Monthly Archives: April 2013


“How dare you tell me what to do!Image

Who are you to command respect?

You are just a Private Two.

I’m a Private, if you reflect!”

The Private two in full retreat,

Went to His Private First Class.

Of the insubordination he would repeat

To send the message up to brass.

The PFC frowned at the report

About the Privates disrespect.

He decided to refrain for a retort

Until his Specialist could reflect.

The Special didn’t like the sound

Of Privates sneering at command.

His Corporal would be told when found

And then authority would take its stand.

The Corporal, red-faces and mad

Stormed of to find the Sergeant’s ear.

This Private’s rebellion was very bad

And should be replaced with respectful fear.

The Sergeant to the Staff Sergeant went

And found the Sargeant Major, too.

Sending up and up to the President

The Reporting rose. Now what to do?

The President called the Private to come

To the Oval Office in urgent haste

Where he reluctantly received some

A full report of the discipline he faced.

“You disobeyed my very orders,”

Said the Commander and Chief.

“Your disrespect certainly borders

On treason, worse than a thief.”

“I did not disobey you,”

The private said in defense.

“It was a Private Two

Not a smart one, one that was dense.”

“His authority comes from me

So it was my orders you disobeyed.

And now you stand defenseless and guilty

And your punishment must be displayed.”

Down the very chain of command

Orders do not get weaker.

They carry the same unaltered demand

From the President down to the speaker.

The same is true in the Family of God

Of the authority the Father put in place.

You will answer for reward or the rod

When you speak to the Father face to face.

Boots of Sorrow


I spread the paper to protect the floorImage


And got my boot to give a shine.


Good black stuff to make them more


Acceptable, pretty, fix them up fine.


The scrapes and scuffs would disappear


As application was being made


Of goop like magic, wipe and smear


That caused my mind to be dismayed.


How can the years be wiped away


With something so simple and cheap


I paused and thought and said, “Hey,


I must stop thinking so deep.


The mirror confirmed my fears


The sorrow was certainly there to stay.


For nothing could remove from me the years


And wipe the scuffs and scrapes away.


Oh I wish I was a boot


Where polish could fix my woes.


But now, no one can dispute


That scuffs and scrapes is how life goes.

If my people

I once quoted, “If my people, called by my name…”if my people

For a nation to turn around.

I now question if I should say the same,

If such reasoning is biblically sound.

No doubt there is a need to repent.

Humility is needed in every generation.

But turning from faithfulness is meant

For another people, another nation.

I wish I could be certain today

That the promise would work for our people,

That the future of our nation’s way

Would rest in those gathered under the steeple.

Our promises now are for individual’s lives.

And not a government or a nation.

It’s now about how our spirit strives

Within our called and assigned station.

So humility, prayer, God-passion and repentance

Is still a must, a call, a priority,

It will help our little world to a distance,

But will not change our greater society.

God has not promised to save our land,

Our nation was not a promise of anyone’s possession.

But our hearts have a need which stands.

A need to learn repentance’s lesson.

What is God’s Love?

ImageDoes God’s heart pitter-patter

When He thinks of me?

Does He blush at my every word?

Or has He chosen to love despite iniquity

With no responding love every heard?

Does His love overcome my hate,

Pull me in when I pull away,

Revealing my self-hating state?

Was His choice based on my worthiness,

The value of my contribution?

Or is it based on His faithfulness

Despite my tendency for revolution?

Is God’s love for me seen in action,

A completed transaction when He paid the price,

Without my invitation, or expectation,

Or request for His sacrifice?

“God demonstrated His love for me,”[1]

That I can see it is very clear.

“While I was yet a sinner,”[2]

From a distance very afar, certainly not near.

“By His death in innocence, in my place,”[3]

Not for my sins alone, “but for the human race.”[4]

Thus love is decided, decided, committed;

Those three, a loving trinity.

But is my love, for Him, for others,

Decided, determined and shown?

Or does it claim its rights,

As selfish as I am prone?

What is God’s love?

How is it seen in me?

Does it make a difference

In loving others as much as I love me?

[1] Romans 5:8.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid.

[4] 1 John 2:2.

Thank You for My Suffering

Thank you for my sufferingImage

That I may grow like you.

For through my suffering I seek

Your comfort to get me through.

Thank you for your strength and grace

That keeps me from day to day.

Thank you for your love so pure

Through gifts along the way.

If not for my suffering

I would be easy to deceive,

Fooled that I was worthy

Of the strength that I receive.

If not for my suffering,

I would guess that I was strong.

And when I fell in weakness,

I would find that I was wrong.

If not for my suffering

I’m afraid that I would stray

From the only good that I know,

Your presence day to day.

If not for my suffering,

I would live for the earthy gain,

Forgetting I’m bound for heav’n,

A far more glorious plain.

Thank you for my suffering.

In it with you I share

The glories of eternity;

Your presence, Oh, so fair.

The Way I Want to Play

(A poem about finishing the race strong.)Image

(Running) Twenty-five miles into a marathon

The end is almost in sight.

To pull up for the final mile,

To give up just isn’t right.

One more click, a little more pain,

The medal a few steps away,

To seek rest and comfort too early;

That’s not the way I should play.

(Baseball) Down two runs with the bases full,

The hero steps up to the plate.

The story takes a horrible twist

If the Hero believes he’s too late.

Not a good effort, hardly a swing

As the ball pops in the catcher’s hand.

To lay down on the team, a cowardly act;

I don’t want to be that man.

(Football) He rounds the end behind two guards,

Open field to run for the first.

Angling towards the sideline seems good,

If the victory isn’t a deep thirst.

Juggling the football to the other hand,

Spying a defender with an attitude,

Pulling up short to run out of bounds;

No, I don’t want to be that dude.

(Living) Life gets tough, especially late.

But Jesus went all the way.

He finished the difficult, securing the win;

Yeah, that’s how I want to play.

The Line


A poem about the point at which I stop representing God and represent my own interest.

The line, I would deny, or try, the reason why?

I could cry to know the presence of the line.

A line is a decision, or a point at which one decides.

But this one, seen only by God, is painful to define.

In Peru a line represented poverty or prosperity.

In San Antonio, Travis offered bravery or retreat.

But as Jesus bowed beside the prostitute,

What did His line of sand relate or repeat?

Men of renown, noble, reputed, now shamefully

Slink away in the light of day at what the granules say.

Brave hearts melt as guilt will pelt their hearts.

Cold callused characters, revealed in light of holiness

Not to return to burn a sinner, each one departs.

His line in the sand was drawn to stand for mercy.

It condemned only the condemning and religious pride.

The room was vacated; the woman was elated to see

No accusers remained. Only the Savior was by her side.

But not so with me. Not with my line. I must know

That this line will show, not my freedom from shame

But at which point, only as God sees, do I begin

To represent me and not represent His name.

What trial causes my mind to turn from ambassador

To defendant; from representative to protecting what is mine?

What temptation lures me from loving Him most,

Sending my heart in the foray of free falling decline?

What possession do I seek when my values vulgarize,

Worthless and void compared to His virtue and prize.

What judgment do I make, to take pride in my mind,

Congratulating my wisdom of earthly methods to rationalize.

What trial, which test, which anger, which lust, what offense

Causes me to lay down His assignment and commission

To take up my cause, to pause in His path, to turn

To my interest, my estate, my desired addition.

When God looks at me, He sees my line as ever-present.

Perpetually before His view, with His desire to move

The line, to more deeply define my commitment, my passion,

So He sends my challenges, offenses and trials to reveal

My line, my passion to restore, my commitment to prove.

I fail when I cease from represent Him, resorting to my own interests,

When I seek the blessing instead of the testing of dedication.

Do I battle for me, to be free of His hand and forget

I am called to represent His Church, His Kingdom, His salvation?

Where is my line? He will show me through wars,

And while I struggle, battle, in the strive to survive, the hope to revive,

I will see my line and its location. That’s my line. Where’s yours?

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