Questions & Answers
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.
Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart . (Luke 2:19) Mary's Soul-sense magnified aloud the Lord, grasped the destiny of the child she bore.
Write for the periodicals? What can I say that has not already been said? So beautifully, too, that my heart has been touched with gratitude (faith renewed) healed with the thoughts of Mind shared from the steadfast work, the hearing of others. Should I write? First comes the reply Who am I? And then.
I have wept by my friend for an afternoon that feels like a week, lost in dark rain. Where's the love that fashioned these fabrics, these shirts and coats and robes? There's a calm confidence in this man's arrival, but can he really help? Can he recover the love, make a lifeless body breathe again? What's this strength I feel—this warmth— as he tenderly ushers us from Tabitha's room? Right in the clamor of wailing a kind of silence stirs— a gust of fresh hope, some quiet power glowing through the dusk.
Short in stature but long on pluck, Zacchaeus Scurried on ahead and scampered up a sycamore To see the Master. Reading this I asked, "Am I as eagerly Seeking a better view of Christ?" This trumpeted an angel call for action, so with Singleness of purpose prayerfully renewed, I cast aside the stumbling block of apathy And pruned away those unsubstantial creepers— Self-righteousness and false attraction.
Am I an unwilling raindrop All comfy in my cloud, While parched earth waits And growth abates And buddings call aloud, For light and love And rain to help Unfolding leaf and flower, Refreshing growth and mankind too With food for growing power? No! I'm a willing raindrop No longer tied to bed For that last tempting hour of sleep. I'll help my world be fed With light and love And substance fresh Wherever thought is led.