Sunday, May 29, 2005

The pangs or perhaps joys, of a petty poet

Sitting beneath this willow
My chosen place of retreat,
My mind was open--ready to create.
But somehow when I long for a gift
It is most unwilling to be given
And soon I must be content
With rustling wind and a pink hair ribbon.

There is a time for every purpose--
This is a good and right decree,
But when I am wanting something I cannot see,
It most often remains elusive.
And as I was despairing of ever gaining a prize,
Inspiration sweet being withheld from my eyes,
I looked back up my page and found--not empty words,

But the very thing coveted--gold.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Falling..., not in love.

You are struggling for a foothold
Your hands reach to grasp mere air
Your heart tells you to let go
But you fear the result of despair

Falling, falling, releasing
The demon with reckless abandon
Eyes glaze in total surrender
Drenched in sin, you grieve but cannot shun

Will no one save you from yourself?
You feel it would be useless to try
A cry comes forth from the depths of your soul:
"Oh help God, send reply!"

Falling, falling, will God forgive?
You have no other hope--
He reaches with scarred hands to catch
You are saved from this wretched slope

Discover new strength in temptation, and praise the Lord!

Note: this was written out of faith as well as personal experience. I originally wrote it in the first person, but changed it for publication.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Angel of Patience?

I believe its time for a little explanation. When I first gave out my blog address, I recieved comments from people who wanted to know if I was the "angel of patience." No. Afraid not. This sublime celestial is my mascot. And I'd like to tell you why. Please read on:
To weary hearts, to mourning homes,
God's meekest angel gently comes:
No power has he to banish pain,
Or give us back our lost again;
And yet in tenderest love our dear and
Heavenly Father sends him here.
There's quiet in that angel's glance,
There's rest in his still countenance!
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear;
But ills and woes he may not cure
He kindly trains us to endure.
Angel of Patience! Sent to calm
Our feverish brows with cooling palm;
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
The throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will!
Oh thou that mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day;
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
And gently whispers, "Be resigned:
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well!"

-John Greenleaf Whittier

This poem speaks to me like no other that I have ever read. Its eloquence is not lacking in any respect. And I--I struggle to be patient, to temper my longings, fears, frustrations with pure, simple peace. I truly want to "be resigned" and "make (my) own our Father's will". What could be more beautiful than to live in such tranquility and patience!

Friday, May 06, 2005

terrible tact!

Note: I understand that truth must be tempered with tact, but I find that for me, it would be better if tact were tempered with truth.

How many times has the perfect moment come, but my words failed to come with it?
How often have I abstained from telling truth, and settled for tact instead?
And how many moments have slipped through my fingers--lost forever?
Moments when I could have touched a soul, but flattered instead?
That terrible nod and smile of supposed understanding has too often belonged to me, and I have listened silently as others have explained and reasoned--trying desparately to justify their wrong-doing.
And I so afraid of offending my fellow human being, simply let it pass, terrified of the result should I speak.
Others tell me that tact and sensitivity are my gift and should be cultivated.
But sometimes I think it would be more appropriate to call it cowardice.
I would rather be called sincere.
I would rather be known as a woman who means what she says and says what she means. What a truthful life I would lead!