Graced with Grace

  Here is another poem written by my friend, Ross. I hope you are blessed!   Weary Sinner Dedicated to Caleb 06/05/2015 Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. (Matthew 11:28)   Come weary sinner, all covered in blood Come find forgiveness for wrong that you’ve done.   Now lay down your head, and lower your fist The king of heaven will not one resist.   Come weary sinner, all covered in shame Gladly will he save, your loss is his pain.   No harm will befall; His blood will suffice. Only don’t linger, by grace be enticed.   Come weary sinner, it’s time to go home Can’t you hear him call from his royal throne? The day is near done; your time close to spent So take this moment and at last repent.   Ross Tenneson is a third year seminarian at Bethlehem College and Seminary. He is hoping to be a pastor one day. When he is not studying theology, he...

    Its not every day That I get to drive On a meandering country road On a dark starry night. No sirens, no buildings Except calm quaint houses With a flickering light. Not too many cars Whizzing by, Just a truck here and there. Grandpa rocking on his front porch, Grandma pulling the weeds From the garden She has faithfully nourished For the past 78 years. It’s just that. You get into the country And everything slows down And it’s not every day that we can. Children raking leaves, Farms standing among rolling hills, These are the pictures That make my heart still For just a moment. Awe! It’s not every day That I drive on long meandering roads, Along gurgling creeks, And down old faithful gravel roads. Passing by horses and cattle And that one lone Bison. It’s not every day That these are the sights I see, So I drink it all in And I s...

I am excited to present to you my first guest post! Enjoy! The Glassy Sea By Ross Tenneson Revelation 4:6   When the sunlight fades and the day is done And a harvest of souls for Christ is won When the present age ebbs away And into eternity it gives way I’ll find you on the shores of the glassy sea. When a host of captives for Christ is raised And into angels has been changed When around the throne they bow And cast their crowns upon the ground I’ll find you on the shores of the glassy sea. When Christ our hope comes again And storms the strongholds of wicked men When finally pain we know no more And further strife is not in store I’ll find you on the shores of the glassy sea   When to His kingdom we’ve come at last And with the King we break His fast When in that place you look for me And everywhere His glory see I’ll find you on the shores of the glassy sea Ross Tenneson is a third year seminarian at Bet...

Today marks 11 years since my brother, Micah, went home to be with Jesus.     Eleven years ago! How could it be that long ago That I last heard your laughter, Last saw your smile, Last listened to another of your jokes? Your memories never fade, But sometimes it seems impossible That it really was eleven years ago. To many things have occurred since then, Too many new stories have been written, Yet some how you are weaved in with memories That shape our lives from day to day. You drift through the air In a thought, in a word, in a short story Told of you. You're there yet it was still Eleven years ago that I last heard your breath. Too many years of silence, Yet you still speak. Too many years without you, Yet your story still lives. But oh, how I long to throw My arms around you once more, To listen to yet another joke That always made me laugh, To hear you sing and play your guitar– Oh, to hear that voice a...

Giggly girls pick daisies On a sunny golden afternoon. Chatting happily, While tossing pedals Carelessly to the ground, Saying, “He loves me, he loves me not...” Then dancing away Without a care in the world, For girlish games Are just for laughter and delight.     Grownup girls reunite In a daisy field, Picking daisies for old time’s sake, Yet this time With a slight hesitation In their voice, A seriousness in their tone. This is no longer Just a game, But they really ask, They really wonder, Does he love me or does he not? When she lets go Of that very last pedal, Will she be letting go Of another dream?     Grandma’s now With curly gray hair of wisdom On their heads, Join hands with their friends For one last time. Back to the daisy field. Quieter and worn, Yet at peace, With soft gentle smiles On their lips. One last time they pick a daisy And toss the pedals to the grou...

Oh, to be a dandelion And bask in the sun! To be picked by a child And be smiled upon. To be a wreath on the head Or picked for mother, dear, Or to have soft little lips Blow you in the wind, Seeds planted again, And little ripples of laughter From a child’s carefree joy, Loved for your beauty, Even though you be but a weed. Oh, to be a dandelion, Dancing in the fields, Laughing in the summer time, Flying in the fall, Buried for the winter, But ready to bloom again in spring. Oh, to be a dandelion,   Wild and free!

    “What do you plan to do when you graduate?” As a senior in college, I get this question asked of me a lot. Honestly, I have gotten similar questions since my high school days. And guess what? I still don’t. At least that is what I say. I have come up with various responses because it gets tiring saying that I don’t know. And my answer changes from week to week depending on what is my most recent idea or dream. I have come up with all kinds of answers for this question, but honestly the answer is never really my true dream. It’s just a career because everyone has to have a dream career right? No! I am done with this myth that we have to have some career to pursue after graduation. Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s important to spend my life wisely and purposely. I don’t wish to sit around doing nothing, but I don’t think I have to have some passionate career that I plan to fall into after graduation. I believe God will show me the next step and show me h...

Before you read any further may I warn you that what you are about to read was written in the midst of great turmoil. For a paper had to be written, yet long hours spent on tediously writing and researching brought unrequited frustration on my head, so in a desperation for relief, I turned to a blank document and penned this ridiculous poem of how I really felt. Sigh! The paper must continue, but if you must read then here is what I wrote in between the disaster.       I used to be a jogger, Running laps around a trail. Pushing forward, reaching for a goal. Made myself keep going No matter how tired I’d feel, But that last loop Was always the hardest.   I used to be a jogger. I’d run and run and run, Sweat pouring down my brow. In hot or cold, I ran those laps, Fearlessly reaching for the goal. But that last loop Was always the hardest.   I used to be a jogger, I did it for the exer...