[Note: I have tried for YEARS to write a decent poem in iambic pentameter, with no success. Then this one just HAPPENED. There’s no telling how the muse will strike.]
We will go home, we will go home at last.
No crying then, and all our sorrows past. All will be well, our wounds and traumas done — The world so bright, like unto twenty suns.
And then we’ll know, yet couldn’t see it here,
That all our troubles, hardships, and our fears, Were but a flash, a drop in ocean vast — Were only tests and trials, meant not to last.
And then we’ll see (but didn’t seem so then) —
The suff’ring woe of women and of men Was worth it all — for what we were to gain, Outshines, like sun, the candle of our pain.
I saw the lofty clouds,
Like mountains piled high. I wondered if the angels, Or God, were dancing there. And then the thunder rolled, A wave of sound; God speaking there.
I saw the real mountains,
The jagged cliffs, with snow adrift, Their fearsome heights created By a holy God — And who can tell If He does not there dwell?
But He’s not bound by earth or sky;
Perhaps He’s in a lullaby, Or in a spouse’s kiss; He’s ne’er amiss. To know His love is awe and bliss.
“Wish you were here” can be trite but true.
Writing a postcard means I thought of you. But it could mean more — Will you believe that’s true?
I’m wishing you the quiet
Of a warm September night, I’m wishing you the rest and hope Of a life with burdens light.
I’m wishing that you find your dreams,
A childlike faith, some innocence returned, New horizons, happy schemes, And healing — if your heart’s been burned.
If there’s a way to give my self,
To help another’s life have peace, Lord, let me find it, and then I’ll be Myself unburdened, truly free.
How do we use it? Do we abuse it?
Going west, you gain some,
Going east, you lose some, But it’s all how you use some.
Don’t waste it in hate, anger, or blame,
Worry, fear, feeling a victim, or shame — The time given is the same.
And if there’s time that you’ve wasted,
Seek forgiveness — freedom tasted.
[Have faith, not fear.]
A cloudy day, the sun does rare appear;
It changes moods, exacerbates one’s fears. A storm shall come; calamitous will be; All swept away, all lost what once was dear.
And then a break, a crack in grayish wall
Soon widens; blue sky comes out after all. Until next time, when storm shall truly fall, Keep hope alive; and pray calamity shall stall.
I hang by a thread, on the edge of a steep precipice;
I am weak and vulnerable. Yet the Lord will rescue and deliver me.
I sit in the dark, not understanding;
I suffer from blindness. Yet the Lord will bring His light.
I don’t know His plan for me,
Yet He said He has one. So I hang in the dark, hoping and trusting.
“He who has begun a good work in you
Will bring it to completion On the day of Jesus Christ.” (Philippians 1:6)
With broken heart and contrite sigh
A trembling sinner, Lord, I cry: Thy pardoning grace is rich and free O God, be merciful to me.
I smite upon my troubled breast,
With deep and conscience guilt oppressed; Christ and His cross my only plea: O God, be merciful to me.
Far off I stand with tearful eyes,
Nor dare uplift them to the skies; But Thou dost all my anguish see: O God, be merciful to me.
Nor alms, nor deeds that I have done,
Can for a single sin atone; To Calvary alone I flee: O God, be merciful to me.
And when, redeemed from sin and hell,
With all the ransomed throng I dwell, My raptured song shall ever be, God has been merciful to me.
[A hymn by Cornelius Elven, 1852, public domain]
John 20:13-18 Why do you weep, Oh woman, why do you weep? Because they’ve taken my Lord, And I don’t know where they’ve laid Him. But, when Jesus said to her, “Mary,” She knew Him and went rejoicing to tell others.
Luke 24:5-12 Why do you seek, Oh women, why do you seek The living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. So they rushed back From the tomb and Told everyone else What had happened.
Acts 1:11-14 Why do you gaze, Oh men of Galilee, why do you gaze Up to the heavens? This Jesus will come again from heaven In the same way that you saw Him go. So they returned to Jerusalem And were constantly united in prayer.
Luke 12:32 Why do you fear, Oh little flock, why do you fear? For it is your Father’s good pleasure To give you the kingdom. So let us trust and obey The One who loves us.
Somewhere in the universe
There is a sphere With myriad colors — Light and dark, Dryness and wetness, Mountains and valleys.
On outer spheres,
The people peer inward At the inmost sphere.
The people are spread
All over the outer spheres, Some closer, or farther, From the inmost sphere.
They all describe
The inner sphere differently.
Though they tell the truth
About what they see, The descriptions sound very different.
Are we talking about the same thing?