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

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)

Markings in the wood
Some from man's frailties
Some from the hand of God
Wish I understood
Things of humanity
Things of God
Maybe I never will
Could be God breathed
Could be my own
In my own weakness
I fall short continuously
I fall in the arms of God

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

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.”