Though just a child of long ago
I remember still
The narrow crooked rocky path
And the outhouse on the hill
It creaked and groaned against the wind
And possessed an awful smell
Yet proudly stood beneath the trees
And served its purpose well
I love the comforts of today
Like running water and silly frills
Yet still I think of ages past
And the outhouse on the hill
~ Sandi
Like a zombie he sits
In crypt-like silence
staring into space
Smoking a cigarette
Drinking coffee
Thinking
His wife
Is cooking and cleaning
Skinning her knuckles on the washboard
Bringing in firewood
As he sits in the shadows
Thinking
The bills are behind
The cupboards are bare
His wife is crying
The kids are misbehaving
As he sits in the shadows
Thinking
The kids are all grown
The boys are breaking the law
His wife is working
Cooking and cleaning
As he sits in the shadows
Thinking
The years pass by
They’re both old and gray
His wife is lonely and afraid
But in silence he lies
Between snow-white sheets
Thinking
He closes his eyes
He breathes his last
Leaving only behind
Fragmented memories of a man
Sitting in the shadows
Thinking
These words came to me this morning as I thought about my son and the struggles he’s been going through for the past year. He travels the world to rescue children from sex-trafficking. He trains insanely hard to stay in shape, to be strong, to be ready for the next call. But, for personal reasons, he no longer works for the organization that sent him on endless missions to train the police in different countries, to teach them how to better rescue children, as well as him personally breaking in and rescuing a child. Many times, however, it was too late. For a year, he has been healing, praying, and longing to rescue as many children as he can. Pay or no pay, he is driven to rescue children from Satan’s den of sadistic torture, hopelessness, and despair. So, my son is waiting, healing, and longing with all his heart to spread his wings, and fly again.
There is pain in his eyes
His soul is restless
He longs to fly
But his wings are broken
How long he cries
Do I have to wait
Before you speak
Before you open the door
Heal my wings
And let me fly again
To rescue one more child
To tell her about you
How you can heal her wounds
Her mind
Her shattered soul
The wait is long and painful
Where are you
Don’t you need me anymore
Does the world not need saving anymore
There is pain in his eyes
His soul is restless
His wings are quivering
Healing
Unfolding
It won’t be much longer before God whispers
My beloved, faithful child
It’s time to fly again
This poem came to me one quiet morning during a moment of meditation. Suddenly, across the screen of my imagination, flashed a brightly colored robe . . . a token of Jacob’s love for his son, Joseph. This robe symbolized a position of honor and esteem. I wish I had known a father’s love like that, I sighed. Suddenly, like a gentle breeze, the cloak of God’s love wrapped around me, reminding me that I am precious to Him. All the finest and brightest treasures of this world pale in comparison to God’s unfailing, unchanging, unconditional love for humankind!
With loving care and tenderness
My Father made for me
A coat of many colors
For all the world to see
He didn’t have to tell me
I saw it in His face
This coat of many colors
Must ever be worn with grace
Threads of pure gold proclaim His birth
Purple, His royal descent
Stripes of snow white and patches of blue
Proclaim His purity, honor, and strength.
And to complete His glorious masterpiece
He trimmed it all in red
Proclaiming the cross at Calvary
Upon which His blood was shed.
Father, thank you for your wondrous gift
So precious rich and free
For the coat of many colors
You have made for me
And lest in arrogance I wear your gift
Forgetting from Whom it came
Remind me of the price you paid
To cover my guilt My sin
My shame
Straight From the Heart 