Poems

I’m searching for my Promised Land Where milk and honey flow Where I with God walk hand in hand And children safely grow I long to end my slavery To weakness, want, and sin To see the part in my Red Sea And freedom from within On bended knee I make my vow And gratefully, humbly weep Although I don’t know when or how .  .

It was a stable, not a mansion It was a star, not a parade of dignitaries It was quietude, not a party of notables It was animals, not the masses  And yet,  It was safety It was protection It was a divinely provided sanctuary It was exactitude It was divine placement It was Love’s gift to humanity  It was the coming of the Christ  It was the magnitude of divinity recognized It inspires our story, also, if we live in stable  quietness, allowing the Christ-idea to  animate our thinking and actions  And that is bringing the Christmas story daily in consciousness It is not allowing the noise in the inn,  the human story of mortality,  to dominate our thought  It is Christmas to be seen and felt  It is seeing our divine oneness dawning It is staying out of the inn and in the stable —Melissa Baker.

How near is God to me? So near there is no near Only Her presence, eternally here.   How deep is God’s knowledge of me? So deep there is no deep Only Her infinite knowing, complete.

Shadrach,  Meshach,  Abednego,  “the form of the fourth,” 1 and me,  and you .

Sometimes I feel like an acorn scattered by a great oak washed down hillside and ravine eluding raven, rodent, rot eventually nestling safely in God’s dear bosom  Long I lay dormant, wordlessly nourished by His wisdom watered by His truth warmed by His love patiently, expectantly awaiting His Word  Then one day a great stirring a light from within, a newness as I shyly peek through the soil as my tender stem and branches reach meekly skyward and my tiny leaves unfurl  Each morning I greet with hope and purpose lodging bird and bee breasting breeze and torrent enduring drought, beetle, blaze unfolding more of the wisdom, Love, and grandeur from which I’m fashioned   As my true selfhood dawns trunk and limbs grow strong roots firm and deep canopy broad and majestic no longer looking up from earth but out from on high silently thankful for my humble station and for God’s unwavering, tender care for all His creation. —Chris Jones.

Through the mist His brightness shines Leading to the Rock higher than we The majesty, might, and grace of Love Foundation of liberty The voice of Truth has ever been Man’s guiding light from within That light, our true mainstay Illimitable Love revealing the way On pinions of light, the infinite unseen  Lays bare the sepulchre and its story Thought sublime clearly defines Heaven’s victory and its glory Unaltered, undimmed, our Savior’s legacy remains  A triumph unfurled Truth without a lapse or error Giving light to a darkened world Oh, sing a new song Let it be heard Through the mist, see the light Through the heart, hear the Word —G. Gershala Goldsmith.

Nursing is a dance. We follow, never lead.

The sun knows not of rise or set For it is always shining.   Sunrise, sunset are not events; It’s just our point of view.

What a Passover that must have been, a time to mourn, not celebrate. Was there even oil (“consecration; charity; gentleness; prayer; heavenly inspiration”  1 ) with which to light the Seder lamps? The Messiah crucified, and everything they’d hoped for dashed.

Wilderness.  Loneliness; doubt; darkness.