Conference yukon::christian_v7

KAHALA::JOHNSON_L "Leslie Ann Johnson"

QUIET MORNING 

Quiet by the lake.
Quiet in the morning.
Breezeless, soundless, waveless.
Silver is the water.
Silver is the sky.
Cerulean and blue-green-gray
   the opposite shore.
Gold, the dappled light
   falling on nearby trees.
Still my soul, be quiet, be still.
Match the peace of this
Small portion of creation.
Worship in silence
The Creator of this
Quiet by the lake.

Leslie Johnson
(c) July 1983

    When my body was tired
    Your Spirit held me,
    rocking me in peace.
    
    When I was hungry,
    Your Spirit satisifed me
    with food for my soul.
    
    Sweet, living water 
    quenched me when my
    spirit was thirsty.
    
    You know my temple
    like a blind man knows his home.
    Body, soul and spirit you inhabit.
                                     

Spring Breeze

He touched my life,
a gentle touch,
an early spring breeze
promise of life touch.

My heart sang a song
wafting on that breeze -
the breeze of His love,
a wind song of promises.

Do you hear ?
sing then,
join the welling chorus,
a symphony of joy.

Leslie

            Out of the Shelter

    I'd fleeting glimpses of Death before - 
    A flash of dark and grief.
    But always only from the shelter
    Of youth's naivete and 
    from a safe distance.

    My Grandpa died, oh, long time past
    But he was old and lived far enough away
    that I saw only my Dad's tears of loss
    And heard my Grandmother's cry of pain.
    I didn't see Death daily visiting,
    painfully tearing breath and strength away.

    Then there was Gary - my little sister's boyfriend
    Their youthful romance was already fading
    when he wrapped his car around a tree
    Dying suddenly and swiftly.
    I, seven years older, living in another town,
    Didn't know the boy, but wanted to comfort
    Carolyn with a hug - she pushed my arms away
    I think that then she'd fallen from the shelter
    for awhile, but youth heals fast,
    And there was lots of living to be done.
    And Death's pall was soon gone.

    Two years ago, my grandmother 
    let Death lead her out the door.
    The room of life was colder, quieter,
    But she'd lived life complete
    and left no loose ends undone.
    Though tears freely flowed, especially
    when solemn bells tolled
    as we filed from the church,
    in the cemetary the sun shone clearly.
    And I knew it was okay.

    Last year it was not okay
    when I stood at the side of a hospital bed,
    and watched the covers over a friend
    rise and fall in turbulent heaves like
    the ground along the San Andereas fault 
    in an earthquake.  Though he was weak,
    his grip was strong, as if though 
    he could by clutching our hands,
    hang onto life and so stay.
    His wife's eyes were so dark so deep
    so full of tears and pain
    as she cradled his head and softly said his name,
    that if you looked for long you would have drowned.

    Death's tool then to cleave him from life
    was cancer, and cancer is the same name
    for the threat Death now holds over my Mom.
    I have fallen completely from the shelter,
    and stand in the midst of the storm,
    No safe distance now, protects me from
    the teasing and tormenting of Death 
    who takes all whom one knows and loves.
    So much sadness catches in my throat.
    So much anger churns my insides.
    So much darkness and grief threatens 
    to overtake the citadel of my heart.

    And yet I know that Death, that potent enemy,
    Will not have the final victory.
    For though my grandparents perished,
    And though my parents will one day no longer live,
    And someday Death will fell my husband, and come for me
    And for our children, and maybe their children
    We have a Saviour, who'll raise us up in bodies
    Warm and real, that we may hold hands, and hug
    And sing with real vocal chords,
    Songs that we can hear with real ears.
    We will see each other and we will see Him
    who knows our earthly fill of pain, 
    because He was here and faced Death on a wooden stake.
    Faced Death's torments, teasing, scorn 
    Faced the mockery of all breath stripped away
    And went out by Death's door BUT NOT TO STAY.
                He is the Way 
               to resurrection 
              into life eternal.
    O Death you have no real victory - God reigns
    and has chosen for us - life, unbounded life.

           Retrospective

    This year stands unique among
    the thirty-eight I've known.
    In intensity of loss endured
    and number of witnessed beginnings.
    Which shall mark it longer in memory
    when traced back from years hence ?
    Though I hope never to loose the joy __
    four times over this year, 
    I've shared in celebration where 
    two become one; unite their lives.
    Yet I think, the good byes will longer stay
    to mark heart and mind's recall.
    I said good bye to a deeply wanted child
    Who left before ever coming --
    Little unknown, unnamed son or daughter
    Swept out of me in pain against my will,
    I weep for you still as I weep for the one
    you would have called Grandma.
    A lovely lady, not just mother, but friend.
    For seven watchful days we gathered,
    held tight her hand as she slipped
    deeper and deeper into stillness.
    Further and further away from us,
    Her daughters, son-in-laws, and husband.
    When at long last, seven days' eternity ended
    I ended the stillness 
    with the jagged, tearing cries of grief, 
    hot and rasping heaves of sobbing that
    sometimes still well up and out and down my face.
    I was never good at good-byes.
    Too many were asked of me this summer --
    backwards and forwards, parent and child.
    But all around that pain,
    there dances the delight of wedding joy.
    Light and somber threads of life tightly knit,
    I cannot in looking back see just the one,
    joy and pain together make the whole.

    Leslie Johnson
    October 1992

                   Autumn

    Come fall, darkness nibbles at the light
    Shortening the day on either end
    And making long the night

    Even at noonday, sun's warmth is weakened.
    There's a slight chill edge to the air
    That does of winter's deepening cold protend.

    Yet the beauty of this time I would share
    With you my friend and all the world as well
    For this season, this moment, now, is without compare.

    And no matter how long on earth I dwell
    The glory of many and varied autumn trees
    Shall in glory make my spirit swell.
    
    Their leaves with color my eyes do tease
    Crimson, orange, rust, ochre, and gold
    No paintbox can produce such colors as these.

    Here a delicate touch, there a stroke that's bold.
    This can only be the work of the Master Designer
    By His creation much is told

    Of Himself and how even death to Him must defer
    For it cannot muddy the joyous color
    Of God's unshakeable resurrection power.

    Leslie Johnson

    c February 1992

    Oh look at this flower and see,
    Is this not a most lovely peony ?
    With petals of creamy pink and deep rose.
    Now lift it gently to your nose,
    Has it not a most lovely scent ?
    So very sweet and fragrent.
    Oh the beauty of the Lord's creation,
    Fills my heart with glad elation !
    But the wonders of the earth so fair
    Do not in anyway compare
    With the love I see in my Saviour's face,
    Nor with the wonders of His grace.

    Leslie Johnson   May 3, 1990

Paper
  Like fine watercolor paper,
    Freshly, newly made,
      White, crisp, textured.
        Beautiful.

Reed
  Like a reed in the marshes,
    Tall, slender, gently swaying,
      in the evening breeze.
         Beautiful.

Solitary
  The only birch
    etched clearly, elegently
      against deep, dark evergreens.
        Beautiful.

Dancer
  Like a dancing ballerina
    reaching up, up
      shimmering against the backdrop
        reaching up, up
          to the silver grey
            dusky evening sky.
              Beautiful.

Prayers
  My solitary prayer
    Joined by your prayer and yours,
      Reaching up, up
        Etched against the world
          Seemingly like fragile paper
            Like swaying reeds
              But strong,
                Pure in line, simple
                  Heard by God
                    Answered by God
                      Beautiful.

September 15, 1988

               I stand at the edge of the dawning day
               As charcoal lifts to silver grey,
               And rose hues tint the bare tree limbs.
               My soul breathes in and expands in joyful hyms;
               Hyms of praise and glory be
               To He who created and shelters, loves and forgives me.

               Overwhelming wonder !
               That He who brought forth
               The earth and sky, stars and sea;
               That He who fashioned with such care
               All that lives, moves, and breathes the air __
               Should gift the shining treasure of the universe
               To the sons and daughters of mortal beings.   
               We who cannot sustain our lives beyond our time;                
               To us He gave, to our keeping and rulership.
               The earth is ours to treasure, care for, and share,
               Ours to own, and have, and use
               For generations and generations yet to come.

               Overwhelming wonder !
               At the wonderfulness of His love,
               That He should pour forth
               Such loving care, such concern
               On this one individual,
               This small container of life -- me !
               I, a member of the race
               That turned our faces from the face of the King.
               We took His gift without our thanks
               And claimed it came not from Him.
               Solely ours to own, and have, and use
               For generations and generations yet to come.
               
               Overwhelming wonder !
               That He whose stolen gift became     
               In the hands of Man, the rebel master
               A tarnished place, marred by grief, war, disaster
               Gave again, a second gift more precious yet;                    
               He gave to an ill and dying earth,
               Gave to the children of discontent
               Himself, the Son, part of the Holy One;
               Gave His own to claim us back
               And quench the stinking fire of death
               To give us glory, love, and life
               Forever, and ever yet to come.
               
               I stand at the edge of the dawning day
               Sure in the knowing of my Way,             
               For I will inherit life and love eternally.
               Oh great joy, and glory be !
               For I am the daughter of the King
               And with His praises my voice shall ring !


                                             Leslie Ann
                                             November 17, 1988

Even a dandelion is a flower
Caught in a sea of green grass
It shines bright yellow above the lawn

But it mars the landscape
It breaks uniformity
Yet green and yellow are good together

It is a weed 
Not supposed to grow with the green grass
But a child offers it to his mother because of its beauty.

And when left unchecked
It spreads its seed
And the sea is dotted with little sunbursts again

But though it is a flower; a pretty flower
The dandelion does not belong on the lawn
It is out of place and out of favor

� 1993  Mark Metcalfe

          Reminders

What type of tree is this that holds 
its leaves long aft' autumn's past ?
Flattened orbs of golden ochre
with edges burnished toasty brown.
Like tattered clothes upon a line,
they waver in the wind, 
Or lie scattered 'round the trunk -
Dark, warm spots upon the bluish snow
to remind us of the things we know:
Meadows of daisies quivering in the breeze,
Tucking in between sheets that hold
the scent of summer sun-stirred air,
Coffee in the early morn on a crisp fall day,
The sun on my face, the warmth of your hand,
The round table of the seasons,
And the Lord of all -
Who knows we need reminders,
And so gives us them in simple things.

Leslie Johnson
March 4, 1993

    Many of us lose confidence in prayer because
    we do not recognize the answers.  We ask for 
    strength and God gives us difficulties to make
    us strong.
    
    We pray for wisdom and God sends us problems,
    the solutions which develop wisdom.
    We plead for prosperity and God gives us a 
    brain and brawn to work.
    
    We plead for courage and God gives us dangers
    to overcome.
    
    We ask for favor and God gives us opportunities.
    

    Within the garden of my heart where flowers of friendship grow,
    there are blossoms of remembrance Forget-me-nots so blue.
    And purple velvet pansies to tell my thoughts of you.
    and roses that will always bloom whatever be the weather,
    whose fragrance is the memory of days we spent together.
    

    In the meadow, the grass is always green
    it whispers in the darkness
    of how good God's love can be.
    
    I never have to leave there
    at least not in my mind
    For thou art always with me
    to show me love so blind.
    
    Its blind to all my failures
    when I confess to thee
    You gave your Son for my sake
    Who died on calvary.
    
    So in the meadow I stay and stay
    for hours into the night
    And try to ignore the creatures
    Whom on my flesh do bite.
    
    
    
    Donna Huddleston    9/27/91
    

One of the final things my father said of the man in 49.4 was that 
he often brought his hands together at the tips of his fingers
in sort of a point and held it over his head.  This sign, as he spoke
signified begin under the Lordship of Christ.

But, and this is why I put it in this topic, he said something interesting
related to this motion:

"There comes a time when prose must give way to poety, and also a time
when poetry gives way to dance."

Often when he spoke, he would use this gesture with his hands, giving
way to a better expression.

    
    
    Element Water
    
    "...and the sea changes color, but the sea does not change.."
    
    There are lots of exciting, beautiful & colorful surprises dwellling
    	in our raging seas and the calm, cool elixir of lake and streams
    Water is a giver and taker of life
    It gives to the crystal blue sky its white clouds and playful
    	reflection
    It nourishes and heals us creatures of Earth
    It welcomes back replenishing rain drops; It accepts and vigorously
    	refreshes all God's children in its playground
    
    During the deep, dark light of the moon, she then offers her rhythmic
    	sound to lull the souls of even the wildest beasts
    Sleepy eyes play with the stars as they dance across waves of life
    Enjoy the beat of this beautiful dream...for it is real
    
    Aurora Borealis visits to laugh and sing and waltz with her old 
    	time friend 
    All the stars, the moon, the creatures, the rocks and trees gather
    	above and below the surface on this gala occasion; celebrating 
    Heaven on Earth
    
    Float in her misty, rainbow aura; her sight and sound so majestic
    Dare to dream of this beauty...for it is real
    
    But....be ever aware of the undertows of the sea, for in an instant
    	one can be pulled under fatally
    Take care...for cool, placid lakes cna devour a life in a blink 
    	of an eye
    
    Release pain; fear not the flow of bittersweet tears.....
    	for salt tides cleanse
    Cool and heal the ever burning heart that is life
    
    Seize every moment with love; rejoice and be exceedingly glad
    Mourn not the broken heart...for in life there is pain
    Pain that can tear us in half or gently tug at our inner child,
    	reminding us that we are alive
    No different are we fromthe every changing moods and colors 
    	of the sea
    With every new tide, every new sunrise or sunset....
    There is beauty
    
    Live and enjoy the Dream of this beauty......
    Awaken the soul to our Morning Star.......
    Arise and be Born Again....Dance to the Divine Tune of 
    	The Great Spirit's Grace 
    
    
    
    			Cynthia Elizabeth Martin
    

  My father is a person, kind and strong.
  He seeks to keep my feet from wrong
  Because he has a Father too
  Who shows him all the things to do.

  My father's Father shows the way
  To help me love Him day by day.
  In everything I say and do
  May I be a Father just like You.

  Happy Father's Day

       - Mark Metcalfe
         22-May-1991

I'll bet your Dad was happy to get that poem from you Mark !  

It reminds me of my Mom.

Last year around this time, actually a few days earlier than today, we had 
all gathered around her bedside because she wanted to say a few words to us 
together before she "left".  Mom had been suffering a lot of pain, and went 
in and out of confusion due to the pain and drugs.  At this point she seemed 
fairly clear as she told us how much she loved us, what a wonderful family 
she had, how good her life had been & that she had no regrets.  She talked 
about her wonderful husband, and her wonderful daughters, and then began to 
talk about her wonderful father who had always guided her, and taught her so 
much.  At first we thought she was wandering into confusion again, because 
her father never did those things.  My grandmother had gotten pregnant
and a couple of years after my Mom was born, she married my Mom's father.  
But they never lived together, divorced after a short while, and he went out 
of my Mom's life while she was still young and never contacted her again.  
As we stood in silence & listened to her talking about her father, I caught 
the words - "my Father in heaven" and realized that Mom was talking about God,
her wonderful Father who had always been with her, guiding and teaching her 
throughout her life.  I felt the tears flowing as I realized Mom knew very 
well what she was talking about and wasn't wandering in confusion at all, and 
I feel the tears now as I write this because I miss her so much.  She died of 
cancer on August 11, 1992.

Leslie

I'm not sure I sent this to my dad, but I should make sure of it, I suppose.
We do talk on the phone and say "I love you"s.  But a poem?

----

May the Father of heaven comfort you on this mournful anniversary, Leslie,
with the knowledge that it is us who should be mourned for missing our
loved ones, and not them who have finally met Him face to face.
There's not a few songs that speak of this, and I suppose that many
outsider would think we're crazy to look at "the end" so hopefully.
But we do not greive as others who have no hope, for our Hope is in
a Risen Savior.

There'll be light in the sky from the palace on high
When I come to the end of the road
Sweet relief from all care will be waiting me there
When I come to the end of the road.
When the long day is ended; my journey is o'er
I shall enter that blessed abode
Where the Savior I love will be waiting for me
When I come to the end of the road.

    
    The author of the famous poem "Footprints" has been officially
    identified and formally recognized.  Her name is Margaret F. Powers.
    She wrote the poem two decades ago.  
    
    Hallmark has endorsed her authorship.
    

I recently (2 or 3 weeks ago) read an article about her, and this 
poem.

Leslie

    Absolutely I'm interested in reading this article. :-) :-)
    
    Nancy

    
    		Come rain or snow or sleet or squall,
    		   I have to tickets for the Ball!
    
    		But let one drop the walk besmurch,
    		   It is too wet to go to church!
    
    					Leslie Long
    
    Don/

    
    		It takes more grace
    	  	   than I can tell,
    		To play second-fiddle
    		   and play it well.
    
    Don/

I like that - a simple, elegant, and true proverb.  Is it something you
wrote, or something you came across somewhere ?

Leslie

    A former pastor said it in church once.  I don't know where he got it.
    
    Don/

    This might belong under the "Who has seen him" topic 258, but...
    
    It's a song by Keith Greene:
    
    Oh my job keeps getting easier
    	as time keeps slipping away.
    I can imitate the brightest light
    	and make your night look just like day.
    
    I put sime truth in every lie
    	to tickle itching ears.
    You know, I'm drawing people just like flies
    	'Cause they like what they hear.
    
    I'm gaining power by the hour
    	They're falling by the score.
    You know it's getting very simple now
    	Since no one believes in me anymore.
    
    "Oh heaven's just a state of mind"
    	My books read on your self.
    "Have you heard that God is dead?"
    	I made that one up myself!
    
    They dabble in the magic spells
    	They get their fortunes read.
    You know, they heard the truth but turned away,
    	And they followed me instead.
    
    I used to have to sneak around, 
    	But now the just open their doors.
    You know no one's watching for my tricks,
    	Since no one believes in me anymore.
    
    Everyone likes a winner,
    	Whith my help you're guaranteed to win.
    "Hey man, you ain't no sinner!
    	No, you tot the truth within."
    
    And as you life slips by you believe the lie
    	That you did it on your own,
    But don't woorry, I'll be there
    	To help you share a dark new home.
    
    My job keeps getting easier
    	As day slips into day.
    The magazines, the newpapers
    	Print every word I say.
    
    This world is just my spinning opt
    	It's all like child's play
    You know, I dream that it will never stop,
    	But I know it's not that way.
    
    Still my work goes on and one,
    	Only stronger than before.
    I'm gonna make it dark before the dawn,
    	Since no one believes in me anymore.
    
    Well, I used to have to sneak around, 
    	But now the just open their doors.
    You know no one's watching for my tricks,
    	Since no one believes in me anymore.
               
    I'm gaining power by the hour
    	They're falling by the score.
    You know it's getting very easy now
    	Since no one believes in me anymore.
    
          

    
    
    Does anyone have, "The Master's Hand's"  I think is the name?  It is
    about an old fiddle or violin up for auction.
    
    
    Thank you and God Bless,
    
    Mike

>       <<< Note 19.32 by GRANMA::MWANNEMACHER "country state of mind" >>>

>    Does anyone have, "The Master's Hand's"  I think is the name?  It is
>    about an old fiddle or violin up for auction.
    
    Mike,

    That is a song written by Wayne Watson.  He wrote and recorded it many
    years ago on one of his early releases.  He did do a newer version on
    his last release.  I can't remember the name of either release right
    now.  I'm sure your local Christian supply can direct you to it.

    Ron

    P.S.  Great song!!!

    
    
    Definitely has some meaning to it, Ron.  Thanks for the info.
    
    
    
    Mike

This year, following my mother's death, has been a dry one for me as far
as poetry is concerned.  There were a couple of heartfelt outpourings of 
words close after what was a great loss for me, and then months of silence, 
although the longing to write came and went periodically.

Yesterday after church, although I had a whole list of chores to do, the
spectacular autumn day and the excited yearnings of Abby and Tucker, our
dogs, drew me outside to take them for a two hour walk.  We followed
a trail through the woods near our house, and I was overwhelmed by the
beauty around me: the clearness of the air, the impossible blue of the sky,
the way the interplay of sunlight and trees to pattern everything in
gold and shadow, the song of the wind rustling through the branches, the 
first few new-fallen leaves of autumn scattered lightly like ocher, amber, 
orange, and yellow confetti across the trail, the sheer exuberance of the 
dogs as they explored on ahead and then joyfully dashed back to me.  Words 
began to well up inside - fragments of poems running through my head.  But 
I had nothing to write them down with, and unrecorded, they fluttered away.

But in the evening, sitting in a Michael Card concert, as I listened to his
music, and what he sang, and the words he spoke in between the songs, words 
began to flow into my heard and mind and I quickly jotted them down on the
a card of information we'd been given as we walked in, and in the back
cover of a book I'd purchased at the table outside the auditorium.  Later,
at home, these jottings were reworked into two poems, Stumbling of the 
Heart", and "A Mother's Thoughts", which I share with you here:

    Stumbling of the Heart

    I wrote a poem back then,
    And thought it eloquent:
    History, philosophy, profundity
    Woven in a cadence of words.
    But years have passed, and I
    Have now lived enough to speak
    The stumbling of the heart
    And recognize the clumsiness of words.
    For I've felt the ache of beauty,
    Seen the fiery edge of love,
    And bowed beneath death's crush.
    I've whispered good-bye while holding hands
    With one who held me when I was a child,
    And showed me by example
    How to live and die in faith.
    I've been humbled by the love of God
    Who taught me the sacredness of life
    By stepping into death for me.
    So now for love of Him,
    I make vulnerable my heart,
    Willing to learn the pain of joy,
    And know the wordless peace
    Within the pain.

    Leslie Johnson
    September 19, 1993

         A Mother's Thoughts

    Gazing on your tiny sleeping self,
    I am touched by tenderness
    More deeply felt than 
    Words can circumscribe.
    Little one, my own,
    So helpless, so fully needing
    All the care I can give you,
    I give you what I can -
    Keep you dry and clean and nourished,
    Sing lullabies on a stormy night
    To make a circle of peace
    For you to sleep within,
    Rocked by my love, held by love.
    But all that I would give you, I cannot:
    Wisdom known without the danger of experience,
    Joy of love without the pain of loosing,
    Life without the scabs and scars of falls -
    No harm my little lamb, no harm.
    But knowing I cannot,
    I cast you upon tenderness,
    The tender love of Jehovah God
    Whose love for you is circumscribed
    Around and through eternity.

    Leslie Johnson
    September 19, 1993

    Touched my heart Leslie... thanks for pouring it out in here.
    
    :-)
    Nancy

Thanks Nancy and Jeff.  I'm glad you enjoyed the poems.

Leslie

	Leslie,

	I enjoyed them , too (just didn't get a chance to say so!)

	Karen

    Below are the words to a song that I wrote while living in
    Massachusetts.  It was written in the fall and the inspiration for it
    came on my drive to work one morning.  As I looked at the many colors
    (they were spectacular that year) some thoughts popped into my head.
    That night I went home and wrote this...



                                LEAVES

                       Words and music by Ron Thellen

      Think of the beauty of the leaves as they change.
      Think of the life of the Saviour when He came.
      He'll come again just you wait and see.
      Just like the leaves in the spring upon the tree.

      As the weather turns to cold and the leaves will surely fall.
      He gave His life and He overcame it all.
      Defeated death, now we are set free.
      He did it all for undeserving you and me.

      He'll come again, in the clouds up in the air.
      Believe in Him, and His kingdom you can share.

      When the weather turns to warm and the buds begin to show.
      Think of the King when He came here long ago.
      He'll come again just you wait and see.
      Just like the leaves in the spring upon the tree.
      Just like the leaves in the spring upon the tree.

                        Copyright � 1985 by Ron Thellen

Thanks for sharing Ron.  Wish I could hear it the music.

Leslie

I appreciated that, too, Ron .... reminded me of Matthew 24:32

						Andrew

    I've got a short poem (somewhat of a), I'll not reveal the author until 
    the end..!

    It goes like this;


    			Confusion

    	There was anger in his heart
    	But love in his tears,
    	Acceptance came,
    	But forgiveness was to late

    AND the author is; (flip the page)
    

    My twelve year old son..!

    I had seen this on the wall, in his classroom, at a parent's night. I
    had asked the teacher for it, when she was done. She informed me she
    had to keep it, cause she loved it so much... So, I copied it onto a
    piece of paper... I had stuck it into my wallet.. and just found it
    this morning, after about a year..!

    I remember asking the teacher if she was sure he wrote it.. She insists
    she was watching him. She saw no books or other material. She even
    looked through countless poetry books and such, to be sure he hadn't
    plagiarized from something already written. She even asked some "poetry
    freak teachers" if they had ever seen those words... They had not..

    I asked my son about it.., his answer was... "I was day-dreaming and
    the words just popped into my head, I was suppose to be listening, but
    I just thought of these words, so I wrote them down"..

    Bob G.

    Notes 19.45 - 19.48 have been put in their own topic #284 to further
    discuss children's personality traits.
    
    Nancy
    co-mod Christian

    
    Little babe so soft and new
    	the world is just beginning for you
    
    unscathed by the world
    	all you know
    		is the tenderness of those who love you so
    
    
    Little boy growing so fast...
    
    	a person apart
    		from those who loved you from the start
    
    	someday you will find
    		the world is not always kind
    
    	one toughness you develop
    		and one which is inside
    
    		have the strength - choose the latter
    
    
    Through the years
    	as you learn and grow
    		live and love,
    			give and let go
    
    	you will find 
    		tough and tender do entwine
    			it forms the fabric of our lives
    
    
    I'm so glad you're part of mine
    
    
    ktm
    9/23/93

    That was incredible.. got goosey bumps reading it.
    
    Nancy

Welcome to the Poet's Corner Karen.  I'm glad you entered your poem
here, and I like it very much.

Leslie

    
    Help me to remember
    	when I'm tempted to compare
    
    myself against another
    
    it's no match
    	You're the standard
    
    One Divine purpose,
    	One Divine plan
    
    many avenues to cover,
    	many roles to play
    
    one different than another
    	all needed nonetheless
    
    there's one especially for me
    	help me do my best
    
    
    
    ktm
    10/25/93
    

    
    In the stillness of the night
    	the quiet of the rain
    brings a feeling of delight
    	knowing everything's alright
    
    Watch the rain as it runs down the windowpane
    
    In the stillness of the night
    	knowing everything's alright
    
    happiness is in sight.........
    
    
    ktm
    10/30/93
    

The lyrics to "The Refineer's fire" by Steve Green have really been hitting me
lately:

There is a fire with sacred heat
White hot with Holy flame
And those who pass within the blaze
Will not emerge the same.
Some as bronze, and some as silver,
Some as gold, and with great skill
All are hammered by their sufferings
On the anvil of His will.

The Refiner's fire
Has now become my sole desire.
Purged, and cleansed, and purified.
That the Lord be Glorified.
He is consuming my soul.
Refining me, making me whole.
No matter what I may lose,
I choose the Refiner's fire.

I'm learning now to trust His touch,
To crave the fire's embrace.
For though my past with sin was etched,
His mercies did erase.
Each time His purging cleanses deeper,
I'm not sure that I'll survive.
But the strength of growing weaker,
Keeps my hungry soul alive.

The Refiner's fire
Has now become my sole desire.
Purged, and cleansed, and purified.
That the Lord be Glorified.
He is consuming my soul.
Refining me, making me whole.
No matter what I may lose,
I choose the Refiner's fire.

    
    
    Thankful for our lives
    	and the freedom given from Thee
    
    Thankful for our jobs, our homes,
    	our friends and family
    
    All these things we owe to you
    	we never can repay
    
    But most of all the love you give
    	today and every day
    
    
    
    ktm
    11/10/93
    

  Please tell me if you think the following poem would be appropriate
  to give to a couple whose young son suddenly died.  Also, how long
  would you wait before giving it to them ?  I don't think anyone can
  really grasp how it feels to loose a child like that, unless they 
  have gone through it, and I haven't.  So I'm not sure if these words 
  would be helpful and comforting or detrimental.

  Thanks for your input,

  Leslie


    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    When you were newly born,
    And I held you close and warm,
    I felt such fierce tenderness,
    It was more than I could comprehend.
    You are my son, my son.
    And I love you.

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    I remember your first smile,
    And a little later, the laughter -
    The whole world seemed merry,
    Laughing with you was happiness complete.
    You are my son, my son.
    And I love you.

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    Your first word, though short
    And perhaps a bit unclear,
    Contained all the meaning
    Of the entire day.
    You are my son, my son.
    And I love you.

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    Your first step - so tentative,
    Now how much I've watched you run,
    Like a racing wind, 
    You've altered my life.
    You are my son, my son.
    And I love you.

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    Those unending questions --
    "How" and "Why" you constantly asked,
    Watching you learn,
    Has taught me so much.
    You are my son, my son.
    And I love you.

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    How can I say good-bye ?
    Why did this happen to you ?
    Unanswerable questions -
    That are breaking my heart.
    You are my son, my son.
    And I love you.

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    Giving you back to God
    Is the hardest task I've had,
    But I know His love for you
    Encompasses eternity.
    You are my son, my son,
    And I love you.    

    You are my treasure;
    What joys you have brought!
    Your life's impact,
    Was not in the length of your days,
    But in the wonder of your heart,
    And all that you gave.
    You are my son, my son,
    Forever, I will love you.

    November 22, 1993

    Leslie,
    
    I think they are very comforting..... As a mother of two sons, you have
    expressed what would be in my heart should I lose one.

    .57
    
    The poem is beautiful, Leslie.  As far as when to give it to them - as
    the Spirit leads - you'll know when the right time is.
    
    Karen
    

	Leslie,

	Is that an original ?
	
	It brought tears to my eyes when I read it in Parenting.

	You should definitely add your authorship and date to the
	note if so.

	Karen

Thanks - and yes, it is an original.  I wrote it yesterday after reading the 
request in Parenting.  Leslie.

    
    
    Just like Bethlahemm of long ago
    
    darkness fills this country's soul,
    
    searching for truth in a world gone mad
    
    not much left on which to stand,
    
    But the Truth has not changed in 2,000 years
    
    When will we open our hearts, minds, and ears?
    
    
    
    ktm
    12/5/93

    
    
    Tonight I think of christmas lights
    	around the town
    
    all is calm
    	all is bright
    
    In anticipation of things to come,
    	excitement is apparent in the young
    
    the birthday of the King has come!
    
    Thoughts of presents
    	piled so high,
    
    it seems they almost reach the sky
    
    Celebrate the Son of the Most High
    
    
    That my thoughts of Christmas 
    	would become reality;
    
    that Love would abound ....
    
    				abundantly.
    
    
    ktm
    1993

    I'll be reading this at my church's Christmas Eve service:
    
    
    On this night
    	so long ago
    
    Christ left the heavens
    	of His own free will
    
    not because He had to -
    	He wasn't forced
    
    but because He loves us
    	and wanted us close
    
    down to Earth He came as a babe
    	to take our place in sin's fiery grave
    
    born in a stable, not befitting His Majesty
    
    come to save our souls from tragedy
    
    that we always be mindful 
    	of the sacrifice He made
    
    which allows us to know Love
    	this Christmas Day
    
    Christ was born in Bethlehem
    
    May He be born anew in our hearts everyday
    
    
    
    ktm
    12/18/93
    

    
    The best laid plans of men and women
    sometimes come to frution
    
    more often than not
    a life of dreams, plans and schemes
    that comes to naught
    
    for failing to plan and fear of failure
    not the best of motivators
    
    except those lucky few
    whose plans are laid by You
    
    find contentment in their success
    Your way is the best!
    
    
    ktm
    1/11/94
    

Today I am teased and bemused 
By the slow quiet of winter 
Trickling out in rivulets
Running alongside grit encrusted roadways,
Tracing miniature echoes of river deltas.
I learn geography lessons on a stroll --
Glaciers and blue shadowed caves of glistening
Ice crystals, an Alaska landscape
Cracks beneath my booted feet.
I pause to peer, imagining the Lost
River torrenting beneath the ice cap.
Holding arms aloft, I bathe
In warm blue air, a bath of delight
Washing downstream winter's grey and cold.
At night, the extra quilt is folded back
Unneeded as we listen to dripping icicles 
Diminish in the sirocco breeze that hums
Bedtime lullabies among the unfurled 
Rhododenrum leaves.  But morning wakes
With strident shrieks of the Northeast
Gone mad and testing every window frame
For an entrance in to burrow into our
Bones with cold and misery.  There's the 
The staccato slash of sleet and ice
Kamikaze-ing against the roof and siding.
The tantrum is short-lived and in a day --
Sunshine and the sweet-throated giggles
Of returning birds seemingly at play.
Spring is a mercurial child,
Sometimes mild, sometimes wild.

Leslie Johnson
April 1, 1994

Nice, Leslie....  evokes such rich images, I want to be out among them...

								Andrew

Thanks Andrew.  The world God made is an amazing and wonderous place,
isn't it ?  :-)

Leslie

    
    	WINTER....
    
    Whispering wind wondering when
    winter will come and hit us again.
    Snow started to fall from the sky.
    Now we are wondering when it will pass us by.
    Why did we want the snow to come.
    This idea was really dumb.
    Shaking trees,
    snow up to our knees.
    Faces bit by the cold winter breeze.
    Finally the snow passed us by,
    thanks to the great big fire in the sky.
    
    
    			By: Billy Grover

    	WONDERING....
    
    Feeling sad, want to know
    where everybody's going to go.
    Will they be here will they stay,
    or will they go far away.
    Friends are leaving one by one.
    The days are getting less fun.
    Sitting down with my back bent,
    still wondering were they all went.
    
    		By: Billy Grover

    
    Bob -
    
    I really like Billy's poems!  How old is Billy?
    
    Karen

    Billy is 12... Will be 13 in July.....
    
    He wrote "Winter" last night, during the strange weather.
    
    He wrote "Wondering" while waiting to go to school this morning.
    
    His Pop is keeping copies for the future....
    

    "Dorothy Jones",
    We would address the envelopes
    Containing cards and letters to her.
    That's how she liked to be known,
    This fiesty lady whose sons were our fathers.
    And if we didn't write often enough 
    To keep her sufficiently informed to her satisfaction,
    She'd pen a pointed reminder:
    "By cracky, you folks still alive out there?"
    And then follow with a rambling account
    In the style that was all and only her own
    Telling all the recent events, the weather,
    People she knew, things she'd been doing ---
    Her ladies' church groups and women's guilds.
    Grandma liked to keep busy, always.
    I think she was president, vice president, or secretary
    Of every women's group and club in Richland Center
    At one time or another.
    When she wasn't busy meeting or writing to and 
    Keeping track of the lives of her sons,
    Their wives, children, and children's children
    Her hands would be busy
    Deftly making flowers and fruit 
    Of brightly embroidered lines and knots
    Grow on pillow case edges and doilies.

    Childhood visits to Grandma and Grandpa's house
    Are a composite of myriad memories:
    The garden out back, its neat rows
    Contrasting against the wild abandon
    Of the sumac and milkweed jungle beyond
    In which we played house and hide and seek;
    Exotic breakfasts of fried trout 
    Caught by Dad and Grandpa the evening before,
    Served with morel mushrooms and cookies
    (Grandma chose her meals the way she wanted
    and wasn't constrained by convention);
    The treasures that awaited 
    When we climbed steep, narrow steps 
    To narrow, hot rooms under the eaves -
    Books her boys had read - Horatio Alger and the Phantom,
    Beautiful china dolls, a little wooden house 
    That opened with a hinge, and
    Scads of costume jewlery - 
    The booty of years of sale scavenging.
    Grandma always had an eye for a bargain,
    And she was zealous in her pursuit
    At yard sales and summer sidewalk sales.
    But she never ever chintzed on pride in her sons.
    She loved her boys and their families,
    That was evident by the way she wrote us letters,
    And eagerly awaited our replies,
    Penning pointed reminders if we waited too long.

    Grandma, thank you for those letters.
    We're missing you, write soon, okay?


    Leslie Johnson  5/11/94

    Grand daughter of 
    Dorothy Rebecca Fox Jones
    January 12, 1908 - May 11, 1994

    Very eloquent Leslie... enjoyed reading and enjoyed meeting your
    grandma this evening.
    
    Hugs,
    Nancy

That's precious, Leslie.  Brought tears to my eyes.  Introduced us to her 
heart, in a succinct living picture ....

Prayers for comfort for the family, especially for today...

						hugs
							Andrew

    I thought of you last night
    Lying there so cosy and warm
    Yet troubled by decisions to be made
    And time never enough
    
    I wanted to take these cares
    and shoot them into the air
    Let you be free to live
    But alas all I could do was stare
    
    Then I was Him
    Holding you so tight
    Like a little child in the night
    My worries all faded
    As I realised
    That Jesus was there
    Right by your side
    

    Worries, Pressure, Deadlines
    All part of this life
    But sometimes too much
    Too many, too fast
    
    So where do I turn
    When worries concern
    To the source of love
    Jesus, my Lord
    
    With him all around
    I need not care
    For the the burdens I carry
    He is willing to share
    
    So life goes on
    Different from before
    Due to the fact
    That Jesus is there.

    Staring, empty eyed, into the darkness of the 
         midnight sky,
    She is alone, frightened,
    Sure that all hope is gone, all light is 
         extinguished.
    
    The darkness is all-consuming, smothering her.
    It draws the breathe from her chest
    Until she is empty
    She becomes the darkness.
    
    The hollowness of her body is filled
    Will the blackness of the night.
    She glances, on last time
    Into the void she has succummed to.
    
    She sees a tiny, almost invisible, light
    In the distance
    Yet is has a magnetism that tugs at the last 
         glimmer of life
    Still within her.
    
    Slowly and slowly she is drawn
    Away from the darkness
    Toward the light
    She reaches out to receive it with her
         weary hands.
    
    Suddenly she is filled with warmth and love.
    The radiance of the light
    Overpowers the darkness
    And delivers her from its grasp.
    
    She falls on her face, overcome.
    Singing praises to the light,
    Rejoicing in His redemption
    She worships Him with a love that 
         surpasses her dreams.
    
    Halleluia , Jesus is the Light!
    
    Pam     

	Eyes of Grace (this is still in draft form, but thought
			you might enjoy reading it even in its
			rough state -greta)


	It's an amazing thing
	that the Eyes of Grace would see in a broken girl
	the daughter of a King
	Imagine the joy of seeing what Love can bring
	It's an amazing thing

	It's a wonder of Grace
	that the King of Glory would take a child like me
	to dance in His embrace
	Imagine the Most High in love with my simple face
	It's a wonder of grace

	I once was lost, but now am found
	It's an amazing thing
	And I will praise Him

	It's an amazing thing
	that the Eyes of Grace would see in this broken one
	the child of a King
	Imagine the joy of seeing what Love can bring
	It's an amazing thing

	I once was lost, but now am found
	It's an amazing thing
	And I will praise Him


	G. Fiester, July 1994

Thanks Greta.  Much appreciated.  
					Andrew

    Amazing Grace.  Amazing, indeed.
    
    Bing

    The following poem was inspired by this past Sunday, and the following
    Monday morning.  __Leslie


        Fall Cleaning

    A trifle humid, a little musty,
    Indian summer day.
    Faded leaves, fallen underfoot,
    release their earthy smell
    as we step along the forest trail.
    It's a golden ancient, lazy afternoon,
    sleepy, half-glad, half-sad day,
    backwards looking time.
    Then, like an impatient hand,
    a sudden stirring breeze 
    brushes the air.
    Resinous pines release
    a flurry of brown needles
    like hairpins pulled from wound-up hair.
    Leaves rain to the ground like confetti;
    bits of golden yellow and red rust
    dot your hair, stick on my sweater,
    and catch in the dog's collar.
    Its a party, a celebration, 
    a momentary dance!
    And then the real rain begins 
    and rains all night.
    Morning dawns, a day newly laundered.
    The air is crisp like a starched curtain.
    Cobwebs, dust, ancient things,
    and memories are swept away.
    Its an empty space of a day,
    cleaned and cleared, 
    ready for new beginnings.
    
    Leslie Johnson
    October 10, 1994

    The following poem I can't claim as totally mine, it's inspiration 
    is something entered in the Poetry notesfile by another person in
    note 3375.0. 

              Wonderment

    I like to sit on Haystack Hill
    and watch the clouds drift by.
    I like to lie on Haystack Hill
    warmed by the sun, 
    tickled by sweet scented grass,
    quiet, peaceful, still,
    from early morn to early dusk,
    and from my stationary watch,
    observe the sun pass from east to west.

    Knowing it is not the sun
    which orbits round, but
    the hill on which I lie,
    is a bump on a twirling, whirling globe
    spinning on its axis 
    a thousand miles per hour,
    circling, racing 'round the sun
    one million, six hundred thousand miles a day.

    But what my mind knows, 
    my senses do not convey.
    I lie peaceful, still, 
    not a hair moves, there's no wind in my face
    no rushing noise disturbs my ear,
    no rapidly oncoming objects blur my vision.
    Motionless and in wonderment, 
    I contemplate the power 
    Who has hung the earth among the stars,
    set it upon its spinning course through space,
    established my life,
    And preserves it tenderly 
    here on Haystack Hill.

    Leslie Johnson
    October 10, 1994

    I enjoy some poetry.  This is one of my favorite poems.  I know nothing
    about the author.  I'm not even a fan of New England geography.  The
    author's use of words amazes me and if you read this aloud you will
    notice a definite rythym which is appealing and even catchy.

			A Painter in New England

Did you ever note the beauty of the soft New England grasses,
All the ochres, reds, and browns;
And the flowers; the purple asters and the goldenrod's rich masses
With the cardinal's flaming gowns,
Dots of blood against the tangle of the reedy lone morasses
Where the nodding cat-tails rustle under every wind that passes?
Ah! what reticent depth of color,
Growing brighter, growing duller,
As a smile of sunlight broadens or a gloomy storm-cloud frowns.

Have you read the blazoned glory of the sunsets revelations,
Glowing scarlet streaked with gold;
Or observed the crumbling sky-towers cleft by radiant fulgurations,
Ruins gorgeous to behold?
While the East is hung with tapestries done in serene gradations
And the naked vault of heaven is touched with vivid variations.
Where in all the world resplendent
Or the poets' mind transcendent
Car such miracles be imagined, form so grand or hue so bold?

Have you watched the dreamy progress of a gray New England schooner
Drifting down a line of radiance, dawn-bright gold or silvery lunar,
Ribbon narrow or ocean wide?
Such a boat in such a background
I will paint you ten times sooner
Than a lily-perfect yacht with drooping topsail and ballooner.
No, for me the old-time vessel
In a land-locked bay to nestle
Till the light breeze flaps her stay-sail and the light wave laps her side.

Have you shrunk before the grimness of the rugged 'long-shore ledges
Where the groundswell surf rolls in
Round the battlemented coast-line with its walls and bastion wedges?
Hark! the cave-resounded din
As a breaker smites the granite with the strength of giant sledges
And a swaying fringe of foam enfolds the dark cliff's dripping edges.
Readily will other nations
Yield a sheaf of sharp  sensations,
But the landscape of New England holds a rapture hard to win.

				Charles Wharton Stock

  Thanks for entering that Jeff, I liked it too.  I'll have to look up Charles
  Wharton Stock and see what else he has written, and to try and learn from
  him.

  Leslie

               Promise

    Thousands of microscopic droplets
    Fracture the light of the sky.
    Tracing the curvature of the earth in reverse
    A rainbow hangs in the sky.
    An arc of pastel mist, too beautiful to be real.
    Ethereal and fleeting, it forms an eternal seal
    On the promise made long ago:
    God will never again open Heaven's floodgates 
    To launder life from earth.
    Mercy allows us to live our fractured lives,
    Forgives and shapes anew.
    Compassion permits a peek
    At heaven's greater glory revealed
    In a trace of luminous color
    A promise of hope so real
    Its beauty cannot be concealed.

    Leslie Johnson
    October 10, 1994

    
    Very good, Leslie.
    
    jeff

    I kneel before your throne
    O' Majesty on High
    My head held in shame
    knowing it was for me you died
    
    You reach, touch my chin
    and say to me,
    There'll be no condemnation in Heaven
    There'll be no condemnation in Heaven
    
    I stand on judgement day
    as tears of regret fill my eyes
    knowing things I could have done
    to bring others to Christ
    
    You wipe my tears away
    and say to me,
    There'll be no tears in Heaven
    There'll be no tears in Heaven
    
    I look towards you in awe
    as a little child
    I am a reflection of your love
    Daddy, hold me for a while
    
    You place me on your lap
    and say to me,
    There will be rejoicing in Heaven
    There will be rejoicing in Heaven
    
    
    Nancy Morales
    November 16, 1994

    RE: .88
    
    beautiful, Nancy.
    
    
    Karen

    very moving indeed Nancy  :)
    
    Sylvain

                        New Year

         In so many times and ways, a year begins
         More in tune with the sway and rythm of life
         Than does the new year born in January.
         April heralds new life - 
         Pastel blooms, tender greens, new growth.
         July erupts in fireworks
         Recalling the hot, glorious birth of this nation.
         September announces the academic year
         As summer's indolence gives way to autumn's changes.
         But January is dark and still,
         Framed in frost and cold, the world turns inward.
         
         In the heart of darkest winter,
         The heart looks in on itself in quiet contemplation.
         The perfect time for review, repentence, renewal.
         Set aside wrapped-up regrets,
         Collect bouguets of resolution,
         Move forward, out of the night, 
         Into the light of a new beginning.

         Leslie Johnson
         December 21, 1994

    A girl called Mary
    
    
    Mother of God
    example to the greatest and least of all
    an angel presented the Lord's request
    she paused for a moment, then surrendered her will
    she gave all she had 
    her body and soul
    for the sake of her God
    the savior of the world
    
    a peasant girl
    humbly led to the place of her heritage
    cold and unwelcome, many turned her away
    not so unlike today
    
    how did she have the strength to stand alond?
    how could she trust in what was unknown?
    The power of God had touched her soul
    that is what gave her peace and hope
    
    she had no choice but to trust His word
    her life, and more, was His greatest concern
    her heart must have felt the burden of the world
    her womb held their hope, the promised Messiah
    
    so much responsibility for a young maiden to bear
    not only this, but more, of which she was not aware
    pain of the deepest kind, grief for a mother to bear
    the death of her son, to a crowd's scornful jeers
    
    would she, could she
    if she had known what lie in wait?
    we'll never know
    because she chose the path of faith
    
    ktm
    12/4/94

		    If I could combine
		    the sweet-throated warbling
		    of all the song birds 
		    from all the earth,
		    into a great symphony
		    and play it for you 
                    from a music box of inlaid woods;

		    If I could gather
		    all the stars
		    flung across the galaxies,
		    wrap them in silken gauze
		    tied with a milky, pale
		    pearlescent ribbon,
		    and give them to you;

		    If I could contain
		    the surging tides 
		    of the seven seas
		    in a sparkling decanter
		    of diamond-cut crystal
		    placed on the mantle
		    above your fireplace;

		    If I could plumb
		    the depths of the earth
		    for the richest of gems,
		    blood-red rubies, ice-tinted diamonds,
		    and saphires of deepest blue,
		    set them in a crown of pure gold
		    upon your noble head;

		    Not even then
		    would I have given
		    to you the value
		    of the priceless treasure
		    you have given me - 
		    your love, so precious to me,  
		    So I give you in turn, my full heart.

    
    Very good Leslie!  Meter is present (and increased discernibly) and 
    interesting rhyming pattern comes through.   Use of language is
    provocative as well.
    
    jeff

After the autumn rains have torn
spent leaves of gold from limbs lifted high,
and swept clean the skies of warmth,

Then comes winter's frozen breath,
to harden the waters of the lake
and suspend the norther hemisphere in hibernation,

But under the frozen mantle,
crocus, tulip, and daffodil await the certain spring
in silent, pregnant expectation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For everything there is a time and season,
a time for speech and action,
and a time to withdraw in contemplation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In ripeness of time shall come Echad
Whose Shekinah will give us light to see
Now hidden intricacies of creation's being and significance.
HaMashiach, the One who is the Aleph and the Tav,
The Word who spoke all words into existence,
Shall reveal to us our place, the destiny
Towards which we've been walking
All during the years, the words and deeds of our lives.
Then, with clarity, we'll recognize
Those appointed times of meeting
When eternity broke through finate time,
Momentarily revealing in concrete form
Of lamb and exodus, first fruits and latter harvest gathering,
Of solemn fasts and joyous feasts ----
Heaven's greater reality.

I enjoyed that, Leslie... thanks!

After the first part, I felt like taking my camera (I can't paint or draw), 
and sitting beside the dark earth just waiting for the bulbs to break lose, 
to catch the moments...

Then the second part turns the first into a marvellous picture already!  
- when we shall be a part of the breaking lose into the new creation. 1 
John 3:2 makes us a part of it!
						thanks again!
								Andrew

MAN AS LEADER AND ANTAGONIST OF WIFE 

I know how the sameness of each day can get one down.
How the saneness of each day may not be found.
Yet I know no truer words have sound,
than that this day can't come back 'round.

This is a trial all Christians face.
Some days lack profound thought to trace.
But Jesus Christ does help us brace
Look forward! He says;  stay in the race!

Shall I do the dishes dear?
Shall I whisper in your ear?
Just what is it that brings you near?
To God Most High and Jesus here?

Its faith, prayer, and hope, I say.
Its asking God, redeem the day!
A date! a talk! a change!  you say,
Yes, alright! I'll even pay.

-jeff

    -1
    
    :-) :-) :-)

  ------

  Crystal trees
  bow their knees
  to the seas
  of whitened leas
  for children's glees
  and country skis.

  Shimmering show
  of frozen snow  
  casts its glow
  to and fro 
  on those who know
  why trees bend low.

  Winter's sand
  across the land
  is ever planned
  to show His brand 
  of what is grand
  from God's own hand.

MM

Snarf
arf 
barf
scarf

What rhymes with despicable?

    redicuble?
    
    
    
    
    
    Hey, I tried!
    
    Pam

predictable ;-}

Leslie

More winter poetry.  MM


Winter fare:
crispy air,
sunny fair,
snowy glare.
Unseen hare
over there
without a care.
Answered prayer.

    
>      <<< Note 19.100 by TOKNOW::METCALFE "Eschew Obfuscatory Monikers" >>>
>
>...
>
>What rhymes with despicable?
                     ^
    ?Metcalfe???-----+
    
    nyuk, nyuk, {thump}, {thud}
                   ^        ^
    MM hitting me--+        +-----me hitting the floor

    Ice Storm

    An earthbound event,
    Commonplace winter storm,
    Has transformed familiar ground
    Into a magic space.
    Graceful birches trail
    Long fingertips and tendril wisps
    To graze the air with silver
    Against deep shadows
    Between solemn pines,
    Richly dark against the snow.
    The winter sun hangs mild
    In a soft blue sky,
    But where its rays
    Catch the silver tendrils,
    Brilliant sparks of fragmented light
    Set my spirit ablaze
    With joy and delight.

    Leslie Johnson
    March 3, 1995

Jeff,

Your poem has real truth in it.  I think one of the best ways husbands
can show their love to their wives (especially the ones who do not have
jobs outside the home) to understand in some measure the sameness, the 
repetitition, the unendingness of tasks like laundry, and meal preparation, 
and what we refer to as kitchen pergatory (cleaning the kitchen) in our 
house, and to provide some relief from it .... ie. "Cheryl, I'll take over 
for a couple of hours here so you can get some time to do whatever you want" 
or "Sweetie, why don't we hire a babysitter and go out for dinner and moonlit 
stroll Thursday evening?"  Mind you, these are just examples, each man's 
wife will be unique, and you must be sensitive to who she truely is in order
to meet her personal needs.

Thanks for entering the poem.

Leslie

    
    You're welcome, Leslie.  Before I wrote it I had been meditating on my
    wife's mood, reviewing what I've learned about women and my wife
    particularly.  Almost always, when Elaine reaches the point of
    complaint my first response has been to point her to our Lord.  And I
    believe that I must do this (and this I consider a part of leading
    her).  However, this same action may be viewed by her as antagonism. 
    In her mind, I know she knows these truths and she is in full agreement
    with them and practices them (asking Jesus to redeem her dreary days,
    for example).  But she and I both know there is more to leadership.  I
    should also be willing to do that which I know is important to her
    namely; taking her out, having adult, quality conversation and
    generally changing her environment.
    
    After writing that poem, I went home and said, "Let's get a babysitter
    on 3/11 and go out.  There's a Titian exhibition at the museum and we
    can have a nice dinner."  She is very pleased.
    
    I'm glad to know (just for fun) that I could write a poem that had
    truth in it but that wasn't too obscure or too obvious to discern.
    
    jeff

I just bought a CD that was on sale because it is from new artists.  It's by
two women, and they call themselves KarenLeigh (their two names).  I really
like it.  There are several songs I like, but I'll just post one here.  It's
called "But I do."

If I had made the world
With my bare hands
Breathed all life
With one commnand
Named the stars and 
Numbered the sands
Then I'd have no need of You
But I do

If I could tip the
Scale to innocence
And balance out the consequence
Where love and justice
All make sense
Then I'd have no need of You
But I do

   I do believe
   I'm a soul in need
   And I do see life is in You
   I do believe
   There's a hope for me
   And I do believe it's You
   I do

If I could only think
The purest thoughts
Where love was all
My soul had sought
And peace was all
My heart had taught
Then I'd have no need of You
But I do, I do

If I had born the sacrificial Son
Washed the guilt of everyone
Caused the curse to be undone
Then I'd have no need of You
But I do

   I do believe
   I'm a soul in need
   And I do see life is in You
   I do believe
   There's a hope for me
   And I do believe it's You
   I do

If anyone can see my heart
They'll know I've found
The missing part
The One that fits my heart
Will fit their's too

   I do believe
   I'm a soul in need
   And I do see life is in You
   I do believe
   There's a hope for me
   And I do believe it's You
   I do

    If I knew you and you knew me--
    If both of us could clearly see,
    And with an inner sight divine
    The meaning of your heart and mine--
    I'm sure that we would differ less
    And clasp our hands in friendliness;
    Our thoughts would pleasantly agree
    If I knew you, and you knew me.
    
    If I knew you and you knew me,
    As each one knows his own self, we
    Could look each other in the face
    And see therin a truer grace.
    Life has so many hidden woes,
    So many thorns for every rose;
    The "why" of things our hearts would see,
    If I knew you and you knew me.
    
    
    By Nixon Waterman

				Purify Me
				~~~~~~~~~

						Words and Music Annie Herring


		Living God, Consuming Fire,

		Burn the sin from my life.

		Make Your will my desire

		Take my life in Your hands.


			Purify me with Your blood,

			'Til I shine far brighter than purest gold,

			In Your eyes.

						(c) 1988 Latter Rain Music

Another CD I bought recently, by David Robertson, I bought for just one song.
The rest of the CD is good, but this song is worth it alone for me.  I've
been really working on dying to self - unless you're in a similar place, this
song won't mean much.

"Goodbye to me" by David Robertson

Lord, I want to be a servant of the King
And I want my life to be inspired by all you bring
But for this, I must die
And sometimes it's hard to understand the reasons why.

Isn't there some way I can save a piece of me?
Isn't there some how you can take this cup from me?
Lord, I hear you whispering that this is how it has to be
But, my God, it's awfully hard to say goodbye to me

  Hold me close as I say goodbye to me
  Let my heart know that you are all I need
  I'll stay right here on my knees
  Until I have the strength to say goodbye to me.

  'Cause I'm tired of livin' somewhere in between
  My love for you and my love for me
  So take whatever's left of me
  I sacrifice it, Lord, to Thee.
  Goodbye to me.

Help me cast down every idol that I've built
Lord, and lay them all where Calvary's blood was spilt
There where You sacrificed Yourself for me
Now it's my turn, Lord, to die for Thee

  Hold me close as I say goodbye to me
  Let my heart know that you are all I need
  I'll stay right here on my knees
  Until I have the strength to say goodbye to me.

  'Cause I'm tired of livin' somewhere in between
  My love for you and my love for me
  So take whatever's left of me
  I sacrifice it, Lord, to Thee.
  Goodbye to me.

Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye to me.

    
    That's beautiful Paul.  Thanks for posting it.
    
    Jill

         Butterfly

    Tremulous wings flutter
    As flutters my heart
    When senses overfill with wonder
    At the beauty of bits of flying blossoms
    Alight on stationary blooms.

    Leslie Johnson
    May 11, 1995

        Heart Full of Spring

	The softness of May
        holds pastel leaves
        not yet gone all green.

        Crab-apple and wild cherry
        Bear a flurry of blossoms,
        pale pink as a newborn's fingernail.
        
        Subtle scents fill senses
        with a perfume meld 
        of dew, warm earth, and hyacinths.

        Caressing breezes cradle the song
        of returning birds by day
        and spring peepers in the night.

        Primroses by the garden wall
        nod wisely to the unfurling fronds
        of fern just upthrust from the soil.
  
        What a wonder for the heart
        Glory un-capturable by words or paint
        And yet I must try.

        Leslie Johnson
        May 11, 1995

    Sometimes I get the impression that those who profess Yeshua (Jesus)
    are expected to always be optimists, look on the bright side,
    be happy, and not know grief.  Yet I believe that we are called
    to share our neighbors' griefs as well as their joys.  How it 
    all works out, I don't understand and do trust God about.  But its 
    also okay to cry about the results of the fall, all the sad, hurtful, 
    ugly things of this world, and death is one of the ugliest things.  This 
    poem is an anguished cry to God about that.  I long for the day when the 
    kind of suffering and sorrow that Juliane & her husband's family just 
    recently went through will never happen again.

    Leslie


    Just a little shadow across the day.

    Stopped to chat with a neighbor and say,
    "Isn't it lovely - the warm sun and blue sky,
    But why your long look and sad sigh?"

    "Yes, the day is pretty, but I feel like crying,
    Its Mike's oldest brother, he's dying ...
    Each day after work we go to the hospital,
    Its been so painful watching him fade little by little,
    Every day worse, but still hanging on ...
    He'd always been so active and strong.
    He was a lab technician years ago, 
    Back when people still didn't know,
    Before HIV and AIDS were household words
    Before all the careful, protective anti-AIDS standards ..."

    "Oh, Juliane, I'm so sorry ... my voice faded away
    Into such hurt I didn't know what else to say.
    
    But pray with her there,
    Under pines sweeping the sky so fair,
    Pray for mercy, a swift end
    for one who'd been brother and friend.
    
    And wonder how could the sun still be so bright.
    When across the day there lay such a shadow of night?        

    Leslie Johnson
    May 16, 1995

    Just don't know where - 
    where to begin
    When earthly kings surrender
    To this world of sin
    To walk the walk
    And talk the talk (truth is)
    Heaven on earth
    Is one stairway
    That can't be bought
    The price is paid
    We believe that our God reigns!!!
    
    {chorus}
    The true believers
    Stand on every word You say
    The true believers
    Made alive in Christ today
    This is how we survive
    And where we mean to stay
    The true believers
    
    You've had enough -
    All you can take
    When your river of tears
    Runs into an ocean of heartbreak
    He'll be your moon 
    When your Sun goes down
    Fire for you if
    Ice is all that's on your ground
    When your music has died
    And silence is the sound
    
    So if you need -
    To call on a friend
    He's there for you
    Right until the very end
    His love is alive
    Forever and AMEN!!!
    
    - Phil Keaggy, title track from his newest CD on Sparrow Records

    Sometimes Lord, it seems as though the valley never ends
    that more trials come just as light is seen around the bend
    Help me Lord to know that your Love is mine
    to hold it, touch it, feel it, and know it is Divine
    
    And once Lord, I've immersed myself in all that is for me
    Help me Lord, to let it go and give it tenderly
    to others Lord, who are looking for the light around the bend
    when it seems that their valley just won't ever end.....
    
    Nancy, 6/28/95
    

    amen

				Morning
				~~~~~~~

	Like coal-red embers, across the clouds
	    The sun shakes off it's weary shroud
	The water dances darkly, beneath the sky
	    As bird-song starts

	Crimson and purple, the hues of the dawn
	    The dark green mountain, in the light of the morn'
	In rising splendour, of this new day
	    This warms my heart

	A silver snake, on ribbons of light
	    Comes to greet me, out of the night
	To whisk me past the Grandeur of Your Hand
	    I see, but in part

	The bush and the scrub, the blue-grey sky
	    A sleepy-quiet creek, slides lazily by
	The mirror'd reflection, of sandstone and granite
	    They sing of the past

	A sleepy village, stirs from its' slumber
	    as the train roars through, its' wheels a-thunder
	As coal-red embers, across the clouds
	    Fill my heart

	    With longing for You.

Words: Harry Woodward-Clarke
� 12-Jul-1995 - Zamar Music

    Beautiful, Harry.

This is a lovely, soft, acapella song


Is not He who formed the ear,
 worth the time it takes to hear?
Should He who formed our lips for speaking,
 be not heeded when He speaks?

Will you not listen?
 Why won't you listen?
God has spoken Love to us,
 Why will you not listen?

Listen to the sacred silence.
 Listen to the Holy Word.
Listen as He speaks through living
 parables that must be heard.
Parables that must be heard.

Will you not listen?
 Why won't you listen?
God has spoken Peace to us,
 Why will you not listen?
Why will you not listen?

He spoke a Word of flesh and blood,
 flesh and blood that bled and died.
Bled and died just to be heard.
 How could you not hear this Word?
Why will you not hear this Word?

Will you not listen?
 Why won't you listen?
God has spoken Hope to us,
 How could you not listen?
Why will you not listen?
 How could you not listen?

    If you are worthy of my hope
    You are worthy of my hopelessness
    You are worthy of a name
    a name I cannot speak
    You are worthy of this crown
    I have laid here at your feet
    
    If you are worthy of my strength
    You are worthy of my weaknesses
    Of all the good that I've become
    and all that I've refused to be
    You are worthy of the heart 
    that lies broken at your feet
    
    If you are worthy of my riches
    You are worthy of my poverty
    and of the beggar at the gate
    or a mother as she grieves
    You are worthy of each tear
    that has fallen at your feet
    
    O, if I have understood
    anything you've tried to say to me
    a gentle voice that says I could
    find my way back home
    and says to me I'm worthy of the love
    from one upon the throne...
    
    � David Teems, "A Name I Cannot Speak"

I just got a CD by Phillips, Craig, and Dean.  I'd never heard their stuff
before.  The music is good - a bit rock-y for some tastes, no doubt, but good
vocals and good, energetic music.  But the words are awesome.  I could post
the words of nearly every song here.  Here's the first song on the CD
"Trust:" "You don't have the right"

You don't have the right
	By Randy Phillips

  You don't have the right to remain silent,
   If you've been arrested by God's grace.
  You've got to take the stand to tell the story
   Of how your guilty stains have been replaced.
  Everything you've done has been erased,
   By the evidence of Love.
  So you don't have the right, 
   No, you don't have the right.

Have you ever found yourself apprehended,
 Caught in your complaceny?
The struggle to remain undercover,
 Hide the witness you were meant to be?
When you know so many others around you
 Need what you have to say.

  You don't have the right to remain silent,
   If you've been arrested by God's grace.
  You've got to take the stand to tell the story
   Of how your guilty stains have been replaced.
  Everything you've done has been erased,
   By the evidence of Love.
  So you don't have the right, 
   No, you don't have the right.

Can you make it your determination
 The people wait to hear your plea.
The words you speak could be vital
 To somebody's eternity.
When so much hangs on the part that you play
 How can you not speak up?

  You don't have the right to remain silent,
   If you've been arrested by God's grace.
  You've got to take the stand to tell the story
   Of how your guilty stains have been replaced.
  Everything you've done has been erased,
   By the evidence of Love.
  So you don't have the right, 
   No, you don't have the right.

When you're called to tell what you know,
 Walk your talk and talk your walk.
Come on, let the redeemed of the Lord say so,
 Let 'em say so.

  You don't have the right to remain silent,
   If you've been arrested by God's grace.
  You've got to take the stand to tell the story
   Of how your guilty stains have been replaced.
  Everything you've done has been erased,
   By the evidence of Love.
  So you don't have the right, 
   No, you don't have the right.

"Ready for the Rain," by Shaw Craig and Leonard Ahistrom.
Performed by Phillips, Craig, and Dean

  Ready for the rain,
   Ready for a chance to grow.
  It's those showers from above,
   That make the river flow.
  Ready for the rain,
   Gonna face the storm head-on.
  Though it drives me to my knees,
   That's where I'm made strong.
  Ready for the rain.

I always ran for cover when the stormy clouds
 Came rolling down my way.
The sound of distand thunder it would shake my world
 And make my heart afraid.
But I watched my faith grow stronger,
 With every storm I walked through.
And the blessing of it all,
 Is that it brought me close to You.

  Ready for the rain,
   Ready for a chance to grow.
  It's those showers from above,
   That make the river flow.
  Ready for the rain,
   Gonna face the storm head-on.
  Though it drives me to my knees,
   That's where I'm made strong.
  Ready for the rain.

It seems with every drop that falls,
 A little more heaven lives in me.
It gives me faith to see a dim reflection,
 Of the man I dream to be.
When the sun comes out tomorrow,
 I'll stand here as living proof,
There is a blessing in the rain,
 Because it makes me more like You.

  Ready for the rain,
   Ready for a chance to grow.
  It's those showers from above,
   That make the river flow.
  Ready for the rain,
   Gonna face the storm head-on.
  Though it drives me to my knees,
   That's where I'm made strong.
  Ready for the rain.

Even if those showers fall
 You're still Lord above it all.
So I'll look up to You
 For the Grace to get me through.

  Ready for the rain,
   Ready for a chance to grow.
  It's those showers from above,
   That make the river flow.
  Ready for the rain,
   Gonna face the storm head-on.
  Though it drives me to my knees,
   That's where I'm made strong.
  Ready for the rain.