As I began walking on the Gravel trail in the woods, I Thought of Dad. Even though he was ninety plus Years, I thought he could keep up With me at the park. I was wrong. He was winded before long, and Had to sit on a bench. In fact, I feared he wouldn't be Able to make it back to the car. I realized my once strong dad had Limitations. I was able to go only a short distance This morning when my hip complained. In fact, it screamed, "Stop!" But I spied a bench, a blessed bench, And I was able to sit down. Instead of bemoaning the fact that I couldn't walk on, I looked and listened. The leaves haven't yet discovered that It's spring, so the tree branches were bare. But I could see through the open Spaces, a chance to view the Terrain, usually hidden. The bird sounds were louder, too, not Yet muffled by the foliage. A woodpecker must have found a Hollow tree to drum out his resounding Rhythm, The rapid knocking was a perfect Accompaniment for the beautiful bird chorus of Chirps and tweets, a nature orchestra in The round, performed just for one. As I limped back to the car I thought of Dad once more. I've discovered I have limitations too. But thankfully, I know God will always Provide a bench. |
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I was confused.
Should I pay the entry fee to Enter the writing contest? Was I foolish to even try? I prayed. I seemed to get the go-ahead, so I hesitantly sent in the poem. It appears that Paul was Puzzled at times too. Imagine that! The powerful, confident in Jesus, Paul. He tried to preach in Bithynia, but God Stopped him. He had a different plan. In Paul's litany of trials, inserted among the Hardships is this one: "Perplexed, but not in despair."* The faith giant was uncertain, but it Didn't stop him from pressing on. Quite often I'm unsure too. The nudge I feel; is it from God or me, Or from some other unknown source? I usually act on it, because even When my decision seems to turn out Wrong, I know God will turn it into Something good. (My entry didn't win. My money was "wasted." A friend tried to console me, "Perhaps someone judging the Contest needed to read your poem." Or perhaps I simply need to Learn the grace of being perplexed Without giving in to despair.) *II Corinthians 4:8
My main reason for running into the
Store was to pick up the juice I promised to Take to the meeting. But as I zipped through the aisles I Grabbed this and that, and as I Pushed my cart out to my car in the Incessant rain, I realized oops! I had Forgotten the juice. I sulked as I walked under my Umbrella back into the store and Quickly selected the container. This time I chose to go through the "Just a few items" check out. I greeted the cashier, chatted with her and Discovered she was from India. When I handed her my cash, I also slipped one of My "Have a Good One" tracts into her hand. Walking through the rain for the fourth time to My car I wondered. Did I forget the juice to meet Rita, or was it Just my befuddled brain? He met Billy Graham, the man said,
And another shook hands with the President. I saw in the paper that a little girl was Presented to the Pope. But my bragging rights top them all. I haven't just met Him, or Spoken with Him. I'm actually part of His family. My claim to fame is that I'm the Treasured daughter of the King. And amazingly, Outrageously, He claims me. When I've worked for two days
Cooking potatoes, cooling them in The fridge, Doing the same with hard boiled eggs, Dicing them all and adding Extras to make potato salad and Discover after testing it that I added much too much salt, Too much to take my dish to the Party, what do I do? I try to add more of this and that And keep tasting it until I can't stand Another bite, and I finally give up and Throw it all in the garbage. I groan and moan, and wallow in Remorse for awhile, Bemoaning the ingredients and time I wasted and my lack of cooking skills, And then I pull myself together and take Stock of the food in my house and Make a fruit salad instead, so thankful It doesn't call for salt. (And I share my misery with my Facebook friends hoping for just a Tiny bit of sympathy.) I noticed him right away at the
Nursing home where I subbed for The piano player. He looked much younger than the Silver crowned seniors with his bushy Hair and beard. I introduced myself to him and discovered His name was John. "Just like my brother's name," I told him. "I don't want to be here," he spouted. "I want out right now." His mom sitting beside him tried to Calm her son. "You'll get out when you can walk." She told me he'd had a stroke. "I want out now," he repeated, Adding a few curse words for emphasis. I asked him, "Would you mind if I Prayed with you?" He didn't object, so I held his hand and Prayed that God would give him peace. "I don't have any peace. I want out right Now," John insisted. His mother was embarrassed by his Outburst and patted his arm. "It's hard for you, too," I told her. She nodded. My words seemed so paltry, like a few Sprinkles on a drought ravaged farm field. But I hope they at least sensed my concern. I left them sitting there, both staring at The air, and as much as I ached for John, I ached just as much for his mother. We try to hide the skeletons in
Our closets. We don't want the despicable Behavior of a relative to Sully our family's reputation, for The stain of one reflects on all of us. But it occurred to me today that It's not my reputation I should be Concerned about, but my Father's. My actions bring Him either honor or Shame, and I don't want my sin to mar His royal name. But because He's my Father and I'm His child, Even when I fail, He wil Never disown me. |
Dorothy Kalb Hsu Seitzinger
Writing poetry has helped me process and express my sorrows and joys, my concerns and blessings. "Life is hard, but God is good!" Archives
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