AUTUMN LEAVES

Thanksgiving 1999

Autumn leaves, turned red and brown,
One more year, are falling down.
Crops combined and ground fresh plowed
Hail Thanksgiving clear and loud.

November weather brings on winter,
Our hearts will soon the Advent enter,
And prophecies of Christ we’ll hear
Again on this Two Thousandth year.

Years through which faith was tested,
And for some, that faith arrested;
But for all who held steadfast,
Christ is real; that faith will last.

His mission works in all the world;
Where Christian flags are now unfurled;
Selfish greed is overthrown
As new converts become His own.

And yet, the task is never—ending;
Our children still we keep on sending,
To lighten loads and burdens bear,
‘Til Christ is Master everywhere.

MUD-HEN MENTALITY

November 19, 1999

I rode today along a dam that stopped the water for a pond,
And there a thought about all sham made me feel I should respond.
An old mud hen, with watchful glance, flexed her wings as if to fly;
She missed no step of my advance; not even one to blink her eye.

No doubt she’d often seen my horse, but not with me up on top;
The horse was just a horse of course, but me up top caused her to stop;
To take a quick survey, to look alive and wide awake;
“To stay or not to stay?” The choice was hers to make.

I felt she’d fly, and Skipper too: his ears pricked up, his eyes alert,
We stopped to watch that bird; I eased off and loosed the girt.
No flap of wings, no fast retreat, but diving down into the deep,
She disappeared, fast and neat, to safety that she thought she’d keep.

How human did that bird appear, as she ducked down clear out of sight,
But ducking does not quiet our fear, but rather cancels all our light;
The light that always lets us see, through faith, an ever open door,
That life provides for you and me to love and live forevermore.

But Skip and I outlasted her; submerged that long, all have to rise;
So now, or then, as we prefer, we all return to watchful eyes.
No doubt her fear made her dive into waters cold and dark,
But every bird, to stay alive, has, in the “light”, to re-embark.

It must have been a great surprise, when she came up to face the “light”
And flicked the dampness from her eyes and saw need to flee or fight.
We had no plan to hurt that bird; she dived so deep because of fear;
“Our foe is fear,” we have heard; and when fear fades, we’re all still here.

WHAT WE WANT FOR CHRISTMAS

November 16, 1999

How often we have prayed for this I really cannot say,
But seeing what we mostly miss should choose our gift for Christmas Day;
Not a shiny brand new car, nor trinkets fair to line our shelves,
But just to know who we are, that we might now reclaim ourselves.

“Burnout” blasts our fondest dreams: thwarts achievement of our goals;
Loosens us at all our seams; takes apart our very souls;
This illness comes, I am told, by those who really ought to know,
To the brave, to the bold, who give their best as they go.

We term this busy sort of life our measure of success:
Few times to love our wife; and those times marred by weariness;
No time to watch a sunset; to take a family walk;
To talk about the problems met; to have a family talk.

Moderation is our need; God saw that His first great week;
His creation, we now read, brought God at last His rest to seek;
So, Santa, when you pack your sleigh, please pack for all this one great gift:
A calmer, gentler, moderate way to move the burdens we must lift.