Springing green
In this new season
When there is no
Rhyme or Reason.
New life comes
As buds unfurl
Each new leaf
A Priceless Pearl.
New Life
Springing green
In this new season
When there is no
Rhyme or Reason.
New life comes
As buds unfurl
Each new leaf
A Priceless Pearl.
Silent Snowfall
When the storms of life weigh heavily on your shoulders, and you grow weary in holding up your branches, it is then you must look within. In the dead of winter, new life is sprouting tender seeds, and that which appears to be withered and dead on the outside is sputtering and stretching with life-giving promises within. Only God could grow this kind of love...
Vines
Tender clinging vines hanging idly in the wood
I secretly peer, daring to DREAM
What temptations will I fall into
when I fall into your arms ?
You yaw and sprawl, sprouting into delicate tendrils
I spy through the window pane
DUSK falls and turns to cimmerian shades
And you change, you change...
Safe behind my window pane
Apprehension grips my Heart
No! you tempting, clinging vines
It is cold in your world And I would be lost in your arms
FOR there is only one Tree and One Vine
And HE is my refuge
WAR
In Silence
They witnessed injustice
In anger
They followed its course
The whole earth in labor
Gives birth to despair
And wallows in fields of remorse.
No longer to dream
Of the future
Or hang all their hopes
On tomorrow
Lo, death and despair
Have followed them there
And wrapped all their
Promise in sorrow.
Nowhere
Feels like I’m floating with no ground to stand on
I’m not here nor there and there's nothing to land on.
Feels like I’m drifting with no hope of landing
So God I just pray you give me understanding.
Where I’ll go next is a big question mark
Don’t know what’s coming or where I will park.
But suffice it to say I'll just trust you to know
Where I have come from and where I will go.
Until then I’ll keep flying and searching the sky
For signs of my future and faith just to try.
Fireflies
Fireflies leaping on the waters
Like Mother Nature's dancing daughters
Oh fireflies that shine by day
You're dancing now but you won't stay
For in the dark and brooding sky
Your flicker lights will shine on high
Midnight
Midnight blue in the black of night
Star studded sky, moon shining bright
Waters come rushing, stirring my soul
To heavenly skies, I must now go
Star studded sky, moon shining bright
Waters come rushing, stirring my soul
To heavenly skies, I must now go
Markings in the Wood
" He forgave us all our sins, having canceled the written code, with its regulations, that was against us and that stood opposed to us; He took it away, nailing it to the cross." (Col 2:13,14)
Palm Trees
"Cherubim and palm trees were
carved on the wall of the outer
sanctuary." (Ezekiel 41:20)
Palm trees swaying in the breeze
On sandy beaches by the sea
With open arms you beckon me
Your lofty greens, a regal crown
Your trunk a scepter, velvet brown
You dance in nature’s flowing gown
With feathered branches light and airy
Your greenery makes my heart merry
You decorate God’s sanctuary
Oh precious swaying palms
You decorate God’s sanctuary
Oh precious swaying palms
A Tribute to Nature
Tall green reeds and grasses
Line the river banks
They call out to the masses
From all the earthly ranks.
Stand tall ye wayward greens
Salute the rushing waters
Pay homage to the scenes
Of they faithful sons and daughters.
For 'tis on the mossy hills
And the rocky winding paths
Mother Nature foots the bill
For the wanderer at last.
Memories of Manitou
I’m sitting in the grassy tranquility of Manitou Park, and as the river gently winds and flows past me, childhood memories come to the surface. This beloved park has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.
As a child, my dad and older brothers would let me tag along to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon fishing on the banks of the river in Manitou Park. The rhythm of the lines cast upon the water would capture my imagination, mesmerizing this carefree little girl for hours on end.
As I grew older, Manitou became a cool hang-out for all the pre-teen girls on my block. In the spirit of Robin Hood, we would each pillage our homes, forging for anything edible that we could use for a picnic. We longed to be all grown-up, so if we were lucky enough to score some hotdogs or hamburger meat that we could cook ourselves, that made our day. And don’t forget the cheese! No respectable Wisconsite plans a picnic without it. We would shout with glee over all the ‘treasures’ we pirated, and then pedal our bikes to Manitou, with our backpacks heavy-laden with booty. After we ate until we couldn’t anymore, we would lie by the river, letting our minds wander off to the usual things young girls dream of, while we watched the billowing clouds roll by.
I remember one particular Saturday afternoon; we picked the wild white flowers in the fields, tied hundreds of them together in a chain, and carried them up to the train trestle in a funeral-like procession. We hung them from the trestle, and then quickly scurried back down to the bottom, hoping a train would come and carry our hopes and dreams off into the future. We waited for hours, but the train never came.
As I entered my teenage years, I still found myself sitting at Manitou Park in quiet contemplation. One night in particular stands out in my memory. It was the night before my first day of school at Lincoln High. I had spent the last carefree day of summer with Mark, my future husband, and his best friend Ron. We headed home late that night, feeling anxious about the unknown of being tossed into a group of other angst-filled teenagers, to make our way into a very uncertain future.
We weren’t quite ready to call it a day, so Mark pulled his rusty old pickup truck into Manitou, and the three of us sat quietly, side by side, contemplating life as the big, bright moon stoically streamed its light onto the rippling river, reminding us that this night was but a flicker in the grand scheme of life.
The mystery of Manitou still draws me close today. I have passed the torch of Manitowoc’s old romantic park on to my children and grandchildren. They must make memories of their own here. I can only share the legacy of this little piece of paradise that was handed down from the Indians who, in their reverence for this park, named it after this historic city, given the name of ‘Manitowoc’ which means “Home of the Great Spirit.”
As a child, my dad and older brothers would let me tag along to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon fishing on the banks of the river in Manitou Park. The rhythm of the lines cast upon the water would capture my imagination, mesmerizing this carefree little girl for hours on end.
As I grew older, Manitou became a cool hang-out for all the pre-teen girls on my block. In the spirit of Robin Hood, we would each pillage our homes, forging for anything edible that we could use for a picnic. We longed to be all grown-up, so if we were lucky enough to score some hotdogs or hamburger meat that we could cook ourselves, that made our day. And don’t forget the cheese! No respectable Wisconsite plans a picnic without it. We would shout with glee over all the ‘treasures’ we pirated, and then pedal our bikes to Manitou, with our backpacks heavy-laden with booty. After we ate until we couldn’t anymore, we would lie by the river, letting our minds wander off to the usual things young girls dream of, while we watched the billowing clouds roll by.
I remember one particular Saturday afternoon; we picked the wild white flowers in the fields, tied hundreds of them together in a chain, and carried them up to the train trestle in a funeral-like procession. We hung them from the trestle, and then quickly scurried back down to the bottom, hoping a train would come and carry our hopes and dreams off into the future. We waited for hours, but the train never came.
As I entered my teenage years, I still found myself sitting at Manitou Park in quiet contemplation. One night in particular stands out in my memory. It was the night before my first day of school at Lincoln High. I had spent the last carefree day of summer with Mark, my future husband, and his best friend Ron. We headed home late that night, feeling anxious about the unknown of being tossed into a group of other angst-filled teenagers, to make our way into a very uncertain future.
We weren’t quite ready to call it a day, so Mark pulled his rusty old pickup truck into Manitou, and the three of us sat quietly, side by side, contemplating life as the big, bright moon stoically streamed its light onto the rippling river, reminding us that this night was but a flicker in the grand scheme of life.
The mystery of Manitou still draws me close today. I have passed the torch of Manitowoc’s old romantic park on to my children and grandchildren. They must make memories of their own here. I can only share the legacy of this little piece of paradise that was handed down from the Indians who, in their reverence for this park, named it after this historic city, given the name of ‘Manitowoc’ which means “Home of the Great Spirit.”
The Pine Tree
“I am like the green pine tree; all your blessings come from me.” (Hos 14:8)
Look at the pine tree, standing majestically,
Its arms reaching out toward those who will draw near.
Look at the pine tree, with resilient needles that are
Affected by neither the scorching sun nor the winter frost.
They do not wither with age, nor plummet to the ground
With the blowing of the wind.
Neither the seasons of life
Nor the storms raging winds
Can shake its foundation.
In the quiet strength of its boughs
It upholds the drifting snow
And the feathered nests of the birds of the air.
Its aromatic balsam symbolizes an innocent life,
And soothes the soul with its fragrant oil.
Take great care in the presence of the pine tree,
For its needles will prick and sting at the touch of the
Unrepentant heart or the careless of spirit.
But for all who seek the mystery of its life giving branches,
And the beauty of the tender green shoots,
He whispers your name:
“Come, let the gentle stirrings of the wind
Dance within you as you caress my soft pine needles
With the tender stroke of a child’s hand.”
Look at the pine tree and be refreshed in spirit,
For He is like the green pine tree.
Look at the pine tree, standing majestically,
Its arms reaching out toward those who will draw near.
Look at the pine tree, with resilient needles that are
Affected by neither the scorching sun nor the winter frost.
They do not wither with age, nor plummet to the ground
With the blowing of the wind.
Neither the seasons of life
Nor the storms raging winds
Can shake its foundation.
In the quiet strength of its boughs
It upholds the drifting snow
And the feathered nests of the birds of the air.
Its aromatic balsam symbolizes an innocent life,
And soothes the soul with its fragrant oil.
Take great care in the presence of the pine tree,
For its needles will prick and sting at the touch of the
Unrepentant heart or the careless of spirit.
But for all who seek the mystery of its life giving branches,
And the beauty of the tender green shoots,
He whispers your name:
“Come, let the gentle stirrings of the wind
Dance within you as you caress my soft pine needles
With the tender stroke of a child’s hand.”
Look at the pine tree and be refreshed in spirit,
For He is like the green pine tree.
From the Garden to the Cross
Let me hide behind the trees
Cover me with greens and leaves
Until with nature I am one
In this garden I’m undone
Cover me with ferns and branches
Hide my sins with second chances
So that I one day appear
As the One who brought me here
It is now in utter anguish
That my heart must fully languish
Cover me so I’m unseen
But as a paltry laurel green
But if in my despair and dread
I were to grace my Savior’s head
Then for this blessing will I live
As a crown for God to give.
Cover me with greens and leaves
Until with nature I am one
In this garden I’m undone
Cover me with ferns and branches
Hide my sins with second chances
So that I one day appear
As the One who brought me here
It is now in utter anguish
That my heart must fully languish
Cover me so I’m unseen
But as a paltry laurel green
But if in my despair and dread
I were to grace my Savior’s head
Then for this blessing will I live
As a crown for God to give.
BonBon_029
In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”
Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”
“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”
The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. For no word from God will ever fail.”
“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May your word to me be fulfilled.” Then the angel left her.
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