Lent

What are you giving up for Lent?
Are you going on a diet?
or giving up just chocolates?

If I will fast, what form to take"
to "give it up?" -- or to renew
another view to living?

Ash Wednesday really means much more
than merely ashes on my brow,
and walking with downcast eyes.

Lent, a time to examine self,
to read, and meditate God's Word,
time to repent, and to pray.

Picture This

Picture this --
A loving father, slowly pacing,
Patting the babe in his arms,
Attempting to console.
“There, there, my child, I have you.
You are safe here.”
Sobbing slows, the weary head falls
To nestle, gently,
In the crook of Love’s arms,
Beneath the jaw line of Safety.

Picture this --
A loving father, slowly pacing,
Watching his children at play,
Watching playfulness turn to anger.
“Oh, no, my children! Turn away!
Return home again.”
They choose not to hear. His wearied gaze remains,
Ever-watchful.
Love’s arms reach out in entreaty..
“Repent! Return to Safety.”

Picture this --
The loving father, slowly pacing,
Watching the clock. The child had called!
“I’m coming home, Dad.
I’m sorry. Please, wait for me?”
The moment of arrival, Love’s arms reach out,
Enfolding errant child, safely home.
Tears coursing down each one’s cheeks
Cleansing all past sorrows,
Forgiveness soaking in.

Now, picture this--
Father, child. Reconnected!
Love reached out --
To you, His beloved child,
Resting weary head between His shoulders
You are held safely in His arms,
Once again.

Flood My Heart

Flood my heart with light, O Lord,
Shed light into my future.
For all who will believe in You,
You've promised life eternal.

Flood my heart with love, O Lord,
And help me love all others;
My brothers and my sisters, Lord,
For they are of Your family.

Flood my heart with hope, O Lord,
For in this world of evil
We need the hope of life with You,
A hope of life eternal.

Flood my heart with You, O Lord,
And help me aim my focus
On You, the Father of us all,
And ask for holy guidance.

Flood my heart again, O Lord,
For I forget Your mercy.
Flood hope, and love, and light into
My heart ... and through my being.

Like Abraham

(This poem was written in memory of Warren & Donna Pett, missionaries to Africa, and for their family here in Wisconsin.)

Like Abraham

When God told Abram to leave behind
His family, and his inheritance,
Abram immediately walked away.
God’s promise became his direction.
This wandering nomad continued
‘til God finally said: “Stop!
The Land of My Promise is Canaan.”

Disciples also were told to leave behind
Their family and their inheritance.
With emptied hands and only desire,
They walked away from all they had known.
Their identity changed from “fishermen,”
As they walked toward His Promise ..
Despite their not knowing their future.

Farmers of lands, Warren & Donna,
Were called to become missionaries.
Leaving all they knew in Wisconsin,
They tilled hearts and souls of God’s people.
They died there, in harness.
If they had known … they still would have gone.

The Lord Remains

With each season of every soul:
Through winter's blight,
And spring's renewal,
Through summer's growth
And autumn's bloom,
The Lord remains constant.

As we progress throughout our life
We will begin
To realize
That Christ is ALL
We need, to live.
The Lord remains steadfast.

All through Life, our growing soul
Belongs to Him.
Although our sin
Has blackened us,
We learn to see
The Lord remains loving.

Second Chance

Second Chance

Thank You, Oh God of Second Chances.
It’s a brand new day, in a brand new year.
It’s a fresh new slate to write upon.
What, Oh Lord, will You say?

Will this be the year I obey You?
Will this be the day I remain with You?
Will this be the time I seek You, Lord,
To guide me through each day?

Oh Lord, I plead for this second chance
To become all that You wish me to be!
Only if You’re there beside me
Will this next chance be true.

God's Choreography ... Part Two

God's Choreography ... Part Two
      
       Overnight, the flu bug struck again … this time at me, and with a vengeance.  Fearful of re-infecting Mother, I made arrangements to leave for home.  Meals were already prepared and in the freezer, and a young woman living in the apartment building was willing to check on Mother daily.  Mom assured me she’d be “fine,” and she did sound stronger.  I hated to go, but I couldn’t stay.
I called several times in the next couple of days, and all seemed … if not “well,” at least it was “better.”
God used all this turmoil in His choreography.  God had delayed my first arrival.  I was then allowed to make the effort, and to pursue “possibilities,” but it was evident I was not the principal dancer here.  The flu effectively booted me off stage so that Mother could continue her dance to God’s choreography.
Pre-dawn Monday morning, the emergency room nurse called.  Mother was back.  Dehydration is not an illness allowing hospitalization, at least not on Medicare payments, yet obviously Mother was unable to live alone in her apartment.  She needed more care than just a daily “check in” person could provide.
God directed the ballet with the ER nurse in the main supporting role.  Mother remembered the name of the assisted living facility I had seen.  The nurse made the many phone calls to me and the facility’s manager.  By late afternoon the dance culminated with Mother’s admittance to the facility, “until I get better.”  Three days later, she asked if she could stay.  It was time for other dancers to take center stage with her.
Allowed my part again in the encore performance, the official moving day occurred six weeks later.  Everything Mother owned had been sorted.  Most of her furniture and all of her clothing went with her.  Extra possessions were sent off with grandchildren, or to Goodwill and the Salvation Army.  The ballet was concluded.
The standing ovation occurred that evening as Mother looked around her new accommodations.  Her own furniture was creatively arranged to form small living areas.  Her own pictures hung on the wall.  Her favorite pottery pieces graced the wide windowsills.  A few unopened boxes were pulled out of sight.  As late-afternoon sun beamed through her large windows, Mother sat back with a sigh.  “I am … soooo happy!” she said, looking around at her domain.  “I just love it here!”
God’s choreography gave Mother and me nearly eight more months before He gathered her in her final bow.  From sleep, directly into God’s arms.
What a dance!