A fine feathered bird –
a new travel companion,
black rounded head
and jet black back to the wind.
Soaring over roadside fields,
black and white patched back
reminds me of killer whale markings.
Strange long tail,
twice the body size.
No name for him.
I’ll just call him a travelling bird.
Posted in Poetry | Tags: Bird, Black-and-white, Monterey Bay
Yesterday I met Martha,
with her soft steel gray hair coiffed and curled,
and the generous smile that encircled her greeting -
a greeting as warm as could be for a first meeting.
Martha’s pride was showing
as her husband, her son and her grandson,
rehearsed with the choir,
singing the songs she knew,
and her face glowed
as the familiar tones and harmonies
could be heard clear and true.
Yet hidden in the warmth that is Martha,
was the fact that she knew of her shorter lifeline,
short time with her family,
precious time to remember
all they had done
all they had planned
and all they would do.
Short time for Martha could be counted in months.
She strained to see every detail of the ordinary events,
to remember every color, every shadow,
every plaid and calico of daily outings.
Ears heard sermons better than at any other time,
for they sifted out the extraneous
and cut to the meat of the content.
Sermons brought out dormant teachings,
and biblical quotations became
even more a part of her speech.
As we talked and shared the minutia of life,
it was my minutia but her point of interest,
the fellowship coffee smell wafted through
and she remarked
how wonderful and generous these fine people were.
We shook hands,
and thanked God for the chance meeting
as we applauded the practice of the fine hymns.
I needed to go on my way,
and Martha was readying for some important event -
maybe lunch.
Yesterday, I met Martha,
but I’ll remember her tomorrow.
Posted in Poetry | Tags: Counties, Dukes, God, Human hair color, Massachusetts, United States
I will sing a song of praise to God
with my heart and mind,
speaking words of truth
learned in my youth.
I will sing my words of praise
and be comforted to know
that He hears me as I pray.
I will sing a song of praise to God
with an upright heart,
living every day
seeking every way to serve and please Him.
I will sing a song of praise
and be comforted to know
He hears me as I pray.
I will sing a song of love to God
with my heart and soul,
thankful I am wholly filled with His love for me,
for everyday I see His love from all eternity,
and it is given as a gift to me.
I will sing a song of praise
with my mind and heart and soul
in gratitude for His love.
I am thankful.
Posted in Poetry, Religious | Tags: Christ, Christianity, God, Jesus, Lord, Music, Praise and Worship, Religion and Spirituality
Aunt Polly wanted Irish music
at the funeral.
“…the pipes, the pipes are calling…”
Minor minstrel tones
of cockles and mussels,
all clothed in the musical green
for her day.
Underlying joyous tones
covered family sadness.
Aunt Polly was gone at 92.
Never upstaged by green ditties she,
for Polly had her own finale.
As casket and bearers began
roll and step in line,
the last look at the church taken,
tones of “Tea for Two” collided.
Tea with a finishing touch of
“As Time Goes By.”
Missing only were Humphrey and Ingrid.
Mourners entered patient limos
but were overheard to say,
“Aunt Polly would have liked that.”
She did.
Posted in Poetry | Tags: Arts and Entertainment
I Hear You, Lord.
I hear You speaking to me, Lord,
speaking so only my heart can hear.
I hear You calling to me softly.
I must respond and praise Your Name.
In the recesses of my soul,
in that remote place,
that quiet place,
I hear Your voice.
Gentle, oh so gentle,
speaking with love,
to give me confidence,
to encourage me to be Your hands,
to touch others in love.
In the back corners of my mind
where infant thoughts are born to grow,
to strengthen and mature,
You give me confidence.
You encourage me to be Your feet,
taking me to others to serve them -
to serve You.
You arouse my soul.
You give me strength.
Yours is the inspiration for good.
So deep within I hear Your voice
yet not with spoken words
but with a feeling
with a desire to serve You -
to love You
as others are served each and every day.
I hear You speaking to me, Lord
speaking so only my heart can hear.
I hear You calling to me softly.
I will respond and praise Your Name.
Posted in Poetry, Religious | Tags: Arts, Christianity, God, Holy Spirit, Jesus, Lord, Samuel
Gone are the days of childhood.
Memories of yesterday have past.
Here is today, long awaited day,
the moment to speak of love at last.
To speak it in the presence of friends
and say it for all to hear and see,
in tuxedo and boutonniere,
best man is standing near -
bride in the flowing dress of white
candles lit, the faces bright -
all will witness the testimony of love.
They come to pledge themselves to each other.
Each with the serious thoughts the words mean.
They speak their vows one after the other
a pledge of love – a pledge of devotion
a pledge of care and trust.
Plans for tomorrow have started.
Dreams for the future begin,
for today in this place,
as they stand face to face
they invite another
Who will grace the marriage vows.
Jesus, the partner,
the One who blesses any union,
the One Who brings holiness to their love,
is present -
a most important Wedding Guest.
Posted in Poetry, Religious | Tags: Ceremony, Groomsman, Jesus, Marriage, Marriage vows, Relationships, Wedding
We’re travelling the wide sage brush prairies
in our sturdy built home on four wheels,
just gazing away out the window,
and wondering how it would feel
to have gone in an old prairie schooner,
with a family crossing the plains,
having taken all of their possessions,
to weather the wind and the rains.
Making camp as the sun was near setting,
with the rays casting shadows so long,
but with each one,
their chores undertaken,
Mother’d have fire and food warming on.
The horses are unbridled, watered,
and fed before family’d eat;
as important a task, even more so,
for they need to rest their tired “feet.”
Such a challenge the passage presented
one could never foresee nor believe;
for weather, the travelling companion,
had surprises up her sleeve.
At times, growing clouds seem to build up
and flatten in great anvil shapes,
encouraged by winds from west ranges,
giving vistas of wondrous cloudscapes.
Yet, hidden within the cloud galleons
lay a power to frighten the best,
to shiver the timbers of most men,
as they dare to conquer the west.
And mother would comfort her babies,
holding frightened ones close by her side,
whispering words that could ease fears
as each in Mom’s dressfolds would hide.
Yet each threat had its inborn duration.
Storms spent themselves and passed on,
while family’d recover their courage,
hitch up, and continue onward at dawn.
We never will know how they did it,
with their primitive wagon and goods,
but courage and faith were companions,
as they forged every mile they could.
Our house has a bathroom and shower;
soft beds, with clean linens are made;
a kitchen, and fridge, chairs and tables,
with awning on the side for our shade.
No courage required in these times,
save for one whose strong faith
and good cheer,
has made the same trip for the first time,
yet, she’s now in her eightieth year.
Hats off to those old pioneer stock.
Silent praises, non-spoken, we give,
as we travel the roads in today’s time,
their courage we’ll try to relive.
gratitude. =) (Photo credit: camerakarrie)
Life takes its twists and turns
running through childhood
faster than a mother would wish;
running through being a young adult
with ever so many big decisions;
running through beginning, middle,
and late middle age.
Soon it catches up to the “golden years,”
that those in the rich years wonder,
“Who ever coined the term ‘golden’?”
These are the negative years
when goals are accomplished
when those practiced skills
become part of the person,
when independence is taken for granted,
and then comes the past prime time.
Night driving is so uncomfortable,
as is so many loved sports.
The handicap is higher because of age.
The theater gives a senior discount,
but let’s go to the matinee.
A fine meal costs less, but less is served.
Sometimes aches and pains slow one down,
or some medical realization affects our life.
Sometimes we need assistance with shopping,
or going to the doctor.
Neighbors and friends take us to do shopping,
and maybe we start to depend on someone
to take us to church.
Slowly, and sometimes unnoticed,
we slide on the backside of life.
The ache we went to bed with
is there as we awaken.
We lose time because we choose to stay in
more than we care to go out.
Time, that once was such a needed commodity,
now shuffles along,
not much different than the everyday pace.
What good am I?
What can I do?
Negative questions with unacceptable answers.
Pray in gratitude with a sincere, “Thank you.”
Thank you for every meal prepared by someone else.
Thank you for every piece of clothing
when other hands do the dressing.
Thank you for cutting my meat,
and wiping my mouth,
and bathing me,
and giving me my medicine,
and tucking me in just a little too early.
The simple words that mother taught me
when just a small child,
these are the words -
the prayers of gratitude -
and I mean them.
Jesus in Garden of Geth. (Photo credit: Alastair Dunning)
Over a period of years we have met,
frail friends,
some just back from a hospital stay,
some needing care of kind hands,
every hour,
every day.
The reason for our meeting is Jesus.
He is making a house call.
Over the time of our meeting
the question may arise
“Why am I still here?”
“Why…?”
There isn’t an answer to the question.
Jesus knows the answer.
Yet, from the tiny room,
in a quiet house
somewhere in the country,
many things happen.
Prayers are prayed,
if only with a gracious “thank you.”
There is a loving concern
for people never met,
and whose paths will never cross
Posted in Poetry, Religious | Tags: Christ, Christ Jesus, Christianity, God, Jesus, Lord, Opposing Views, Religion & Spirituality
I hesitated writing about the next friend, because if I asked her permission, she would wonder why she would be included in a book titled “What Is The Gift?”
When I was seventeen, I felt called by God to give my life in His service. And so I prepared, and my family prepared for me to leave them and pursue my studies. I left my warm mother’s arms to the good hands of Mother Mary Ursula. Details of this will come in another book, someday.
Mother Ursula had been a teacher of eighth grade boys, which made her firm and clear in her directions, and gave her a stern face even as she tried to bite her inner cheek to keep from laughing. The Novitiate was her new assignment: thirty-five women, eager for holiness as soon as possible or when the probation time was finished, whichever came first.
Mother had two qualities that any teacher must have: firmness and fairness. These she had in abundance. She also had to work with all the over-zealous activities of the novices, and yet guide them to the maturity needed to serve in what could be arduous and lonely work. A strong hand and a cool mind were there not to give answers, but to present possible choices. Gentle encouragement could be counted on, even as times were difficult.
After many years in the novitiate, I realized the convent way of life was not right for me. My only request, after making the decision, was that Mother come and get me from the convent where I was teaching and take me home, where I was greeted by my family with open arms. This she did, even as it was a difficult task to do.
For many years, I would visit. My babies, and then my young children came. Our visits were few, but as with any friend, many subjects were covered in a short time. We discussed other convent friends, and over the years, more time was given to praying for their recovery or their loss.
Although I called seldom, I knew in my mind that she would be as close as the receiver to my ear when I needed advice. Our visits were by phone and letter when I lived far away, with a little time given from one of the vacation days when I came home at Christmas time.
However, I always knew she was there in my mind. When I was called on to become a counselor and principal for teachers, I wondered if I could do the work. With one phone call I was reassured that this is what I was trained to do, and to start doing the work. I hope I have done just that.
I have said “thank you” many times, but it is only received with a “well, my dear, don’t you worry about that.” I guess I’ll analyze what she taught me someday, but now I’m just working and practicing her example.
Posted in Prose | Tags: Christmas, Eighth grade, God, Mary, Mother, mothers day, Novitiate, Teacher
