But You Say ...

This one calls me bright
Smart
Witty
Intelligent

That one says I'm efficient
A little worker bee

Another calls me kind
Affectionate
Loving
Compassionate

Their encouragement makes me soar.

But you say ...
I'm dumb
Slack and lazy
Selfish and prideful

Dozens of people are in my fan club
But yours is the voice I hear
That taps me on the shoulder and says
"You can't do that.  You'll fail."
And for some reason,
I choose to believe it.
And I am earthbound.

For Mr. Buble -- with appreciation and apologies

I heard about this Michael Buble poetry contest and thought I'd give it a try.  The contest announcement listed several facts about the crooner, none of which did I find especially insightful.  Then I remembered this story that he told from his teen years. Aha! I knew how to show my appreciation to the voice that makes chores a little less burdensome.  So I offer to you, my readers ...

Chores

In the heat of the summer sun
You swat a fly,
Draw a dusty arm across your brow
And push on,
Criss-crossing the yard
With that heavy mower.
All alone,
Except for Casey Kasem
To keep you company
By counting down the hits.
You sing along,
Dreaming of the day
When he’ll announce your name
At the top of the charts.

In the quiet of my kitchen
I fill a pail
With sudsy water
And criss-cross the floor
With this heavy mop.
All alone
Except for your voice
Keeping me company
By singing "Home."
I am content to sing along,
Grateful you had such a dream
And that you made it happen.

Split Second

I thought I saw you today

In the crowd at the mall.

Mothers with strollers,

Couples with nowhere to be,

Teenage girls with packages

Of today’s must-haves,

But all I saw was you

Looking like you did

The day we got Christmas wrapped up

In a quick afternoon.

We laughed at our minor miracle!

Yes, your laugh.

I remember.

And that smile as broad as the sky

The color of your eyes.

I remember most your hair

Long, blonde, strong

So like you

That I couldn’t help but envy it

With the loving envy of good friends.

Such freedom in friendship

Is itself a miracle.

I blinked

And you were gone

Back into the crowd.

This Is How I Love

(For Our Missionaries)

I love

Not by standing here

Waiting for you to come to me

But by traveling across miles

Across continents

To a land unknown to me.

I love

Not by showing you my culture

But by seeing yours.

Wearing your clothes,                          

Eating your food.

I love

Not by knowing everything

But by knowing the humility

That comes by learning your language. 

I love

Not by shouting to thousands

But by looking for one precious soul

To show God's love.

I love

Not for the reward of your love for me

But for the hope that you will

Arise and shine –

And knowing that a little one

Shall become a thousand

And a nation will come and worship.

My Prayer (If I'm Honest With Myself)

Dear Father,

Thank You for the many blessings

You give me each day.

The food on the table,

Our daily bread

                We’re almost out of bread.

                And while I’m at it

                I’ll get chicken and green beans.

                Maybe I’ll swing by the store after work.

Thank You, Lord, for my job

That meets my needs.

                I need

                To get to the office early

                And finish those reports.

                But wait!

                The plumber is supposed to come at ten.

                I wonder what time that really means.

                It’s always something with this old house.

Thank You, God, for this old house

That keeps us warm and dry.

It is full of so many memories of my family.

Father, bless my family.

Bring us closer together.

                Why doesn’t my mother-in-law like me?

                What more can I do?

Make me a blessing

To everyone I meet.

Give me Your eyes

To see with compassion the needs of others.

Fill me with Your love.

Let it overflow

Onto all I do.

                I have so much to do!

Help me

To find my rest in You.

Overcome

The music starts

And I join in

Making my joyful noise

Among the many.

                Strings thread the melody

                Drums are my heartbeat

                Voices from the stage and the pews

                Proclaim glory and honor

                To the One who is worthy.

Overcome

I fall quiet

And let them all carry my praise

To the heavens

Because I am too overwhelmed

Even to clap

Stunned into silence

By His majesty.

Be Still

Psalm 46:10 – Be still and know that I am God.

Sometimes we really miss the point.  I know God must giggle just a bit at our misguided ways.  And if we think really about it, we’ll giggle, too.

This is what I mean.  We work so hard to create a certain quality of life, but are often too busy to enjoy it.  How many men work long hours in order to afford a better house?  Yet they are rarely home to enjoy it.  Their wives are able to cook fabulous dinners in the newly remodeled gourmet kitchen, but they come home so late that they wind up eating re-heated leftovers.

We work hard for hours – for me, it’s minutes – in the garden.  Pulling weeds, aerating the lawn, watering the flowers, mowing the grass, and trimming the hedges.  Oh!  Our garden looks so beautiful!  Actually, who knows how beautiful it is?  We don’t spend much time relaxing in that beautiful garden, smelling the lilacs and roses, lounging in a hammock in the cool shade of the oak.

Moms work for children and worry over them.  They clean up after, cook for, rescue, chauffeur, cheer for, fight with, and pray over their children.  And it seems as though there’s never enough time to cuddle them and comfort them.

It seems that the very life we strive to build for ourselves, we do not even enjoy.

It is the same in our spiritual lives.  We go to church, maybe three times a week, teach a Sunday school class, attend Bible studies, work in outreach ministries.  We are busy for Jesus.  So busy, in fact, that we forget our focus.  We are trying so hard to serve Him that we forget to sup with Him. 

Take Mary and Martha, for example.  Both women had the opportunity to fellowship with Jesus.  Imagine having dinner with the Creator of the universe!  Mary sat at Jesus’ feet and visited with him.  Martha was playing Martha Stewart in the kitchen, perhaps trying to prepare a meal worthy to be enjoyed by the King of kings – a laudable undertaking.  I’d probably do the same thing.  But all Jesus wanted was to talk to her, to listen to her, to commune with her.  You can almost see Him shake His head as He says, “Martha, Martha . . .”

All Jesus wants is to commune with us.  He would like us to stop singing, stop teaching, stop running for just a few minutes, and admire Him.  Spend some time just enjoying Him, reading His Word, listening to His voice.  And tell Him your needs, your hopes, your fears, and let Him be strong for you.  Just be still . . . know that He is God.

You may want to do this in a nice, quiet place.  Maybe that beautiful garden of yours.

The Dream's the Thing

The Dream had been

Of seeing Europe again –

      This time with you.

Of seeing New York often.

Of seeing sadness rarely.

Of date-night dancing

While others gazed on.

Long weekends of reading

      Or writing,

The pages filled with poetry.

Instead,

I see rush-hour traffic

      With my son.

I see Wal-Mart frequently

And the spa rarely.

I see my share of sadness

      And joy.

Who has time to dance?

      Or the energy?

And I would give almost anything

For a long weekend

To fill pages with poetry.

The play means nothing.

The Dream’s the thing.