Categories
Poetry Relationships

Real People

On January 1st, I started reading the Bible through again. I decided to use the Amplified version this year because I appreciate the added synonyms that give me a fuller meaning of words.

Sometimes, I find it hard to get a sense of the people in the Bible stories as real people in relationships with one another and with God. They appear as paper cutouts like the image above.

Last month I shared a poem with you written by my friend, Agnes Fisher. I loved what that poem did for me in sensing some of the emotions Mary, the mother of Jesus, would have felt. Today I want to share another poem by Agnes. It is titled Noah’s Wife. I read it as I got to the story in Genesis of Noah and the ark. It made me pause to reflect on Noah’s obedience to God over a long period of time as he built the ark and what it cost him emotionally.

We know from the Bible that Sarah questioned God’s promise to Abraham that he would have a biological son. Since she couldn’t believe the promised son would be born to her, she proposed that Abraham have a child by Hagar.

Job’s wife told him to curse God and die, after Satan was allowed to afflict him physically.

We don’t know from the Bible what Noah’s wife experienced. However, this poem helped me to see her as a real person as I caught a glimpse of what it might have been like.

Noah's  Wife

She stood far back
listening to her neighbors 
laugh and deride Noah
pointing accusing fingers
shaking wise heads
shooting scornful looks
laughing, laughing, laughing
at her husband
at the boat builder
at the dry ground.

The great Ziggurats
the sophisticated city
the gardens and roads
the tree-lined streets
the modern cafe's serving
the flat breads and fruits
that stood in mocking judgement
to the folly of the simple-minded
builder hammering his silly
vessel together as though
it would rain.

They slunk
out of the city 
to observe 
perhaps to spy
perhaps to ridicule
perhaps to laugh to
double over in
mutual hilarity
and be entertained 
by the madman
the "captain" at they
called him now.

"Hey, Captain Noah
when's it gonna rain?"

How much rain would it take?
she thought as she struggled her way
through Noah's obstinate
building days,
through her former 
friends' ridicule and laughter
through dried out days
to launch such a great,
such a stupid ship?

Jaweh, Maker of heaven
and earth had given orders.
Jaweh was the planner,
the predictor
the architect
the contractor
the foreman
and Noah
the poor
mad builder.

Why had Jaweh made such a fool of him?

She
could not grasp
Jaweh's plan,
Noah's obedience,
her friends' derision,
her own confusion.

His wife laughed him to scorn
with the others.

Then the rain came.

The times, customs, culture, and language described in the Bible are vastly different from our own. However, despite these differences, we, like them, are human beings living in a fallen and sinful world. After reading this poem, I found myself contemplating what Noah may have been feeling – the pain and loneliness in his marriag and family, having relationships that are unsupportive, full of questions and doubts, and the weight of sacrifice. Also, I wondered about the encouragement, the honor, the reverential fear, the intimacy in Noah’s relationship with Jaweh.

Since I am now reading in the book of Deuteronomy, I have read the stories of so many others that have caused me to pause, ponder, think of them as real people, and then look at myself. There was and is always a price for obedience. But far more valuable is the invitation to intimacy with our Creator, who gives the necessary grace for living each day in the midst of all our circumstances and relationships.

Thank you, Agnes, for a poem that causes me to reflect and an opportunity to share it.

Categories
Poetry

Remembering and Anticipating His coming

I chose the featured image of the manger and the crown of thorns because they embrace joy, sorrow, and hope. The baby, Jesus, is not there. The Christ who wore the crown of thorns is not there. He was born. He lived. He died in our place. He arose. He ascended. And now we wait for his second advent.

Recently, I was in the home of Agnes Fisher, an artist, poet, and teacher who leads the creative writing group I participate in. I am the newest group member; others have been with her for years. Before I left, she took me through her home so that I could see her paintings. In the process, I learned of poems partnered with some of her paintings compiled and published a dozen years ago under the title Daughters of Zion, Voices of the Women in the Bible.

I sat with a cup of coffee this morning and read through some of this lovely book. Later, I asked and received permission from Agnes to share one of her paintings and a poem that blessed me in my quiet time.

We know the story. Mary didn’t. She lived through it moment by moment and experienced fear, wonder, joy, love, grief, and hope. She held in her heart the things she did not understand.

As I immersed myself in the words and picture below, my heart was flooded with emotion and overwhelming gratitude that I could celebrate the birth of the one who also became my Savior. And I, too, must hold what is beyond my understanding in my heart.

Mary

Fear brought me to my knees.
Joy lifted me up.

Grief swallowed me whole
Resurrection saved me.

At his birth
At  his cross
At his tomb

I was stretched to
the limits 
of motherhood.

My son is my saviour
and I am his child

Who can get it?

If Jesus Christ, the eternal Word, Creator and Sustainer of all things, who became flesh, a baby born in Bethlehem to a virgin, who lived and died that we might be reconciled to a Holy God, has not become your Savior, may you find Him. And to those who belong to Him, may we know and love Him more intimately, live for Him more fully, and become more like Him as we worship and wait for His return.

In the new year, I hope to share other poems from this book by Agnes. If you are interested in it yourself, you can find it on Amazon under the author’s name, A. C. Fisher, or you can get it through WestBow Press.

Categories
Poetry Relationships

Coming Home

I meant to post this a month ago after returning home from Slovakia. It is a poem I wrote on August 26, 1988 for someone else’s homecoming 35 years ago. It was written for Joe Ann as she came home from treatment for alcoholism and addiction to pain medication.

Usually, by the time a child is four years old, they can identify the emotions of being happy, sad, angry, and scared. Most addicted people find it difficult to recognize and acknowledge their feelings. Many times group sessions in a treatment center begin by asking each person in the group to indicate whether they are feeling glad, sad, mad, or scared.

I felt all of these emotions when I thought of Joe Ann’s release from treatment and her stay with me through the four months of her aftercare. I wanted not only to remember what I was feeling but also to let Joe Ann know.

Today You Are Coming Home

Today you are coming home.
What do I feel?
I feel glad -
Joyful, exhilerated, delighted, ecstatic.
I feel pride and love.
I celebrate your growth,
Your courage and your strength.
I live today with hope and faith.

Today you are coming home.
What do I feel?
I feel sad -
Aching, wounded, pained, hurt.
I am sorry to take you from this place
Where you have found community,
Where you found confession, 
And experienced God in humanity.

Today you are coming home.
What do I feel?
I feel mad -
Anger, rage, disgust, comtempt,
About the ignorance in the world
About judgment, intolerance, and stigma
That makes you fear to acknowledge triumph
And freedom
Over a disease our world will abet but not admit.

Today you are coming home.
What do I feel?
I feel scared -
Inadequate, hesitant, tense, frightened.
I fear the intrusion
Of the past and the future on today.
I am scared of my own fear that pushes me
From supportiveness toward control and
Protectiveness.

Today you are coming home. 
What do I feel?
I feel glad, sad, mad, and scared.
But most of all, I feel gratitude
That you are moving toward wholeness,
That I am blessed to stand beside you,
That both of us have grown and are growing,
That we walk this way together, with God and
Many others.

Today you are coming home.
Yea!
Yea for you!
Yea for me! 
Yea for God!
Yea for every drunk who is sober!

Joyce De Ridder
August 26, 1988
Categories
Poetry Relationships

Quiet Time

Recently Allen Arnold wrote about a sign on a Mexican restaurant that read “In a hurry? Come back when you are not.” It seems each order was hand-made and the process could not be hurried.

In our frantic, overscheduled world in which we often hear and often say how busy we are, our quiet time with the Lord, if we have one, is often hurried. I have been a critic of one-minute and five-minute devotional books for a long time because they would have us cram in a verse and a thought and a prayer without allowing time to wait, to listen, and to hear what the Holy Spirit wants us to know as we move into our day.

Today I want to share another poem by Ron Owens set to music by Patricia Owens along with a link so you can listen to this lovely song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pux5GuhHbkQ

The Quiet Time

The Quiet Time, The Quiet Time,
when I sit at Jesus' feet.
Those special, hallowed moments
when the earth and heaven meet.
Preparing for the day ahead,
I feast upon the Living Bread;
my soul restored, my heart renewed
in The Quiet Time.

The Quiet Time, The Quiet Time,
the savior's voice I hear,
communing with my blessed Lord,
His holy presence near.
I look into His matchless face,
I praise Him for His amazing grace,
I face the day, I go with Him,
From The Quiet Time.

I love the featured image on this post. It calls forth memories of my own childhood, the period of my life when I learned the importance of having a Quiet Time. It is so focused, so undisturbed, so intimate. How did I ever let time, age, and activities, move me to compromise that time, abbreviate it, forget it or lessen its priority?

In another one of his Daily Thoughts, Arnold quoted a friend as saying “Hurry is an attitude which comes from an agreement with a lie that God is expecting more than you can do.”

I have spent more days of my life than I care to recall with an attitude of hurry. At this time in my life I am working at confronting that lie and at recognizing that being fully present in the moment and relishing quiet togetherness with the Lord and with others is far more significant and satisfying than mindless busyness. I am learning that even doing what must be done can be done can be with a quiet heart and mind.

For those of you who are interested, you will find some thoughtful writing at www.withallen.com/blog

Categories
Poetry

His Name Is Jesus

April is National Poetry Month. This week I am choosing to feature the first verse of a poem, His Name is Jesus, written by Ron Owens and set to music by Patricia Owens.

Ron and Patricia have been dear friends since I met them through Joe Ann Shelton in 1989. Joe Ann sang their song as part of a medley which we played at her memorial service. Because I wanted to give you a link to the medley, I have included the words from another song written by Danny Lee that Joe Ann sings as part of the medley; they appear as the second verse below, following the chorus. This medley is a favorite of mine and I am including the link here so that you may hear it. https://vimeo.com/720367464

May you have a blessed Easter as we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. How wonderful to serve a living Lord!

His Name is Jesus

There are some who only know His name as just another name,
There are many who think there's no difference - that He's just the same
as all other prophets, sages, who've walked down through history,
that He died as any ordinary man upon that tree.
For they've never met my Jesus, they have never seen His face.
They know nothing of His boundless love nor of His saving grace.
They have never walked beneath the stream that flows from Calvary, 
they know only what is said of Him, He's only history.

His name is Jesus; yes, He's the One.
His name is Jesus, God's only Son.
His name is Jesus, bright morning star;
Come to this Jesus just as you are.

The busy streets and sidewalks, they suddenly grew still
as a man came through the entrance to the city.
He touched and healed a blindman with a little piece of clay,
and with trembling lips you could hear the people say
Jesus, Jesus, He is the Son of God.
Jesus, Jesus, the precious Son of God.
Fairest of ten thousand, bright and morning star,
sweetest rose of Sharon, He came to set us free
Jesus, Jesus, He's everything to me.
Yes, He's everything to me.

His name is Jesus; yes, He's the One.
His name is Jesus, God's only Son.
His name is Jesus, bright morning star;
Come to this Jesus just as you are.
Categories
Poetry

Habits and Change

There is a poem by Portia Nelson that most people who are in recovery from some addiction or destructive habit have read or heard. Although I worked for many years with those who were addicted to a substance, I believe An Autobiography in Five Chapters is a poem that speaks to most of us.

Someone who was interpreting for Joe Ann at an AA meeting in Slovakia told us that he had gotten into a habit of playing games on the computer and that it had become a habit that absorbed more and more of his time and was interfering with what he should have been doing. There are people who spend more time than they want to on social media or watching television or eating the wrong things or any number of things. I believe the reason these habits are so difficult to break is because we experience them as pleasant, a relief from stress, or an escape and we like what we feel. When they become habits we do them unconsciously and they have a life of their own. We are all good at rationalizing, justifying, and minimizing what we don’t want to give up.

If you have a habit that you want to change, think about replacing it with something better. And let someone know that you are working on getting rid of a habit. Ask them to ask you how your doing. I think this statement: “you alone can do it but you cannot do it alone” applies to most of us trying to make significant change.

An Autobiography in Five Chapters 

Chapter 1 
I walk down the street. 
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. 
I fall in. I am lost... I am helpless. 
It isn't my fault. 
It takes me forever to find a way out. 

Chapter 2 
I walk down the same street. 
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. 
I pretend I don't see it.
 I fall in again.
 I can't believe I am in the same place.
 But it isnt my fault.
 It still takes a long time to get out.
 
Chapter 3
 I walk down the street.
 There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
 I see it is there.
 I still fall in ... it's a habit. 
My eyes are open.
 I know where I am.
 It is my fault.
 I get out immediately.

 Chapter 4
 I walk dow the same street.
 There is a deep whole in the sidewalk.
 I walk around it. 

Chapter 5
 I walk down another streer.
Categories
Poetry

Living a Life that Matters

Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom

Psalm 90:12

What Will Matter?

Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end.
There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days.
All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten
will pass to someone else.

Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.
It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.
Your grudges, resentments, frustrations
and jealousies will finally disappear.
So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to-do lists will expire.
The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won't matter where you came from
or what side of the tracks you lived on in the end.
It won't matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant.
Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.

So what will matter?
How will the value of your days be measured?

What will matter is not what you bought
but what you built, not what you got but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success
but your significance.

What will matter is not what you learned
but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity,
compassion, courage, or sacrifice
that enriched, empowered or encouraged others
to emulate your example.

What will matter is not your competence
but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew,
but how many will feel a lasting loss when you're gone.
What will matter is not your memories 
but the memories that live in those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered, 
by whom and for what.

Living a life that matters doesn't happen by accident.
It's not a matter of circumstance but of choice.
Choose to live a life that matters.

Michael Josephson

I am remembering Joe Ann this Christmas with joy and gratitude for the way she lived her life and the contribution she made to me and so many others. 

Categories
Poetry

Why Do I Love You?

The poem below I wrote in 1974. It was not written with anyone specific in mind but was written in response to a sentence from a deep, insightful paper entitled If I Were Your Counselee; it was written by Milton Cudney, a professor of counseling at Western Michigan University.

“Think what we would have going for us, though, if you and I and others contributed only a little to each other, but that this little was multiplied by each succeeding experience we had with each other.”

Milton Cudney

WHY DO I LOVE YOU?

Why do I love you?
Because you love me.
And when you love me,
You become a part of me.
And I love you
Because I love myself.

Why do I love you?
Because you love me.
And when you love me, 
I become a part of you.
And when I become a part of you,
I am bigger than myself.

Why do I love you?
Because you love me.
And your love for me
And my love for you
Makes us both
Bigger than we are.

What happens whe we
Are both bigger than we are?
We have love to give
To someone else -
Even to someone who
Does not love us back.
Categories
Poetry

Middle Time

In 1976 I read a poem called Middle Time in a copy of His magazine, a publication of InterVarsity Christian Fellowship from 1941 to 1986, that became my all-time favorite because its message has always been real and relevant in every period of my life. I am always in the middle time of something. Beginnings and endings seem short compared to most middle times in my life.

I chose the name Associates in Accomplishment for our nonprofit organization from the last line of this poem and have quoted excerpts from it more times than I can remember.

It reminds me that while change is a constant in life I am never without the stabilizing, balancing truth found in the Bible in the book of Hebrews that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

It is a daily encouragement to me to realize that I am a work in progress and that Jesus is the completer of me and my unfinished work and times.

Middle Time

Between the exhilaration of Beginning
and the satisfaction of concluding
is the Middle Time
of enduring, changing, trying,
despairing , continuing, becoming.

Jesus Christ was the man of God's Middle Time
Between Creation and...Accomplisment.
Through Him God said of Creation,
"Without Mistake."
And of Accomplishment,
"Without doubt."

And we in our Middle Times
of wondering, waiting, hurrying,
hesitating, regretting, revising;
We who have begun many things -
And seen but few completed;
We who are becoming more - and less
through the evidence of God's Middle Time
have a stabilizing hint
that we are not mistakes,
that we are irreplaceable,
that our Being is of interest,
and our Doing is of Purpose,
That our Being and our Doing
are surrounded by AMEN.

Jesus Christ is the Completer
of unfinished people
with unfinished work
in unflinished times.

May He Keep us from sinking, ceasing,
wasting, solidifying - 
that we may be for Him
experimenters, enablers, encouragers,
and associates in Accomplishment.

Lona Fowler
Categories
Poetry

Autumn and Feelings

Autumn of sadness –
Missing those who are gone,
Remembering times forever past,
Wondering why I am still here.

Autumn of brownness and barrenness –
Falling leaves and hard soil
Chill winds and shortened days,
Rains that fall like bitter teams,
Moving to a darker season.

Autumn of joy –
Welcoming change and growth,
Challenging the old and risking the new,
Cherishing glimpses of hope.

Autumn of contrast and celebration –
September of new beginning,
October of glorious change,
November of warm thanksgiving,
Preparation for a new season.

Autumn of new time and place –
Magic of radiant contrast,
Appreciating all by knowing each,
Embracing moments of beauty,
Sensing serenity in change.

— JDR 10/20/88