Poems, Personal Stories, and Observations

Posts tagged ‘quiet’

YARD SALE

An hour or more into the sale;
One customer so far.
Trying not to look at my cell phone,
But instead enjoy the neighborhood.

I’m in a lovely patch of shade
On this hot and humid day.
A light breeze blows, and it’s quiet,
But for the birds and the remaining cicadas.

So pleasant to sit in the quiet,
Observing neighbors go by –
None of them interested in buying.


Two boys keep riding their bikes
Back and forth, back and forth.
A man walks by, across the street,
Looking at his cell phone.


Well, I might quit early,
Though I have some good things to sell,
Like vegetable plants and fresh garlic.


The second day of summer – so quiet.

—————————–

No, wait, a few more people drop by,
Some retired folks from a neighboring town.
Also a young man, and possibly his mother –
Real estate people who stage houses.

They didn’t buy anything, but so what?
I’m having a blast on this quiet day.
I love meeting people from various places.
Then, a few more show up and spend a few dollars.

As far as noise, don’t forget the lawn mowers –
They aren’t quiet, but part of the daily warm-weather ambiance.
I read a book when it’s really slow,
Or listen –the birds and cicadas keep chattering.

There must be a swim party down the street.
Cars park a few doors away; children in swimwear.
They won’t be buying anything here.

At last the hour comes, to end the sale.
Many items packed, to give away –
And some left out with a sign saying “FREE!”;
Some items taken with glee.

At dusk, some items still remain.
I slowly put it all away.
Only $4.50 in profit made,
But had a pleasant, quiet day.

The second day of summer.

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Poems

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The Ocean’s Roar

I long to hear the ocean’s roar,
Or lakeside waves upon the shore,
The quiet lapping on the sand,
Sitting there, with book in hand.

I long to rest from life’s swift rush,
The stress and strain assailing us.
When sitting quietly near the sea,
A peace begins to rest on me.

It’s so eternal, never-ending,
Small chance that earth would soon be rending,
To swallow all this ocean’s waters —
Still here when we have sons or daughters.

The seashore now becomes my womb,
And could someday become my tomb.
But now it is my mother’s peace,
It’s rhythm giving sweet release.

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Poems

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Halloween 2022


The eve of All Saints’ Day was magical, in a good way. For one, it had been raining, right up to about the 6 p.m. start of the trick-or-treating. [Ohio has townships, a subdivision of counties. The township suggests (or is it a law? I don’t know) that trick-or-treating should take place between 6 and 8 p.m.] I had been doubtful as to whether we should even bother giving out candy. Suddenly at about 5:50 p.m. or so, the rain stopped.

My husband helped by putting out a little firepit at the end of the driveway, which is a custom for many in our neighborhood. The homeowners sit by the firepit while giving out candy, and they may have a party themselves.

I wrote the following after it was all over.

———————————————————————————————————————-

It’s quiet now. The clowns and freaks, saints and sinners, ghosts and ghouls are gone. I stand in the driveway, on the darkened and empty street, wondering what it all means. The silence after all the childish shrieks. The candy bowls empty. How did I come to be in this crazy world?

We talked with neighbors whom we don’t often see. One came over on his own, and when we got short of candy, he gave us some of his own. I went over to another neighbor after we had run out of candy again, just to say hi. I found out that the husband is related to a political candidate. When these neighbors learned that we had run out of candy, they gave us some of theirs.

Sitting with my husband by a firepit, we ate pizza and drank seltzer water between candy giveaways. A citizen patrol car drove by twice. The sounds of laughter in the neighborhood were comforting.

Shortly before 8 p.m., our neighbor to the right yelled, “Have a good night; we’re calling it quits.” Somehow I got to asking him what he did for a living, and he explained. Here was another neighbor whom we hardly ever talk with.

So quiet and silent now. The voices are gone. The air is still. The weather is mild tonight. We are blessed to be alive.

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Personal story

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WRITING A POSTCARD

“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, then I’ll be
Myself unburdened, truly free.

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Poems

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Listening for God’s Voice

You woo me in the quiet places;
It’s there you fill me with Your graces.
I long for silence, to still the voices
That tempt me onto errant courses.

The noise of living makes me weary
(Though noise of loved ones can be cheery!).
The “noise” of nature, by contrast,
Brings calm and peace, or makes us wary.

When list’ning for Your mighty plan,
I calmly sit, or kneel, or stand,
Or even on a quiet walk –
By grace, or chance, I’ll hear You talk.

Grant me, O Lord, that blesséd grace –
No matter what the time or place –
In noise or quiet, at work or rest,
By Your sweet voice to then be blessed.

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Poems

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August Silence

Thank you, God,
For the quiet of early August.
The quiet streets,
The quiet mornings;
School’s not yet started.

The quiet neighborhoods —
People gone to their cabins at Tahoe,
Or on road trips, or plane trips:
Gone to weddings (or funerals) —
Gone to see relatives.

Thank you for the cool morning air,
All the better with the silence.
But birds do sing and twitter;
I hear airplanes in the sky,
And a mother’s lullaby.

Sometimes the earth has peace,
You can drink up the silence,
You can remember childhood days
Of endless summer,
And let today be your gratitude.

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Poems

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Over Deep Waters

The Spirit of God

Moves over deep waters.

Always, He is hidden.

Always, He is quiet,

Whispering in the wind.

Can you hear Him?

 

God sometimes hides from me.

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Poems

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The Quiet Ones

[To tell the truth, I wrote this out of the frustration of feeling that I’m
a “nobody”.  So maybe my motives aren’t too pure. But, anyway …]


THE QUIET ONES: Don’t Ridicule Yourself

 
I am grateful for all the people, famous or not, who have influenced me for the better.  Some are famous authors, speakers, etc., and many or most are Christian.  Some are well-known within certain circles. Many of them, whom I might not know personally, have exhorted, pushed and prodded me to desire and reach for a holier and more God-honoring life.  They are an essential part of the body of Christ.

 

But today I would like to write about what I call “The Quiet Ones”. They are not “leaders” in the strict sense of the word.  They haven’t written books that thousands read.  They don’t address large audiences.  They might not, like Paul of Tarsus or Mother Teresa, be very well known.  But nevertheless, they can have a huge influence.

 

I am thinking, in particular, of Mary, the mother of Jesus. Hardly anything is known about her. Very few words of hers are recorded. As far as we know, she was not followed by huge crowds. Yet, I think, most Christians would agree that her influence on the world was tremendous, because she allowed Jesus to live in her, both physically and spiritually.

 

Her life was on one of total submission to God and total humility. I believe that it’s because of her humility, her “nobodyness” in the world’s eyes (but submitted to God), that He chose her to be Jesus’ mother.

 

The things we do know about her show her deep humility.  “Let it be done unto me” was her “Yes” to God. While it was certainly an intense joy to know she would be the Savior’s mother, think also of the courage and faith she had to have, to face the ridicule of an “unplanned pregnancy”.  She could have been stoned to death. We could also probably write volumes about her husband, Joseph, another “Quiet One”.

 

Think of her praises to God, in the company of her relative Elizabeth.  To praise God in such a situation, facing ridicule and social ostracism, she had to focus on the glorious reality of what God was doing in her.

 

Think of how she pointed to Jesus: “Do whatever He tells you”, which I believe as His first disciple, she herself practiced.

 

And think of how she stood by Jesus’ side, not only as He suffered excruciating physical pain, but the emotional pain of scorn and ridicule, and feeling abandoned by God.  And of course, her unspeakable joy when He rose from the dead …

 

Yes, I am very grateful for all the “leaders” in my life, who have pushed me to grow and stretch for God’s kingdom.  It takes great courage to put oneself in the public eye.

 

But please, if you are a “Quiet One”, don’t disparage yourself.  You may be having a greater influence than you know.

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Commentary

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Christ is My Hope

I love cemeteries. They are quiet and peaceful. I think of the people resting there and hopefully they are completely at peace.

So Christmas day, my kids and I took a walk to Maple Leaf Cemetery in Oak Harbor, Washington. The walk itself was brisk, both in speed and in the weather. After a few meanderings we found the cemetery. One grave I saw was of a three-and-a-half month old child, which brought me to tears. Then, a young man of 28, obviously well loved. More tears. As I walked, a group of people across the cemetery seemed to be having a party. They had their car door open, and Christmas music came from its radio. Perhaps celebrating Christmas as they remembered a life well lived.

The final grave I looked at is pictured here. “Christ is My Hope” was the epitaph. I can honestly say that is true for me.

I just now noticed that there is no date of death, and that the birth date was in 1915, which means the person is now 98 years of age. I am glad the person has faced the reality of death and has the hope of resurrection.

Just a few days later, we visited my uncle by marriage, who is now 100 years old. He still walks an hour a day using his walker. His mind is still pretty sharp. What an amazing man.

Still, we never know when we might go.

131225 Maple Leaf Cemetery 002x

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Christian, Commentary

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Gift of Silence

The tawny hills with golden flecks
The summer’s air, the wilderness
The lazy buzzing of the bees
The grass that tickles calloused knees
The welcomeness of gentle breeze

All these and more my heart do swell
And then my soul says, “It is well”

The wilderness a sacrament
The vibrant stillness infinite
The wind that rustles in the trees
It seems that time will never cease

A window opens to a place
Which weary soul can now embrace
The gift of silence like to gold
My heart will ever, always hold

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Creation, Nature, Poems, Spiritual

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