Poems

If no tree, but the evergreen promise. If no snow, yet the purity of the coming.

Dweller in wilderness (bleak, barren, remote) John, the son of Elisabeth, did baptize With Jordan's water Those crowds who credited his foretelling, so incredible, The imminent appearance of the prophesied Messiah. With what wonderment and awe Did John perceive Within the face of Mary's eldest son— The, until recent days, carpenter of Nazareth town, Indeed, John's own cousin— The inner light of the anticipated Christ! "Suffer it to be so," Urged the Master of the Baptist.

Mortal, sinning, dying sense seems inescapable/inevitable (a closed cocoon of consciousness). Spiritual sense stirs, awakes, and soars— bursting the bonds of belief.

No matter how critical the disease, no matter how unbending the immovable wall (of hatred, fear, frustration), no matter what material sense tries to shout, I can be patient, Father. No matter what blackness seems to engulf, I will be patient, wait on You.

His hand gently leading beside still waters. I resisted— hesitant, halting.

Two mites—all she had—to tithe for her God. See Mark 12:41-44.

A poetic offering

Who is on the edge of time precariously waiting for Push forward, pull back? Not me. Why? I am companioned.

My will, Be still. Let go the thrill Of I and my and me.

All gates, fire-burned, old wall but scattered stone, Gave entry to those men who would despoil. But Nehemiah prayed, then planned alone To mend the breach.