Twas the first eve of Driver’s ed –
Who knew if we’d make it through alive or dead?
Many had gone before and many would follow,
But I only pray dear Lord to be alive tomorrow!
We cautiously entered that battered, worn, torn car
With cruise control gone and A.C. below par.
Signs emblazoned about and above for all to see,
Proclaiming that beginning drivers were we.
A handful of giggling girls filled the load
Out to conquer the mysteries of the road.
Just to make sure we made it through alive
Was Mr. Moony staunchly at the driver’s side.
“Girls, no need to fret,” he boldly declared,
“I’m fabulous! Not average or fair!”
Thus knowing the ego of our master
We began our quest to the sounds of – ‘Slower, no faster!’
For ages upon ages he had faced the fears
Of riding with drivers just skimming 16 years.
Many a time he’d looked death in the face
As he tried to regulate the driver’s pace.
Highways and city traffic held no fear for him
As he bravely risked life and limb.
A noble man, a martyr no doubt,
Teaching others to survive traffic’s tortuous routes.
Though you’ll find, if you look very close
Past the seemingly peaceful pose,
The worn steel brake on the passenger’s side
As he heroically tries to make it through one more ride.
You’ll notice also how he clings so tight
To the fraying seat belt as he valiantly battles his fright.
What drives a man to such lengths you might ask,
What spurs such commitment to completion of a task?
Many have pondered over long years this very query,
Longing to understand the heart of such dedication clearly.
The conclusion to which we must arrive
Is not money, for could money motivate such drive?
Neither is it love that provokes such devotion,
Nay tis only insanity that could pursue a man to such notions.
Yet, despite unsoundness of mind and just to show we care,
The cost of your necessary therapy we promise to share,
And selflessly we give enough to cover (in part)
The surgery duly required for your failing heart!
by Jenne Brown
SHE IS YOU
She has been knocked down quite a few times.
She has lost sight of the joys along this climb.
She dusts off her knees and finds the courage to RISE.
She looks not to what is seen, but the unseen, opening her spiritual eyes.
And for the first time she feels a glimmer of hope.
And for the first time she feels like she can actually cope.
She is no longer blind to the truth.
The freedom she is living is the undeniable proof.
She is completely forgiven; She is outrageously loved in this life that she’s living.
She is righteous, not because of her works or lack thereof.
But because of HIS work and HIS love.
She is a beloved daughter and lover; She is a warrior, an overcomer.
She is a new creation. The old is gone, the new is HERE.
She is full of power, love and no longer needs to fear.
She is feeling the pressure of the opposition because the enemy knows her capabilities.
Even when she doesn’t see it herself, this spiritual battle is proof of the possibilities.
She is here for a purpose, for SUCH A TIME AS THIS.
When she finally steps into HIS will she is able to see all that was amiss.
So she stands up ONE MORE TIME, after being pushed down a dozen.
Though outside her comfort zone, this is her safe place, her rock, her fortress, there’s no discussion.
She is VALUED, she is PRECIOUS, she is CHERISHED, she is NEW.
She is a MASTERPIECE, she is SEEN, she is KNOWN…
SHE IS YOU.
In hours between dusk and dawn
When minds are weary and drawn,
When souls are meant for sleeping
Crackling light comes streaking.
Illuminating dreams with eerie shadows,
Pounding sounds of battle’s bellow.
Too soon a banshee shrieking
Bursts upon my slumber, seeking
Entrance into my unfocused state,
As impoverished senses strive awake
To find a storm of darkness and light
Brewed this hot, humid summer night.
Alone my house stands in the dark countryside
Without city noise, without city lights.
Sheltered from eyes by a curve in the road
With trees to hide my abode.
Windows of covering bereft
This play of lightening I must now accept.
Water and wind toss the sturdy trees,
Beat a flurry upon frantic leaves.
The maple strikes against the glass –
Let me in, Let me in, it gasps.
I see the apple trees shaken,
Slender branches slapping without breaking.
I sit ‘neath the window, sill clutched ‘tween my fingers.
I could go, but choose to linger.
Peering past my window ledge,
Down to the meadow on horizon’s edge.
In the allotment of my gaze,
I observe the storm’s forays.
Rain hurls itself to the ground,
Wave upon wave wears it down.
A thousand warriors upon each front,
A thousand lines earth must confront.
Power erupts from forces fighting high,
In heaven’s realm, hidden from eye.
Explosions that crash and break and dive,
Screaming through a paralyzed sky.
I am blinded by light
Flashing as it ignites.
Creeping into corners where darkness is kept,
Awakening chambers where night has slept.
Niceties of the day all stripped away,
The normalcy of light left me naught but night.
Naught but flickers and glimmers upon my vision,
Naught but deafening din without remission.
Against the torrent, reason seeks a voice,
To rise above the roaring noise.
It must sometime end –
The strength of the wind
Will sweep this storm from my door,
And reach to farther, further shores.
And yes, at last, the storm does blow
Not out, but farther down the road.
And the wind reduces to a breeze.
The only rain, pitter-patter drops from leaves.
Light flickers in the distance far away,
As thunder rolls like echoes of another day.
But the storm gives one final cry
Before it lies down to die.
Crack, the air screeches as it’s ripped apart.
And slipping senses come to with a start
Eyes seek to know what they are seeing.
As ears hear thunder that pulls and tumbles,
Crashing oceans of racket and rumble.
Before this last stand, this barrage upon the night,
This cry that seemingly rips
Right through my soul
And the whole of all that exists,
Simply whimpers and simpers and fades into the mist.
And just as suddenly – terror and fear can no longer be found,
Though moments past my breath was bound.
We all shall know our own storms,
When doubt crowds and confidence is torn;
When life seems too large,
And trust too hard.
When the destroyer strives
To ravage the calm in our lives.
The enemy’s attacks can appear relentless,
With displays that consume our senses.
For the deceiver hides behind pernicious lies,
Spewed to discourage and entice compromise.
Yet we must not justify reasons to concede,
Despite blows that strike so deep.
In ferocity life may roar and rock and roll,
But refuse its entrance into the sanctuary of our soul.
Confront our fears face to face,
Undo the bindings which would encase.
I will not bow in deference to the terrors of the night,
Regardless their gaudy display of fraudulent might.
Determine to tenaciously contend,
Jesus paid the price that we might win.
So, we find God’s promises assured
When we choose to believe, choose to endure.
And a growing confidence is gained
As God is proved in the triumph attained.
Through chaos and calamity we cease not to believe.
God’s truth more real than what mere senses perceive.
So, we deny disaster,
Push past fear that would master,
Defy the deceiver to boldly claim
The victory bestowed us through Christ Jesus’ name.
Though life’s storms can still stir shivers of fright,
Now, I perceive a greater depth and beauty to persist in delight.
Where once all I found was terror, now I find a thrill,
For God leads me and His presence is with me still.
And times I could flee, I choose to stay, longing to see,
Something greater that lies beyond comfort and quiet skies.
When no one saw the tears I cried,
God’s hand wiped the tears dry.
When no arms reached out to hold,
God’s arms were tight to enfold.
When loyal friends could not be hailed,
God’s promise to remain never failed.
God’s shoulders have felt my tears,
And God’s ears have known my fears.
More than any friend loyal and true,
More than any friend I ever knew,
More than any love who captured eye and ear,
God’s arms have held me tenderly near.
With countless friends I have been blessed,
But of them all, God is the best!
(Ode to Triteness – A Story)
‘Twas a dark and stormy night,
When I felt pain of broken heart…
“Cut, stop! Quit, I say! That’s too trite!”
“Oh, father! Please! Don’t even start!”
The one screaming ‘trite,’ that’s daddy dear,
The one moaning – that’s me.
Accusing finger flying, I hear –
“Originality’s what we need!”
A young artist, slaving away,
The only words to touch my ears –
“Say it a different way!”
But it’s all been said over the years.
I can’t say – Lips like roses red,
Or – Eyes like the brilliant sky blue,
Because it’s already been said,
And it’s rally touch to make it new.
People praise Shakespeare and Poe,
And say they were talented men,
But what they don’t seem to know
Is that writers today just can’t win!
Sure, it was just fine for them to say –
“I’ll love you til the end of time”
But if I wrote that stuff today,
I’d cross it out and write a new line.
There is one handy weapon though,
A thesaurus is its name,
And it doesn’t matter what you know,
Your writing will never be the same!
On a dim, tempestuous eve,
I knew anguish of a splintered soul –
Aha! I’e done it as you can see!
Now I can say anything – new or old!
Listen up, how does this sound –
Fairer than flowers, sanguine lips,
Or – Cerulean eyes heaven bound.
Now, I’ll just spew off revised quips!
Transfiguration is what we need
(Because really it’s the only way)
Because it just won’t happen today.
(By the way…)
(Please don’t mention this to my dad.
He’s just not the type to understand,
And I know for a fact he’d be mad,
If he knew about my master plan!)