A gentle rain was the touch of God —
Healing — bringing healing.
My weary soul, so dry and parched,
Received the living water.
I cannot comprehend Your love, O Lord —
For me, for others.
How can a sound touch my heart so deeply,
Washing cares away?
And to the earth it brings the promise,
That evil will be cleansed by Your love.
And by Your suffering so deeply,
You washed my sins away.
Rain on the roof,
Clothes on my back;
It’s dry inside,
Though it’s only a shack.
Wind’s blowin’ hard,
But I do not fear —
Six layers of clothes
Do bring me good cheer.
The demons attack —
They make my thoughts jumble.
But through prayer and fasting,
The enemy crumbles.
Be not afraid;
You have what you need.
To God and His promises
We all must take heed.
God grants the rain,
The stars, sun, and moon.
Give thanks and give praise,
For He’s coming soon.
She wandered for years
In war-torn lands.
Why she didn’t go home,
I don’t understand.
Sometimes begging,
Sometimes stealing.
You’ve got to survive —
Starvation not appealing.
Oh, where can I go, Lord?
Will I ever find a home?
It’s only in Your arms, Lord,
That I won’t feel forlorn.
What comfort I receive
When gentle raindrops fall
Upon my roof — and I
Am dry beneath it all.
What comfort I now feel
When warm inside my bed,
Like mom who wrapped me in her arms,
And always kept me fed.
What grief I sense for those
Who under freeways sleep
Who struggle every day to find
Security to keep.
My heart is broken now
For families torn apart.
For strife and anger uncontained,
The wounds of broken hearts.
O, gentle raindrops, tell
Those suffering now from want,
That there’s a God Who loves them still;
He loves your broken heart.
A misty morning in southwest Ohio —
The moisture hugs the ground,
Oozing out from the damp earth.
We pass an alpaca ranch, and horse stables.
There’s an old, high, stone wall
Surrounding a mansion, making a fortress.
It’s cool now, but the fog will burn off,
And a rainless day
Will keep the farmers busy.
Now is the time to be living.
The events of the past are for learning.
The future, for what we are hoping.
Make memories now while you can.
The past is no longer at hand.
Don’t build the future on sand.
So my husband spent much of his young life growing up in eastern Ohio. Since he had many, many cousins, I started gathering data to keep track of everyone, but also got interested in the past.
I learned that his ancestors on his dad’s side came to America a few years before the American Revolution (unlike mine, who are very recent). Eventually some of them moved to western Ohio.
Another interest of mine is cemeteries, and when we have time we visit them at random. One day we picked a cemetery in Indian Hill, Ohio. While walking around, Tom asked, “What’s that pyramid-like structure over there?” We walked over, and much to our surprise, the pyramid had the original spelling of his family name carved on it! It was a family plot, and upon researching, the persons buried nearby were relations. Amazing!
All the world seems strange to me,
And stranger still, as time goes on.
Don’t understand the wheres, the whys,
The truths, the lies.
The world towards madness quickly flies,
And little do I understand.
There must exist a better world –
To God, I cry.
It seemed in childhood that I knew
A better world of hope and trust.
The Lord said, “Be as children now.” –
I will; I must.
In His own world, in His own way
Lies sanity, and healing balm.
In silence do I sense His words
Bring peace, bring calm.
So I seem to be getting more and more nostalgic.
Recently we were on a day trip in our car and inquired from someone about how to get an ice cream cone. I had said to my husband that I thought at least once in a summer, on a hot day, a person should buy an ice cream at an ice cream shop. I wanted to enjoy that happy memory.
Well, we ended up at a soft serve place, kind of like Dairy Queen or Foster’s Freeze. I ordered a SMALL chocolate cone, dipped in chocolate, like my dad used to get us as an occasional treat.
When the item was presented, it was more like a GIANT ice cream, about five or six inches taller than the top of the cone, and at quite a low price! As a child, I might have gotten one that was three or four inches taller than the cone, at most.
Being a hot day, we decided to eat the cones inside to prevent melting. Ha! Soon enough, we had ice cream dripping off our faces and onto the table, with piles of napkins to mop things up. A clerk took pity on us and offered cups to put the mess in. Finally finishing up, we thanked the clerk and left.
Next day, our blood sugar was way up (we are both Type 2 diabetic).
Well, it was fun, but maybe in the future I’ll try to make new memories, since the old ones don’t always work.
I like to think my neighbors’ lawns
Will tell me something of their minds.
Do they more meticulous,
Or laid back, lazy, industrious –
Who knows?
(By the way, no fences stand
In neighbors’ yards, at least the fronts,
So lawns meet lawns, a sea of green.)
You might think they are all the same
(The lawns, I mean) —
But as we walk along the green
It’s easily seen
Where one yard starts
And one’s complete;
(Do property lines tend to accrete?)
Some lawns are a perfect green
With soldier blades that stand so straight
And not a flower to be seen.
The edges, too, are knife-edge straight,
Some right against the concrete curb,
Or indented just an inch or two —
The dirt shows through.
The other end of this extreme
Are lawns with dandelions dappled,
And bumpy blades of various shades.
For those, the edges not so neat;
Certain blades o’er sidewalk creep
In wand’ring curves.
And when those edges have been cut,
But piles of blades not swept away,
Then green things grow in dried out grass, alas.
And maybe you would like to ask
Which type of lawn this writer has?
clarakatalin 