Poems, Personals, and Commentary

It’s Not About Me

Life is not about me.  It’s about God’s plan and my part in it.  I may not understand God’s plan, I may be dimly aware of it, but I need to trust in it, or more precisely, to trust in the One who has a plan for me.  And not only for me, but for every person on this planet.

Lord, may I be in harmony with your plan.

He didn’t show up for the appointment
With my husband and me.
The lights were out,
But the door slightly ajar,
Though the latch was locked.

I thought surely
Either he or his wife
Were in serious trouble,
Perhaps dead.

I thought the worst.

Would there be a funeral?
Would we be notified?

I prayed.

What did it mean to me
If he were gone, or his wife?

The phone rang some time later —
“Sorry, I took some medicine
For a bad cold
And just woke up.
Please forgive me.”

I was so SURE that
Someone had died.
It just shows
That intuition
Can be terribly wrong.

I need to get a life.

There’s a narrow view of the sky
Between the curtains.

The clouds are drifting by,
Ever so slowly.

These puffy pillows,
These dusty denizens of the sky,
Move calmly and gracefully.

How was I allowed this privilege
To see a reflection
Of God’s glory?

For the Joy

I had my head down for so long,
It takes training for me to lift it up.
My focus is off; My heart’s eyes myopic.
Learning from God is my only cure.

“For the joy set before him he endured,”
“He considered the fact that God is able,”
“Our light and momentary troubles,”
“Our slight afflictions,”
“The sufferings of this present time,”
“Not worth comparing with the glory.”

I don’t know how abuse, torture, rape, crucifixion,
Ridicule, mockery, calumny,
Beatings, shipwrecks, imprisonments and more,
Suffered by some,
Can be called “slight –”
But the glory, the joy, of heaven,
Must be far greater than anyone can imagine.

Heaven, My Real Home

The earth is not my home,
Nor any special land.
Though my heart beats strong
In many places,
In lands where I know many faces —
Still, none can I call home.

Heaven is my home,
Though it I’ve never seen,
Except, when the Creator set
My soul upon earth’s scene.

Heaven is my home,
Seen only in my dreams,
Through mists of time,
Through clouds sublime,
In half-heard tunes
Under bright-lit moons,
In sideways glances
And angels’ dances.

And so, when I go home,
I hope you’ll soon come, too;
On angels’ wings, as choirs sing —
We’ll all be finally home.

This Broken World

This broken world of suffering souls;
So many hurting — it’s out of control.

We need a Savior, a God Who can mend.
We need a Father, Who loves without end.

We need the Spirit, Who gives us the power
To overcome Satan in ungodly hour.

Time to surrender your will unto His.
Let Him live in you, and give you His gifts.

The Rat

***WARNING***: Morbid content.
[Note: I will be dismantling my broken compost bin.  In general, they are a good thing, but should not have holes (like mine) where creatures can get in.]




The rat appeared
In my compost bin.

So cute and furry;
It stared at me with fearful eyes.

Sadly, I knew it must go —
Rats multiply,
And sometimes spread disease.

I set the traps —
Keenly aware of my intent to kill.

Soon the trap was sprung,
But the poor creature was still alive.

I felt like a soldier.
I didn’t want to kill it,
But humans must be protected also.

The creature was just being itself,
Trying to survive.

I won’t tell how it finally died.


When Adam and Eve sinned,
Death entered the world.

On Prejudice (Mine)

I am prejudiced — but, hopefully, each day I get less and less so.  I attend regular meetings of Prejudiced People Anonymous (well, at least in my mind).

It started early in life.  It was in the air, in my culture, all around me.  “That group …, ” “Those people …,” “That church …,” people around me would say.

But, as I grew older, I realized that prejudice was wrong.  Sadly, the damage was already done.  I fought against the ideas in my head, but they still came.  I felt helpless, knowing that my attitude was wrong.

It didn’t help when some people would confirm my prejudices.  Yes, some people who were “different” did bad things to me.  But others were good and kind.

Over the years, it helped to learn about other cultures and religions, their background, and what they have suffered.  The more I had contact with people who were “different,” the less prejudiced I became.

One of my turning points happened like this:  I had been attending night classes at a state university.  I was walking on campus to my car, when a woman of an ethnic group that I felt most afraid of (or most angry at?) was coming from the other direction. She said hello and was very friendly and had kind words. Suddenly it hit me that I did not deserve her kindness, after the bad thoughts I’d had against her particular group.  It was a grace received, again — undeserved.  I realized that it wasn’t the person’s group that mattered, it was who they were individually that mattered.

There is hope for sinners, even for people like me!  God can change our hearts!  If you are prejudiced, pray for God to show you the beauty of each person.

[Written in response to /protest against the Charlottesville, Virginia, madness.]

The wildflowers still bloom
No matter what your religion is,
What color your skin is,
How much money you have,
Or what neighborhood you live in.

The trees don’t ask,
“Shall I give my shade
Only to certain people —
Those of a certain color,
Those who are rich?”

The mountains still stand
When the poor walk on them,
When the oppressed tread their paths.

The ocean waves
Go in and out
Whether the children splashing in them
Are educated or not.

The birds don’t sing
Only for the perfect —
Perfectly healthy,
Perfectly formed
In mind and body.

The sun shines
And the rain falls
On the just and the unjust.

Shall I withhold my love
From another
For any reason?

God does not.
He sends the rain and the sun
On all peoples.
He gives the beauty of His creation
To each person, each day.

Let me learn from Him.


[Jeremiah 29:11, Proverbs 3:5-6]

I don’t understand much,
But I’ve been given a gift —
A gift I didn’t ask for —

I can’t change my existence,
But what do I do with it?

Yes, it’s a mystery —
My own life history —
And that God has a plan
That I don’t understand.

I don’t understand,
I don’t understand,
I don’t understand …

Plans for my good
And not for harm,
Plans for a future
And a hope.

I must trust in the Lord with all my heart,
And not rely on my own insight.
I must acknowledge Him in all my ways,
And He will make my paths straight.

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