Poems

Paul was dead—the people thought, and drew his body from the city. But the disciples gathered near.

How wonderful To know with God All things are possible. To know this day, this hour, I can begin To challenge every subtle claim of sin That would deceive, delay My recognition of God's perfect way.

Why all this fuss? What did he do to deserve this feast of love? Having never left home maybe it's hard to know what emptiness sin is, to imagine how hungry a yearning heart can feel, to picture spiritual starvation, the agonizing self-depreciation that turns us to true self-appreciation. Welcome him.

Do we yearn for healing and place it on high above all else? Oh, we will learn, you and I, "there is none other God but one. " Even the light above the sun is under God, Most High.

Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me. Matthew 19:14 "Let them come," the Master said.

I thought I'd understood Deep affection. Hadn't I shed penitent tears, Given the best that I could give? I'd thought much about the hope One oil-bearing woman gave to me—as sinner— Her being close to Jesus And having his approval; Knew well how much she loved, With so much sin forgiven her.

Not that I had lost my way — only that it seemed unclear. God was a presence dimly felt, not deeply known.

Like star pinpoints of light in the night sky Truth seemed tiny, so far away .

Drought-seared landscapes, barren prospects, hang like Dali scenes; drought-seared hope yearns to break the bondage of this dream. Yet hope persists, gathers strength, and swells to prayer ascending where, buoyed by unsinking faith, meets angel thoughts descending.

The newborn baby reaches out To touch the mother's face. The Bethlehem babe reaches out To touch the world with grace.