HEAL MY HATE, LORD

December 31, 2001

Sixty years with one sweet mate,
But now she's gone and won't return!
A silent, aching, burning hate,
Deep in my heart I now discern!

I'm grateful for the years she gave;
Her loving, laughing, lifting ways
So often rose to seek and save
A multitude from darker days.

I was first among that crowd
She magnetized toward joy and peace,
As something in me cried aloud,
"In Dorothy's love I've found release!"

What I hate is this long wait
From now until I too shall stand
Within that massive pearly gate
To grasp again her loving hand.

She always said, "If I go first,
I'll count it compliment to me
If another heals your thirst
For the love we two now see."

Could even God so bless me twice,
And reproduce a Dorothy Dear
To give me love and good advice,
As Dorothy did while she was here?

Someone said, "When God made you,
He threw away that Orion mold."
So I suppose, for Dorothy too
The same sad truth is bound to hold.

So God, I’m here on bended knee;
So weak, so tired and full of pain;
So please just keep on telling me
That my sad loss is Dorothy's gain.

And keep me open to the love
That by your word might come my way;
For all good gifts come from above
To heal my hate of this sad day.

THE NEW AMERICAN WORD

December 28, 2001

Of all the gifts that Santa has brought,
There is none that counts so much for naught,
As this one named by a brand new word:
Santa has brought me a case of the gird!

Christmas dainties all stacked on the table,
And here I am, eating more than I'm able,
Destructing that muscle, the stomach's small door,
As my stomach cries out, "I can't eat more!"

And sure enough the cookies back through it
As my taste buds say, "Eat more; you can do it!"
I listen to them, which is simply absurd,
And so, here I am with a case of the gird!

So acid comes back, along with the cookie,
Saying, "Boy, Oh Boy! I'll eat this rookie!"
My poor esophagus cries out in remorse,
As minute by minute I get more hoarse!

What kind of friends would bring all this stuff,
Which pampers my ego, but makes me feel tough!
I'll package this stuff, like a wise ol' bird,
Return it for New Years, and give them the gird!

CHEERS IN TEARS

It’s time again for Christmas Cheer,
But as we close two thousand one
I find upon my cheek a tear
Which surely weighs at least a ton.

For she who made of me a poet,
Dancing, singing, in my heart,
Though she’s with God, and I know it,
Physically we are apart!

Lonely nights like this are tough;
It seems that they will never end,
And even memories are rough,
Recalling lover, confidant, friend.

But - leaving me, she left a gift,
Framed in words so strong and kind;
Words that give a constant lift:
“Press on, Dear Oj, with strength and mind.”

So God, receive this Christmas Gift,
A gift You long have loaned to me,
This soul who always gave a lift,
Wherever need should chance to be.

You gave your Son; I give my wife,
Christmas gifts to heaven and earth,
Both leading to Eternal Life,
Through her death, and by His birth.

I’m sure the angels now rejoice
As Dorothy joins that heavenly throng,
And blends with theirs her alto voice,
Help Somebody” is her song.

May angels then sing loud and clear
That Jesus Christ, Our Lord, is born,
And grant me grace that I may hear
My Dorothy’s voice this Christmas morn.

ACCORDING TO GOD’S PROMISE

Holy Spirit, speak to me; give me truth and set me free;
Open wide my eyes to see who you want me now to be.
Across the years I’ve walked the walk, but ne’er so well as I could talk;
Forgive those times when I have balked; Please change my talk to godly walk.

True trial is here; no crowds to cheer;
No congregation filled with fear as they see deadly sin appear,
Or speak in faith their glad “Amens” as you forgive their many sins,
Transforming them from “outs” to “ins” as once again your Spirit wins.

That fellowship of godly folk, to whom your spirit often spoke,
Could well my sullen soul provoke to bear with power that “holy yoke”
Which sumoned me to sacrifice, to bear the pain, to pay the price,
To show His love and good advise to ill informed as well as wise.

But passing now that four score years, I seldom hear those holy cheers
Resounding in my failing ears or see glad faces through dim tears.
Less and less I’m called to preach; moving in is my outreach;
Still, at times, I get to teach, though haltingly and slow of speech.

My Helpmate too is growing old; before her duties, not so bold,
As she still tries to keep the fold as well and warm as of old.
So shall we join Old Jeremiah and be known as woeful “Crier”
Or shall we look a great deal higher, and listen to that Holy Lyre?

The harp that makes melodious strum of glorious things yet to come,
Of “House not made with hands” for some, who grasped by faith one holy crumb
Of that SWEET BREAD, the bread of life, which gives us ear in any strife
To be God’s two, both man and wife, as we prepare for THAT NEW LIFE!.

A life where “Old Things pass away”; precisely what God has to say,
“Where all our night is turned to day” while “God’s candle lights the way”;
A life “where old things turn to new” while angels sing along with you.
“Many called, but chosen - few!” By faith there’s room for us - YOU TOO!

A LEGAL NECKIN' PARTY!

July 1, 2001

Ain't had no outside neckin' party since wed to my sweet bride;
I'd frown on such a thing and am way too old beside;
But Doctor Shari grabbed hold my neck on Monday afternoon;
An' 'fore she's through I thought fer shore I was about to swoon!

She popped that thing a time or two when I was still face down,
And then she rolled me over and really went to town!
She grabbed a hold of my bald head and turned my neck to rubber,
Then cracked that worn-out atlas 'till I was 'bout to blubber!

Then stood me up and smilin' said, "You'll feel much better now!"
I reeled on out across the hall and wondered to myself, "Just how!"
But fact o' matter, I am much better, a mystery to me;
And I shore hope when I go back she's still got that recipe.

WE SHALL LIVE ALSO

February 15, 2001

Now if Christ is preached as raised from the dead,
How could man get the thought in his head
That God in his Goodness would not raise us too,
And be so loveless as not to raise you?

If Christ was not raised our preaching is vain,
Our faith is not faith, but faith that we feign;
And we have dared to misrepresent God
As we lead others on the false path we trod.

If Christ is not raised, believers have perished
In spite of belief which they truly cherished;
And those who have died have fallen asleep
In a promise of Christ which his Father can't keep.

But, in fact, Christ has been raised from the dead;
We can believe all the Apostle has said,
For the Spirit affirms that Christ is alive;
By this affirmation our faith we derive.

It is not by works, or by human merit,
But by that soft voice of God's Holy Spirit
That we are assured of that empty grave
Reserved for ourselves by Him who can save.

So believe, my friend; open wide your heart;
Entertain no thought that God will depart
From that promise He made through His only Son,
To raise us from death when this life is done.