.


His hair is thick, and orange, and long;

His face is rather tan.

His tongue is wet; he won’t forget

To lick his owner’s hand.

And also licks the same one’s face,

For to lick he thinks is grand.


Week in, week out, from morn ’til night,

You can hear his vig’rous purr;

Can hear his little kitty bell

Whenever he does stir.

He slinks around his owner’s house

And loves his owner well.


And children coming home from school

Look in at open door;

They love to see his glaring eyes

And hear his mighty purr,

And watch as he does stretch and turn

And lick is lengthy fur.


He won’t go Sunday to the church,

For it is not too near;

He’ll miss the preaching, and the choir —

His meowing would cause fear.

But singing in the village choir

His owners do with cheer.


Rolling — stretching — yawning,

Onward through life he goes;

Each morning sees the food put out,

Each evening sees it go;

Something eaten, something caught,

He’s earned his night’s repose.


Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy cat,

For lessons thou has taught!

If I could sit around all day,

I hope I’d not be caught!

I better not so lazy be

Or poor will be my lot.



[With apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]

All About You


Sometimes I forget
That it’s not about me;
It’s all about You

Sometimes I think
I have to make it all work
Instead of letting You have your way

Sometimes I think
I have to be a certain way
Instead of just being
What You made me to be

Lord, help me to let go
Help me let You run the show
Help my heart to trust in You
Help me get through

You’re the One Who really knows
All the things I’m thinking of
My thoughts, my feelings, what’s inside
There’s really nothing I can hide
From You

What about my ugliness?
I need to let Your tenderness
Remove the fear
And dry the tear
Of parts of me I’d like to hide;
Oh, please stay at my side

My hearts in a jumble
All in a tumble
I sure like to grumble
And my feet tend to stumble

Lord, I give it to You
I give it to You

Riddle/Pun #1

Q: What do you call a hardware technician who joins a monastery?

A: A chipmunk.

Creator’s Gift


Smelly clothes and dirty dishes
Don’t seem like the stuff of wishes
Cooking meals and wiping noses
Could, in time, produce neuroses

However, if you do your duty
You could find in rhythm, beauty.
The daily things you do with love
May lead your soul to realms above

The simple things, seen with new eyes
May give your heart a great surprise
When seen as the Creator’s gift
A flower, a child, a dirty dish

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