Graced with Grace

      When I read a good book, I wish I could write as good a book; Be as excited to read my own writing, As the authors I love and admire For their own art of words. When I read a good book, And I laugh and I cry Or I feel just the same way As the author has described But I could never have known To say it in that way, Even though it describes me perfectly. And maybe I am a little jealous For not having thought of it first. When I read a good book And the words they use Are way beyond my own vocabulary use, Yet because they use it well, I still know what it means. And then I wish I could use those words In my own writing, But thy never seem to flow as well. Or I read a good book, Then I try to write, But end up staring for far too long At a white blank screen Till I give up And leave writing To those who really know how, And begin to wash the dishes instead.  

  Colors of calm quietude, Dreamy waters, The still evening air, Closing an another summer day.   Skies of soft purple hues, Sun slipping behind horizon, Gentle whispers of the wind, Another day's end.   Perfect tranquility, Reflections, Grace from the heavens For this day's beginning to end.  

  I wouldn't change anything From the laughter to the tears. Every little memory counts, Every little memory makes A year to remember.   Sledding with my sisters, Baking sweet aroma and enjoying every bite. Drawing with children Or snuggling a sleeping little one On my shoulder. Fellowship with friends around A crowded table. Learning, and reading, And drinking coffee to stay awake. Flowers of sunshine on sick days. A brothers wedding. More sunshine for a weary heart. The skies that radiate the glory of God And proclaim his promises and love From day to day. Friends to hold me tight when tears fall fast. Waiting on God's will. Learning to trust him more. Friends getting married. A sister's wedding too. Working hard out doors And getting dirty. Working along side my best friend. Courting the man of my dreams. Learning to be loved And to love and to live in grace.  A sweet friend and a waffle date. ...

    Time might erase some things, But it can’t erase everything. It can’t ever erase your smile from my heart Or the joy that once You brought into my life, The dance that you put in my steps And the twinkle you put in my eyes.   Time may erase some things, But it can’t erase the memory of you From my mind. I may grow old and grey, wrinkled and lame, Or I might die while still very young, But time won’t erase your face Etched into my heart.   Time may erase some things, But it can never erase The love that I had for you. And I know that I never loved you As well as I have learned to love another, But it was you who taught me More about love and to love more.   It was you who taught me What it looks like to fight and fight hard, To not give up, And to laugh when life brings pain. You taught me life is too short ...

    Snow covered earth, Trees sprinkled white. Gentle songs of Christmas Playing all day long. Sitting by the fire, Reading quietly. Winters stillness, Softest whispers of grace. Season to remember   The Messiah’s birth.

I wrote this almost exactly two years ago, but never shared it. It seems fitting to post it now almost two years later from when it was pinned. I changed a few things from the original and added the last stanza tonight. But waiting sometimes feels so long. So she buried her head in her covers She wept on her bed late at night.   I wish and I hope….. but I stop myself there, No more wishing nor hoping! Aren’t we to enjoy the now? Aren’t I to love what I am given instead of always wishing?   But still my heart hopes and I cannot change that. But waiting sometimes feels so long, And the pain feels too strong and I feel so alone.   I can shut out the emotions, it works for a time. I turn out the light and it grows dark inside. Can anyone see me here, can anyone understand?   I’ve lived too long, but I’ve lived too short. My life is a contradiction, a dance, a song, A heart break, a mistake...

She said, "I can wash these hands And make them pure again." So she washed and washed and washed Her blood stained hands But nothing could remove the blood from them. She said, "We will wash and make these hands Cleans again." But it could not be done, The blood remained. We say, "We can wash And make ourselves clean again." We wash and scrub and try to clean Those blood stained hands, These blood stained filthy rags of ours, But nothing we do can wash us clean. We work hard and try to do good. We try to make wrongs right again, But nothing we do can make us pure within. Another's blood must be spilled for us. Pure blood, righteous blood, Must be shed for her, For you, for me. He can wash us with his Own shed blood, His pure and holy blood, And make us pure again. No amount of self cleaning Could cleanse her blood stained hands Unless they are washed In the holy blood of Jesus Christ, Because he could make her w...

    To write about A rose, It seems too cliché. A rose! We admire them Every day! We sing our song of A rose, And we liken our love to A rose. Her beauty? Yes! As the beauty of  A rose. Awe, the rose! We sing for the love of A rose.   But what about the Daisy? Does the lovely pure Daisy Get any such praise As that one remarkable Rose? Oh, for the love of a Daisy! Sing its song, too! Don't forget that while The Rose May get most of the wonder, There is still the simple Yet lovely little Daisy Shining brightly in the field Waiting to be picked By you.   So don't forget to pick the Daisies, too.  

  I said a kind word One day And I saw the light That it brought, The smile on his face, The joy in his eyes. I said a kind word One day And it seemed To change a life, Give life.   I tend to be a joker, a teaser. I love to laugh and I love to make others laugh, I can be really sarcastic and sassy. But when it comes to speaking affirmation, speaking an encouraging word, giving a compliment or saying a kind word to a friend, somehow the words always get stuck in my throat and a joke comes out instead. Or sometimes I can manage a nice word, but then just so the person knows I am not really that nice, I cover it up with a joke or a sassy comment. But a few weeks ago I gave a genuine encouraging compliment to a friend and was surprised by how much joy that brought my friend not to mention how much joy it brought to myself to see his joy. When I joke with my friends, I don’t really seem to be changing a life, but when I gave that one ge...

I am excited to share with you today, the poetry works of my dear roommate, Amanda Sarna! Enjoy!   Bitter chill in frosted air Could one kill if unaware. Driving frost escapes the hand; Distance placed between command. Crystal flakes are here, Breaking noise of care.              Ever present is the knife, Fickle bones to cut with ice. Growing winds elicit fear; Given verdict: death draws near.   Fervent shield of white Errant acts rewrites.   Heeding not torrential cold, Insists the walk toward death foretold.       Jaded soul, now hedged in rime, Justice laced, no acts resign?             Image cut and sold             Heralds grace untold! Amanda Sarna is a sophomore at Bethlehem College in Seminary, hoping to...

Sometimes life reminds me I have no control, No control over anything, Over these frail circumstances,   Life's confusion, These momentary afflictions, These heart wrenching, Heart stabbing pains. I want to do something, I want to change it, To fix it, To make it all better, But I can’t. These are the moments when I realize just how small, How weak,   How broken, How insignificant I am. I can’t do anything, Yet Christ is my everything. So on my knees I cry to him, The healer of souls, The forgiver of sins, The giver of grace, Of love unmeasured. He makes us whole. Christ is my all And he has control, So I petition him On bended knees, With an aching heart. And he hears my cries And he knows our needs. He is sovereign, This promise I hold dear.    

I am excited to share with you another guest poem and this time from my very own dear sister, Elisabeth. Check out her own blog through the link below in her short bio.       Suna ambled through maples and beeches, Wearing a peasant's shirt and breaches. A lively young man, tall, thin, and ruddy, He wandered through the woods, damp and muddy.   Life was a smile for Suna, full of cheer; It was bubbles and dandelion seeds, With a blue sky, shimmering, bold, and clear, Droplets of dew on grass like diamond beads.   Then...   Then came Diabolos, that evil knight, Then vanished all glimmers of hope or light. Suna's world went from smile to frown, And his liveliness went from up to down.   Diabolos smirked his devilish smirk, He was far more than just “a piece of work.” His eyes were fiercely black, his jaws were set. Suna stood still with fright where they two met.   “You're mi...

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...