Tag Archives: christianity

The Reason of the Wind


Said the weeds to the wind, “Must you be so strong?

Must you blow and blow and show your power, right or wrong?”

Said the grasses to the wind, “Must you lay us down

By pressing us, bending us and sending us to the ground?”

Said the trees to the wind, “Thank you for the breeze!

We stand so stiff, rigid, still until you blow us trees.

It’s nice to stretch and dance and prance, for us you blow.

If not for your breeze, the trees would only stillness know.”

Said the wind to the rest, “I blow at His command.

It’s not to harm you or bless you, but to obey our Master’s hand.”

My Life Is Not My Own

My life is not my own. Lord, I give it anew to you.Image

My tendency is to protect me, the natural thing to do.

I lay my life on the altar, a living sacrifice.

To hold for my own use is never worth the price.

My life is not my own. I forfeit it again

To place in within your hands, to follow in your plan.

I’m tired of the sorrow and defeat my choices bring.

Take my life and make it again a valuable thing.

My life is not my own. As your Son gave His life for me

I release my life, my loving Father, unto thee.

It’s not much I can give you, not worth much at all.

But Lord, it’s your from now till death makes his call.

If my next hill’s my last (poem)

Is that next hill my last as I travel along?Image

Is the next simple chorus the last of my song?

Is my journey near ended, my travels near past?

Will I cross under the gates of heaven at last?

Do I stride for the long run or dash up the hill?

Do I lean for the finish with all of my will?

Should I push for the crest, regardless what lies

On past the summit, despite my surprise?

If I expend all my power and find more ahead

Where comes my strength to go where I’m led?

The answer remains whether the end is nigh

Or distant. Regardless, to live or to die,

My strength comes from Jesus, on Him I depend

For strength for my destiny as for where I’ve been.

It the next hill is another of many to tread,

Or the next is my last, my final instead.

My strength is the same, my effort to run

Comes from my dear Father, through His dear Son.

Baseball Coach on the Pulpit Committee

When the Church picked the committee to find the new pastor,Image

They picked extroverted leaders so they would find one faster.

The banker, a real estate agent, the manager of the zoo,

A feminine activist, a lawyer, and a baseball coach too.

They start out their pastor search, but things were not so well.

Every preacher had a flaw, as far as the members could tell.

One candidate was too heavy. Another was way too tall.

Another had a squeaky voice. Another was a wee bit small.

One came from a family that locally had a bad name.

One preached too wildly, while another was way too tame.

Finally one met the criteria that all could agree.

They book a date to have him, so all could come and see.

He preached his blessed heart out, most all agreed.

This was the exact preacher they had to have indeed.

The banker and the agent, the manager of the zoo,

The feminist and the lawyer believed this one would do.

The baseball coach was not so sure. He said how it was wrong,

“He preached just great and all was well ‘til the invitation song.

He invited all who struggled and found life way too hard

To come up to the front pew and fill out a membership card.

He said they were now members, could drink of the communion cup.

The ball was down the middle, but this preacher popped it up.”

My Notes Were Gone

My notes were gone, and there I stoodImage

Before the congregation.

My face was red, a spinning head,

I had a situation.

My notes were gone, perhaps at home

Was hours of preparation.

What could I do, what could I say,

Was now my contemplation.

My notes were gone, my thoughts, my points,

My quotes and my citations,

My jokes, my scriptures, my outlined theme,

My clever illustrations.

My notes were gone, my face was red,

My pulse was a fast vibration,

Perhaps I should do double communion

Or take some strong sedation.

My notes were gone. Perhaps I should start

With some heart-felt free narration.

Or say a prayer, long and strong

And cut to the invitation.

My notes were gone, forgotten misplaced,

Oh the sad indignation!

Perhaps I should just trust in God

And wait for His affirmation.

My notes were gone, my memory failed,

My creativeness at complete cessation.

I shall survive. “Would the ushers come forth?

“Please prepare your contribution.”

But, Why, Lord?

I asked the Lord about my fearsImage

He said, “Do not fear but trust in me.

Whate’er you face, I am near.

I will protect you, you will see.”

I asked the Lord about other feelings.

Should I simple stoically cease to feel?

He said, “No, feelings are a part of you.

Feelings are good and feelings are real.

But feelings are not to be your guide.

Feel completely, but faith is the way.

Your feelings are a natural part of you

But living for me is trusting what I say.”

What about my offenses and pains?

I asked Him, “Must I always forgive?”

He said, “Forgiveness is the only way

I gave you life and called you to live.

I forgave you, and gave you a gift.

That prize is forgiveness to offer all.

I paid the price for your burdens to lift.

Forgiveness is the way you answer the call.”

I asked, “Why is it hard to be your child,

To feel and not react, to hurt and not strike?

Why forgiveness, even when I’m riled?

Why can’t I just respond as I like?”

He smile, and chuckled and shook His head,

And said, “I removed from you sin’s condition.

I gave your soul life, raising it from the dead,

And gave you a purpose, a life mission.

You duty is to represent my message.

To a dead and hurting world you must go.

Your life is to serve as a hopeful presage,

And if you don’t live it, how would they know?”

I thanked the Lord for the desire to be

All that He called me, all that He defines.

I thanked Him for the power to make that me

And to shape my character until it aligns.

If I were in that crowd

If I were someone in the crowdImage

In a village in Galilee,

Would you have looked me in the eyes?

Would you have noticed me?

Jesus, I know that the numbers were large

That you walked away, and passed on by.

Would I have been one you ignored

Despite my aching, selfish cry?

Why the few who you sought to heal?

Why the specific heart?

What was it in the their faith, or not

The others who were not a part?

Would I have climbed a little tree

To be taller for you to find?

Or would I have pushed through the crowd,

Accused of being out of my mind?

Perhaps the grace of now is greater

That so many can find you today,

Instead of you speaking to a few,

And from other you walk away.

Thank you, Lord, for reaching me

So I can be chosen in the throng.

Because if I was in the crowd back then

I may not every belong.

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