The growing trees.
The blooming flowers.
The forceful seas.
All nature things for us to see.
Oh
The falling snow
The beating rain
The floating blossoms
The sailing leaves
It was snowing ever so gently, so lightly.
The sky was a pale blue
With streaks of gray and white
Floating by.
There were birds. Many of them.
They sat in the trees nearby.
All at once they left the tree.
The birds dove and flew in circles
And then went back to the tree.
Repeatedly they did this, playing games,
Like children, perhaps.
The snow just kept falling.
Dancing around, like a ballet.
Paradise
It was my haven and place of peace; my very own country where freedom reigned and merrymaking was a law. Exploration and adventure lay rooted within my childhood escapades found deep in the paradise of my backyard.
Around the entire yard ran a fence, white wooden picket to the right and silvery aluminum wiring to the left and at the back of the yard. Being a child, I assumed that the builder of the fence couldn't decide on which type of fence to put up. The side of the fence made from wood showed its age from the crackling and peeling of its white skin much like my own skin after a long day in a blazing sun.
Centered in the backyard stood a huge weeping willow tree. Its branches were many and the fullness of the tree with its leaves resembled a large sheepdog in desperate need of a haircut. I remember hanging upside down from the tree's lower branches while holding down my tank top so as not to bare my belly. My memories remind me of the child that I was, climbing the tree like a baby learning each step of the basement stairs to see how high I could go. Each day it seemed as though the tree would lower to me a few more of its branches, like my father's arms reaching for me to raise me to his lap so I could climb higher and higher. When I reached as high as I could climb, I'd hug the limbs upon which I stood for helping me. Often, I would tell the willow my secrets. As I spoke, the tree acknowledged me with the sway of its branches and the tickling and teasing of its finger-like leaves.
To the left of the willow stood a hunter green swing set with a white criss-cross design stenciled along the poles. The swing set contained two swings, a slide, a teeter-totter and a set of rings on which to hang. The grass beneath the swings was worn away from the digging of my heels every time I pushed off the ground to increase the momentum of the swing. Only a patch of dirt remained and by some strange force of nature, I was many times drawn to that patch of dirt. I would squat beside it, while a swing was coaxed by the wind to tap at the back of my head, as if to say, "Get up from there, you silly girl", and I would poke my fingers into the dry earth and examine and explore it. There were even times when I was so intrigued by the dirt that on a particular occasion, I remember obtaining a very shiny, child-size spool from the kitchen and using it to help myself to a very satisfying meal of the soil from under my swing set.
Behind the weeping willow, the backyard escalated into a hill that proved ideal sledding territory in the fresh winter snow. To the left of the tree and at the back of the hill, intertwined with the fence, crouched two overgrown lilac bushes. Each spring, big purple and lavender flowers bloomed between the leaves of green and gold. Often I would cut myself an assortment of the flowers and the greenery which became a bouquet as big as me when I finished and I would pretend the arrangement was my wedding bouquet.
To the right of the willow lay a large garden bound by railroad ties. The garden, too, was overgrown as it held many vegetables such as green peppers, onions, cucumbers, carrots and most of all, tomatoes. Those apple-sized receptacles of a squishy, seedy mess were everywhere. Tomatoes of nearly every color of the rainbow, red, orange, yellow and the poor and lonely green ones that seemed never to ripen, overtook most of the garden. I can still picture my father working in the garden with beads of sweat trickling down his face, dirt spackled in all the lines and cracks of his flesh, and weeds and twigs clinging to his joints as if they belonged there.
Throughout the backyard, clover patches popped up here and there and I remember hunting through the tiny leaves for those mysterious, four-leaf charms that were said to bring good luck and I would hold them to my heart and make wishes upon them.
The backyard was a place I could go and be whatever or whoever I wanted to be. No one was telling me what I should or should not do or where I could and could not go. I could be totally alone but the aspects contained within the backyard acted as my friends and family and there I was happy. Anyone can find paradise, even in their own backyard; I did.
c. March, 1993
Our Family Tree
The seeds were planted and the soil was nurtured and over time, grew our finest, most precious gift, our family tree.
Each branch is a symbol of each of us and the leaves hold all our memories.
Significant and belonging only to us, our memories flourish throughout - Our Family Tree.
Resolute and ardent, our tree towers for we an withstand and endure the forces of nature. History has provided us with that truth.
Noone can take this away from us - Our Family Tree.
Aged are the branches of our past embracing the detailed shadows, the whispering echoes, the sorrowful tears and the squeals of laughter.
And budding anew are the branches of all our tomorrows. With each new day, a branchlet intertwines with one from before for each new memory together we make.
Noone can take this away from us and we cannot take for granted, our evolution is infinite.
No other tree would be quite as exciting to climb, to swing from or to sit under. No other could compare. Our tree would still stand. Our roots run too deep.
Noone can take this away from us - Our Family Tree.
c.December 1994
Bonded Moments
My earliest memory of my father dates to when I was one or two years old, possibly younger. I remember lying in my crib sucking from a bottle of milk. As I twirled the bottle in my mouth while I drank, I lost hold of it and it rolled out of my hands and onto the floor. With the glow of a night light resembling a clown, I tried to search the bottle into my eyesight, as if then I could attempt to manipulate it back into my grasp. With no luck, though, I became frustrated and I cried out. After only a few seconds, my father scooped me up into his arms and rescued me from my anxiety and irritation. Throughout my life, my father and I have shared moments which I feel brought us closer as father and daughter. These moments may not be abundant in frequency but they are moments, which in my heart, have been moments of bonding.
A particular memory that I feel has bonded me closer to my father occurred when I was about five years old. My daddy was sitting in the turquoise green armchair that sat in the “big room” at the back of the house. The room was dim and I walked in and climbed onto my daddy’s lap. He looked sad. I don’t remember his exact words but I know what he was saying. As I held my hands to his shaven face, he told me that he wasn’t going to be able to live with me anymore. I remember having a conversation like two adults as we hugged in the darkness, but most of all, I remember my father’s face, somber and confused, and I remember how I felt. I think I understood because I wasn’t very sad for myself. In fact, as small as I was, I knew it would be better because, like me, my mommy and daddy had some growing up to do. They did just that and after several years my daddy came home.
Another memory I hold very dear in my mind was of my tenth birthday. I didn’t have a big birthday party with balloons and a cake or a pony ride and a clown but I did have my daddy. I liked to play with dolls like most ten year old girls do and I really wanted a “Baby Feels So Real” doll, more than anything. My daddy bowled on Friday nights and he usually came home late, but it was my birthday and I knew he wouldn’t let me down, rather, I hoped. So I stayed up until he came home and when he finally did, I discovered that he hadn’t gone bowling. He had spent the entire night searching different toy stores to find the baby doll my heart so desired. My father once told me during a scolding, which occurred before my tenth birthday, that if I ever wanted anything, all I had to do was ask and he would get it for me. Those words are branded in my mind forever and my father meant what he said.
Still, another wonderful moment kept very precious in my memory occurred with the preparation and the day of my wedding. My father, of course, allowed my mother and me to pick and choose the arrangements and offered his opinion where it was so needed. He was very intelligent with his suggestions which surprised me as I assumed that he would not be interested in such plans. However, I soon realized that my wedding was of utmost importance to my father as he prepared, planned, suggested and prided himself with details that only a father would think of. It was my grandest preference to have my father walk me down the aisle on my wedding day and it mattered not to me his nervousness for we would hold each other up through the course. My purest joy came from my father’s glory in me as he told me a hundred times that day how proud he was of me and how much he loved me. To see my father as pleased and dignified as he was that day was a wedding gift which I will cherish forever in my memories of bonded moments.
Perhaps the greatest bonding between my father and me occurred with the birth of my first son. As I endured the pain of labor, preparing for the birth, my father comforted and reassured me over the telephone as the tears flowed from my eyes and my words were staggered from my sobbing. He told me, “You’re having a baby, kiddo. I love you.” With those words I knew so much more than was actually said and I felt I had to be strong, for my Dad and for his first grandson, Benjamin Michael Charles. Ben’s middle name, Charles, is after my father. My pride has come from Benjamin’s physical features which resemble my father’s, including his dark brown eyes and pronounced nose, (although, his ears are definitely my mother’s). As a baby, Ben bonded to his “papa” like a child to his mother which brought me even closer to my Dad. He has been to my child the grandfather I always wished I had. I am grateful that my children can say they have known their “papa” and that he is a wonderful man.
Of all the moments I have shared with my Dad and of all the times the family has gotten together, my proudest moments of bonding with my father have been the moments of introduction, when I would say, “This is my Dad.” This is MY DAD and I love him with all my heart and in a million years could not ever find enough kind words of explanation to tell you all about him. I could never describe all the details and the characteristics that make my father who he is, mostly because my father is not just a man who conceived me, cared for me, taught me and loved me. My father is a feeling; an emotion so strong in my heart and a symbol so vivid in my mind that it often overwhelms me. It takes all my strength to control my adoration and to keep to myself that my father is my greatest hero. I will always treasure the moments I share with my father, especially the magic moments, the moments imprinted by significance, and the moments of bonding.
c. June 1996
Her Daughter's Prayer
"Dear God, I pray for my mother. Please keep her safe, content, and healthy. Protect her from evil and disease and, Heavenly Father, I ask that you send Your angels to guard my mother and guide her throughout her life."
Ever since I can remember saying my prayers, I've been praying for my mother. Always, my prayers regarding my mother have pertained to her health and her well-being for their potential has invariably been one of my greatest fears. My fear remains to be a constant but subtle weight of concern throughout my life as a whispering tormentor in the depths of my mind.
On the first day of my twenty-sixth year, I called my mother on the telephone as I recalled her previous day's scheduled medical appointment. I have maintained regular concern for the outcome of each of her numerous, periodic medical examinations and as I listened to my mother's words of the possibilities of her malady, I felt a crushing sensation overwhelm me. My whole self seemed to spin with fear and I felt helpless as I struggled with the suffocation of a reality that I could not bear to imagine.
"Dear God, please let my mother be okay. Please keep her healthy. Please let her stay. I am not ready to say goodbye. So much we've yet to do, so much I've yet to experience as my mother's daughter."
As a child, I did not comprehend the other-daughter relationship. Though, I can remember the times when I was sick or hurt and my mother appeared, like an angel, with one hand on my head and one around my belly, aiding me in my efforts to relieve myself. Then she'd wash my face when I was done and run her fingers through my hair to calm me as I lay across her lap. As a teenager, the arguments between my mother and I were countless, but every time I really needed someone to talk to or to diminish my teenage misgivings, my mother sheltered and comforted me in a way that I realized only a mother could.
As an adult, however, the relationship between my mother and me has just begun to blossom and flourish as I have come to fully respect my mother for the unique individual that she is and for the bond I hsare with her that I did not entirely recognize until I birthed my mother's grandchildren. I now understand the bond between a mother and her child. As I have grown older, my mother and I have built a bridge of communication as we have shared with each other our love and our lives. Though, I have failed to express to her how essential it is that she values and takes pride in caring for herself and her well-being in the same manner that she cares for her family and friends. I know no way to convey to my mother the importance of her life and I know not how to teach her to respect her self for the beautiful person God made her to be. I falter at my attempts to persuade my mother's interests as I strive to perceive that my immeasurable need and absolute love for her be enough to inspire her every action.
"Dear God, please keep my mother unharmed and shield her from illness. Please allow my mother and me to further our relationship on this earth and to grow even closer as mother and daughter."
Interminable has been the time that I have worried over my mother's health and the prospect of one day losing her to an illness or debilitation. As I have come into adulthood, I have accepted the inevitability that I will one day die as all living beings must, but I cannot bring myself to grasp the truth that one day I will experience the loss of a parent. For without my mother, I would be lost. My mother is the one person to whom I seek resolution to my obstacles and inspiration for my talents. Once gone from this life, she's not coming back and I will have to depend upon myself to live my life without her and I'm not that strong. The loneliness I am sure to endure, I feel will swallow me whole.
"Dear God, I do not wish to interfere with your will. But if my prayers have any power to grant me my request, then it is with all my heart and every strength of my soul that I pray for my mother's health."
Perhaps my prayers are selfish. For I have faith that a purpose is served by every consequence and event and it is my certainty that God has blessed me through my mother. However, I am just not ready to learn this lesson of life. They say there is no love like that of a mother for her child, but I believe that the love of a child for her mother is just as profound. It has taken me most of my life thus far to comprehen the relationship I share with my mother and now that I have found this union of unconditional bondedness, so much opportunity is yet to be discovered. Too many things are still unshared.
"Dear God, I pray for my mother. I pray that you keep her safe, content, and healthy. But most of all, God, I pray that when it is my mother's time to leave this earth, that You will bless her and welcome her home. And God, I pray that I will find the courage to continue throughout my life without my mother's physical presence and that I will be at peace as I carry her in my heart ... now and forevermore."
c. October 1996
My Grandmother
Literally defined, a grandmother is the mother of one's father or mother, yet most people would agree that a grandmother, more often than not, is much more than that. At least, that is how I feel about my grandmother. With all of my grandmother's wonderful qualities and characteristics of which I am proud, she is virtually undefinable.
Helen Minnie Maag, the mother of my father and the only grandparent I've ever known, was born on August 25, 1902, in Burlington, Wisconsin. The birthplace of my grandmother intrigues me because I currently live fifteen miles outside of Burlington. Helen married Charles Clifford Johnson in 1927 and together they had six children, four boys and two girls. She named her children Richard, Dorothy, Teresa, Donald, Charles, and Clifford, and I learned that she raised those six children on her own for much of their childhood.
So many cheerful and impressive moments shared and in the presence of my grandmother live in my memories. My grandmother has made me feel special in so many ways and has taught me so much with her gentle wisdom that she is constantly on my mind. One of the ways in which she has repeatedly made me feel special, particularly when I was a little girl, always appears as a small plastic bag of "M&M"s and "Fannie May" candies at the beginning of each of her visits. Then on each birthday and every holiday, my grandmother would send cards filled with dollar bills. I have saved every card from as far back as I can remember receiving them. The greatest prizes were the baby dolls that my grandmother groomed with care (and a little soap and water) and delicately clothed with her own crocheting. Grandma has such a knack for crocheting. Over the years, I have preserved many of the dolls and crocheted items which I have received from my grandmother.
When I was nearly eight years old and my grandma came for a visit to celebrate her birthday, she brought me a precious baby doll fitted with her handiwork, fully designed with a bonnet, booties and a purse to match a lovely dress. I was so pleased that my grandmother had brought me a gift on a day that she was to receive her own gifts. I named the baby doll Helen, after my grandma. Today, "little Helen" is nearly seventeen years old as she sits quietly on a small rocking horse in my dining room. (She's barely aged at all)
Another beloved keepsake which I have preserved is the result of a generous gift and wish my grandmother granted a few years ago. In a tiny chair in her home sat an old-fashioned yet a fair-looking doll clothed in crocheted pink and white. This doll existed long before I did and always sat perfectly on the tiny chair. Upon opportunity, I asked my grandmother if I might be able to have that doll one day and the next time I saw her, she brought the doll with her and gave it to me. Other items my grandmother has given me which I treasure include a bible book of prayers, a plastic glow-in-the-dark rosary, and the handkerchief I carried on my wedding day.
The gifts of my grandmother go beyond material items. Most important are the wonderful memories I keep of time spent with my grandmother. My grandmother has taught me many valuable lessons and has shared with me a variety of tidbits that I carry with me day to day. She taught me how to make small crafts made from felt and sequins while spending a week at her home in Chicago when I was a little girl. She showed me how to dry my feet first after bathing so as not to slip and hurt myself when exiting the bathtub. She taught and explained to me that fresh fruit on a daily basis is essential to a healthy diet. I have loved fruit ever since. When I would ome to visit Grandma, she would take me to the subway to ride the train and sometimes we walked to the supermarket for groceries as we wheeled Grandma's shopping cart for what seemed like miles and miles to my little feet. I didn't mind though, because Grandma made it an adventure as she showed me, a small child, the big things to see in an even bigger city. My grandmother often shared visits with her girlfriends too. Her best friends were Agnes and Mrs. Kelly and being around them was like having three grandmas.
The newest gift I have tucked in my memory is the game of BUNKO! Recently, Grandma taught me and my sister how to play BUNKO and I just love it. It is a charming game of dice that I will definitely pass on to my children. Of all the wonderful memories I have of my grandmother and the wonderful things she has given and taught me, the most meaningful to me is how she has always made me feel special and unique despite her numerous other grandchildren to whom she's likely just as attentive. My grandmother is more important to me than mere words of expression and I will love her dearly forever and carry the love, the lessons, the qualities and the characteristics with which I have learned from her, my one and only grandmother, ... virtually undefinable.
c. 1995
With Faith Enough
With faith enough, we said good-bye
before there even existed a chance
to really comprehend that you had gone away.
With courage we will carry on
although we cannot find the answer
as to why you could not stay.
With faith enough, we shall believe
that you have travelled on
to a place beyond our imagining.
With credence we will humbly trust
your timeless journey has begun
upon the strength of angels' wings.
With faith enough we shall keep
your life true, and in our hearts
we will hold your memory bittersweet.
With fortitude, we'll cherish remembrance
until again beyond the hands of time
our souls with yours will meet.
With courage we will keep in mind
that we do not part for our bond in life
is still a bond in death.
With faith enough, we say good-bye
and grasp solace in your physical place
as you are a part of us with every breath.
We will dearly miss you
but with faith enough
We will patiently anticipate
the comfort of your embrace.
c. March 16, 1998 (for my grandmother)
If love were enough, what could I change?
Could I mend a broken heart, or re-arrange
The priorities of a weary soul, or better yet
Could I make you remember what you forget?
If love were enough, could I bestow
A gift of peace through the will to grow
The spirit sent to live on earth?
Born before its fleshly birth.
If love were enough what might remain
If I could convince you to abstain?
From the agonies fruited by your choices
And the disregard for Love’s sweet voices.
If love were enough could I make you believe
The rewards therein that you could receive?
And the grace in life you were meant to have
From the love of God that is meant to last.
If love were enough would I still compete
Or would my mission be complete?
So I could go home feeling at ease
And then I could at last find peace.
c.2001
We came here knowing we would forget
And still we are forgiven our debts
While we can’t remember where we’re from
There is a reason we have come.
Although our memory we have lost
Our soul remembers the boundaries crossed
Though the reason forsaken of our mind
The purpose we still struggle to find.
But doubt has shadowed your beliefs
And insecurity is your thief
That I must argue to insist
That what you doubt indeed exists.
If suddenly you forgot your name
Your name it still would be
As when you remembered it the same
And that’s the mystery.
Even if you could not find where you live
Still you’d have a home
As when you did before your birth
And will when you have GROWN
And though you can’t remember His face
It’s true you have a Father
Who whispers courage from His grace
And volunteers to steer your bother.
And so I beg you to believe
Your original Faith you could retrieve
And you might then remember yet
We came here knowing we would forget.
c. May, 2001
I just keep speaking the words
I feel compelled to say
And you just keep ignoring me
And looking the other way.
I may as well be screaming…
That way you cover your ears
I never imagined deafness
To be synonymous with fear.
Words have always been
My way of trying to reach you.
But you’re not listening anymore
So there’s nothing I can teach you.
My thoughts have gotten swollen
And my mouth and words are dry
My every effort has been repelled
So why should I even try?
So if I should never speak again
Beginning with today
What words would you remember
That you never heard me say?
This legacy I’ve been given
Costs me more than I can pay.
What words will you remember
That you never heard me say?
c. June, 2001
Sowing Seeds
When I was a little girl, I remember hearing my best friend talk about God and Jesus. I remember asking who they were because I didn’t know of them. She took me to her mother and her mother told me about God and who Jesus was; that God was our heavenly Father who created the world and everything in it; and that Jesus was the Son of God born as flesh through the Holy Spirit. She said that Jesus was born to die for us.
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whoever believes in Him, shall not perish, but have eternal life.” (John 3:16)
As a child I didn’t understand this completely, but longed to know more. I started talking about God at home; I remember my oldest sister telling me that she didn’t believe in God. She defended that if there were a God, He wouldn’t let such terrible things happen as they so often do in the world. I told my friend what my sister had said. She very bluntly told me that my sister was going to the devil if she did not believe. Well, that was not what I wanted to hear. I remember becoming upset to tears and spitting as I stammered that I no longer wanted to play with her. She went to her mother and told her what happened because she didn’t want me to be mad at her.
Her mother again spoke to me. I don’t remember the exact words that she said anymore or even all that she said, but her point was clear and that is what I have always remembered. She left me feeling with her words of hope that I could believe enough for my sister and me. Maybe that’s why I have believed so inflexibly all of my life. Maybe that’s why I have always held on to this “God-fearing”, “holy-rolling” aspect of my life. Perhaps, I’ve always felt it my mission to save you and in that I’ve sought out ways to touch your depths for so long.
“My dear brothers and sisters, if anyone among you wanders away from the truth and is brought back again, you can be sure that the one who brings that person back will save that sinner from death and bring about the forgiveness of many sins.” (James 5:19-20
Though I overflow with questions on the matter, I believe that Jesus was sent to save us from our sin, before we ever even committed a sin, knowing full well those sins that we would commit. It’s incomprehensible but it is immeasurable the gift God gave to us in His Son, Jesus. Time and again, I stumble over the grace of His forgiveness, but when I look to Him, I am solaced by His words …
“I assure you that any sin can be forgiven …” (Mark 3:28)
“And anyone who calls on the name of the LORD will be saved …” (Joel 2:32)
“No matter how deep the stain of your sins, I can remove it. I can make you as clean as freshly fallen snow.” (Isaiah 1:18)
So, I keep looking to Him and I listen when He tells me not to give up. I rejoice in the hope my faith offers to me. I pesist in my effort to affect, not your exterior but your inner core, not your flesh but your eternal soul; that God may touch you through my scattering of seeds. Everything that I have is from God and I thank Him for the many blessings in my life. I pray to Him for His guidance for all of us, every day, every moment, every minute we breathe in His grace. All I want is to get to heaven … and to know that you’ll be there with me when your mission is accomplished. I merely want to share the knowledge with you for I can only be an example, an ambassador, a planter for God, sowing His seeds in hopes of bearing much fruit. His Son, Jesus, is the only Savior and all you have to do is believe in Him.
“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank Him for all He has done. If you do this, you will experience God’s peace, which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand…” (Philippians 4:6-7)
c. December 2001
Where I See God
In the divinity of the sun’s rays,
Like a stairwell between the heavens and the earth.
In the peaceful sanctuary of the snowflake’s blanket,
Like a testimony that even winter has its worth.
In the cleansing of the rain’s kisses,
Like a sweet affirmation of the grace we’ve been gifted.
In the regeneration of spring’s new buds,
Like our Savior who was lifted …
…that’s where I see God.
In the resonance of Scotland’s grand piper,
Like the echo of heaven’s harmonious voices.
In the awesome silence of sunset to darkness,
Like the stars relieve the sun in soundless rejoicing.
In the tapping of the rain on my window,
Like the Father who calls me to do my part.
In the splendid laughter of other believers,
Like the shining faith that lives in their hearts …
…that’s where I see God.
In the bird that dances gracefully upon the wind,
Like a child running joyously in her Father’s delight.
In the pure gesture of spontaneous kindness,
Like the example Jesus set in His sight.
In the simplicity of a tiny child’s eyes,
Like a window to the Holy Ghost.
In the strength of an old, weathered tree,
Like only the Father’s majesty can boast …
…that’s where I see God.
In the bonding of my son’s nestled head,
Like the comforting union of His embrace.
In the inviting coziness of a church family,
Like the united call to worship in whole.
In the refreshment of the mid-summer’s rain,
Like the Spirit quenches the thirsty soul …
…that’s where I see God.
In the bird’s sweet song upon the morning dew,
Like the voice of God melodic and clear.
In the kindness of a stranger’s courteous touch,
Like the love of God is felt and shared.
In all that’s grandeur and all that’s minute, …
…in all the ordinary and in the odd …
In everything created and given by God’s grace …
…that’s where I see God.
c. February 2002
The Vessel
Show me, Lord, what You want me to see,
For without Your guidance, my view is devoid.
Tell me, oh God, what You want me to hear,
For sound is just noise without Your instruction.
Open my eyes and remove the obstruction to my ears,
For without You, distorted is my perception and view.
Allow me to be a vessel for Your will, O Lord.
Give to me, Lord, what You want me to have,
For blessings You’ve given have been most enjoyed.
Teach me, oh God, what You want me to know.
For my knowledge is exalted by Your introduction.
Clear my mind and bless me with Your greatness,
For I crave the revealing of Your spiritual truths.
Allow me to be a vessel of Your Holy power, O Lord.
Lead me, Lord, down the path that leads to You,
For I am lost without Your direction from above.
Take me, oh God, and mold me to Your image,
For I am clay within Your divine hands.
Guide my life and penetrate me with Your glory,
For I long only to be pleasing and pure for You.
Allow me to be a vessel to your magnificence, O Lord.
Fill me, Lord, with Your Holy Spirit,
For I need only to be intoxicated by Your love.
Use me, oh God, to complete Your holy task,
For I was created to carry out Your plans.
Heal my heart and bathe my soul in Your peace,
For I desperately desire to live my life anew.
Allow me to be a vessel to your redeeming grace, O Lord.
Allow me to be a vessel unto You …
c. February 2002
Be glad for all God is planning for you. Be patient in your troubles, and always be prayerful. ~Romans 12:12
I am hopeful indeed, O Lord,
For the plans you have in mind.
For any greater agenda,
I know I’d never find.
I do not know tomorrow,
Or the future that You own.
I only know that all my days
Are never spent alone.
Though, I know things often happen,
That I don’t quite understand.
I am extremely hopeful
For all that You have planned.
When I’m feeling troubled,
And joy trades for despair,
I remind myself you’re listening,
And that you really care.
I strive to wait out upsets,
To rely upon Your strength,
Patiently abiding by
The intention of my faith.
Ever I’ll be prayerful
In stillness and in strife,
Looking for Your guidance
To lead me through my life.
Always I invite You
Into my thoughts and prayers,
That in Your Holy presence,
May I ever be aware.
And through the conversation,
Closer will be our connection.
My God, my Holy Father,
May I mirror your reflection.
c. March 2002
But as for me and my family, we will serve the Lord. Joshua 24:15
How blessed am I that I can be,
A part of this great family.
For that I am compelled to believe,
Their love and fellowship I receive.
I prayed to God that I would find,
What seemed only to exist in my mind.
But with examples of Jesus all around,
A welcoming family is what I’ve found.
In her laugh and in his smile,
Jesus beckons, “stay awhile”.
I overflow with exaltation,
At their fellowship invitation.
And now we’re linked by a common faith,
And impassioned by God’s generous grace.
And so we strive to share the Word,
As ambassadors to the truth we’ve heard.
And as I feel the Spirit swell,
So closer to the Lord I dwell.
With joyful notes of this great chorus,
Praising God His gift before us.
Thank-you, Father, the void you have filled,
And greater I thank you because of Your will,
For leading me to where I belong,
To answer my prayer and to give me a song.
For that I am compelled to believe,
Their love and fellowship I receive.
How blessed am I that I can be,
A part of this great family.
c. June 2002
Your Love Did It All
You were forsaken so I would be forgiven.
You were condemned so I could be free.
You took upon yourself every last sin,
So righteousness would be credited me.
While I was still hostile and even unrepentant,
I couldn’t do a thing to deserve your love and grace.
Yet, you endured death so I wouldn’t have to.
YOUR love did it ALL when YOU took my place.
Without cause you suffered, you bled, and you died.
By your condemnation my punishment replaced.
Because of your death, I was given new life.
My guilt was pardoned; my shame was erased.
Upon You was laid the consequences of sin.
You took my iniquities, I’m no longer a slave.
Now I am healed for You conquered hell.
YOUR love did it ALL when YOU rose from the grave.
You gave up your life as a ransom for many.
Though we have done nothing for we cannot earn
The gift that you’ve given through your sacrifice.
It was your promise fulfilled when from death you returned.
By your death and resurrection, I am give a brand new life.
But what you did for me was accomplished for all.
Thank-You, dear Lord, for Your indescribable gift.
Amen, Alleluia, YOUR love did it ALL.
c. March 2005
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