"This Certain World"

April 16, 2015

"This Certain World"

Jesus, I have this burden.

Every time I brush “this certain world”

Something happens up here,

Up in my head,

Something I can’t explain.

And down here, in my heart,

Something ties up;

Emotions tangle,

Ready to burst forth, to

Vent themselves,

Almost to drown me.

Not wanting to be found out,

(Too late sometimes),

I seek a place alone where I can cry.

Down from my head and

Even in my heart,

Something spills out.

I can but gasp:

Reigning King, use me for Your glory!

Enough for me: to serve Thee as Thou wilt.

This “certain world” is Your eternal Kingdom

Our mantra: Your way of serving others.

Be there few Christians, few who will be faithful,

Enduring One, I desire to live for Thee.

Jesus of the Scars

April 8, 2015

Jesus of the Scars

(I got the idea for this poem from the title of something I saw online by Edward Shillito:

https://wmson.wordpress.com/2006/05/19/poets-corner-jesus-of-the-scars/

Jesus of the Manger,

A Baby sweet, serene.

Church is comfortable with this,

Fondly view this scene.

Jesus of the Crowd:

Teacher Who could Heal.

The One Who spoke in Mercy,

Who made the storm be still.

Jesus of the Scars,

Another picture this.

A gruesome sight, the crucifix;

Mockers jeer and hiss.

The scars are raw and deep,

The blood is running red,

My Lord is there upon the cross—

I can but bow my head.

Such agony is there,

Such shame and misery!

What spineless wimp I find myself!

I am not strong as He.

He took it all up there.

Abuse and thorny wreath

Had come before and now nailed high,

God’s wrath would find relief.

He poured it out on Him

Who knew no speck of guilt.

Christ drank the cup to bitter dregs

For man His blood was spilt.

Jesus of the Scars,

I know You stayed not there;

They buried Thee and, come to life,

You made me “Righteous Heir.”

And still I see Thy scars.

They’re in Thy hands and side.

I see the Christian life is hard

There in Thy sober eyes.

And what will be my lot?

To what will I be sent?

What battle field will my eyes see

For Him Who ‘fore me went?

The stripes well might be more

Than I could ever dream;

The scars may, too, be deep

As Thine that I have seen.

I know Thou wilt be there,

But will my courage last?

Will I be true and brave for Thee?

(And is this wrong to ask?)

I blush to say this, Lord,

But, I’m afraid of pain.

What horrors Thou in courage took,

I bow my head ashamed.

It is the truth, though, Lord.

Oh, Jesus of the Scars!

If only trials will draw me close

To Thee, bring Thou what mars.

The Fifth Season

March 27, 2015

The Fifth Season

It is the fifth season:

A year has gone by.

We relive the feelings,

The thoughts in our mind.

A shock to us all,

“What does the news mean?”

I didn’t think much

On how the year’d be.

It couldn’t be so;

“Surely ‘tisn’t that bad.”

I was in denial.

Such short time we had.

My family would cry.

“It’s too early for that!”

I’d think to myself,

Wishing time would turn back.

“It won’t be long now,”

One person told me.

She couldn’t be right.

I would not believe.

“When will this all end?”

My thoughts would cry out.

We were tired by then,

About to wear out.

My Mother admonished,

“This all will soon end.

When this battle is over,

Life will be changed then.”

We can’t get time lost

To return for our use:

Many moments I’ve wasted;

Much time I’ve abused.

Love the people you love!

(But not desp’rately:

Fear is a tyrant;

Wisdom is key.)

Don’t go a day

Without loving your own

Then be thankful for mem’ries

When God calls them home.

In the South’s Summer

March 20, 2015

In the South’s Summer

Her shoulders were broad.

Her back was straight.

Her skin was brown,

(The kind not fake).

Her legs were long.

Her feet were smooth.

Her step was sure,

(She knew “her groove”).

Her face was fair.

Her eyes were big,

A honey brown,

Or the color of figs.

Her lashes curled,

So beautifully long.

Her name fit her,

A summertime song.

“Fawny!” Meg’d call.

Her head would raise.

She’d amble over

From where she grazed.

My cousin’s cow

Became Meg’s pet

When the horse desired

Meg couldn’t get.

Meg loved her pet.

I see them now

Still in my mind:

The child and cow.

I haven’t seen Fawny

For quite some time,

But that sweet, tan cow

Still stays in my mind.

What beautiful days

We spent with her

‘Neath pecan trees

In the South’s summer!