The first poem I ever wrote

Sherri and I had been going to an Open Mic night in our neighborhood for several months, making friends and building relationships with those who regularly attended and performed. I think that it would be safe to say that the vast majority do not share my faith in Christ, and are in fact hostile to their understanding of the Bible and of organized religion. However, the warmth and receptivity of the audience was very engaging, and I found myself desiring to share my life and my heart with them in some creative way.

So, not being able to sing, dance or play an instrument, I turned to the only thing I have some skill with: words. I thought if I could put my "worldview" into poetic form, I could share it from the stage. Below is the first poem that I wrote and performed.

The best time of day I find to be,
the early morning hours, when it's just me,

in the quiet, in the stillness all alone
to imagine the future that is my own.

To imagine the future that just may be
though what a day holds no one can see.

But still I have hope
that I as I devote

myself to this day
I will be able to say

That one more piece of the puzzle meant to be
my life's purpose and destiny

will find its way onto the table,
so that I might be able

to say that my life and my time
here has fallen more in line

with what was his imagination
in the early morning hours of creation.

A Poem called "Stories"

I see my life as a story,
a story whose prologue has been written long ago
by those whose stories came before my story,
whose stories came together to create the setting and compose the introduction to my story.

I see my life as a story,
a story whose chapters are being written now
in connection with those whose stories are unfolding at the same time as my story,
whose stories in which I, in turn, see my story as a chapter.

I see my life as a story,
a story whose epilogue will be written someday
by those whose stories will come after my story,
whose stories in which my story will play a part in their prologue.

I see all lives as stories,
stories being written under the watchful eye of a common editor
who continues to create and compile the grand story that encompasses all stories,
the ultimate story that will take mankind across the line from time into eternity,
the epic story that can only rightly be called, his-story.

If Dr. Suess was one of the 12 disciples

I have often wondered what would have happened if Dr. Suess was one of the 12 disciples. I am quite sure that he would have submitted a Gospel account, at least with his version of the stories and parable that Jesus told.

So, below is my rendition of the Prodigal Son as retold by Dr. Suess:
_______________________________________________

Now this is the story of a father with two sons,
both boys seemed grown, but the younger one

possessed little understanding of being a man,
and less of a knowledge of life's overall plan.

So early one morning for the road he came dressed,
and standing before his father he made this request:

"Just give me what's mine of this family's treasure,
for my heart has grown bored here and I'm off to find pleasure

in the world beyond the boundaries of this family's land,
I'm off to find life in whatever's at hand."

So divide the family inheritance is what the father had done
and into the hands of this, his youngest son

was placed a large portion of all the father had won
through his days of toil and labor, under the son.

Soon his journey took the boy to a far distant land,
where before he could stop it the whirlwind began;

food, fame and friends, wine women and song
were there for the asking but only as long

as the money was flowing to cover the bill,
when his pockets ran empty the room quickly grew still.

Soon a famine developed that swept over the land
and with a local pig farmer he hired on as a hand.

In the midst of the squalor his mind began turning
to thoughts of his father and the lessons he was learning.

"My father's servants back home live so much better than this,
oh, what I would not give for his embrace and his kiss.

But it's too late for me for I have squandered his wealth,"
said the young son with great grief, said the young son to himself.

"It was my father's good graces that allowed me to roll
through life's pains and life's struggles, how did I not know?

But I can rise now and return to where I came from
and ask for forgiveness for what I have done,

understanding I've forfeited my rights as a son,
but of the number of his servants, perhaps I could be one."

As he crested the last hill on the long journey home,
what unfolded next he could have never known,

for his father came running with tears in his eyes,
and the younger son's heart was overwhelmed by surprise.

"My son,
I have been watching and waiting with hope in my heart
that one day you'd return and make a fresh start."

"But father,
I've sinned against heaven and I want you to know
that of all that you gave me I have nothing to show;

I no longer deserve to be considered your son,
just call me a servant and all will be done."

The father called instead to his servants with joy,
"Bring a ring and a robe, and some shoes for my boy.

Call a party together so that all may know,
that my son who was lost and who had decided to go

has returned in repentance to where he belonged
and I receive him with gladness, it was for him my heart longed."

Now when the sounds of celebration drifted into the fields
where the older son toiled attempting to yield

a great crop for his father to make his heart proud,
his ears heard the music and the sounds of the crowd.

Now when he came near to the house he asked of a slave,
"Exactly what has happened here to cause my father to rave?"

"It's your brother, he's returned from the far distant land,
and your father's rejoicing for his youngest son is in hand."

Now the older son became angry at the words that he heard
and his spirit grew bitter from what he had learned.

So when his father approached and invited him in,
the older son asked, "When have I not been

by your side day and night as your most faithful son?
Yet when that fool returns I see a party's begun."

"My son,
All I have has been yours from the first day until now,
but with all that has happened I must ask you how

could we not celebrate your brother's return,
when on this day I have finally learned

that my son who was dead is alive again,
so with all my heart I say 'Let the party begin.'"

I have been writing some poetry.... what do you think?

At the close of my life
when the curtain falls,
when the lights go dim
and eternity calls...
my name,

what will I claim?
and on what will I stand,
knowing deep inside
there will be a demand...
to answer,

for the time I have spent
going around the sun,
for the people I've met
as I've done this run...
called life,

can I trust that I'm right
believing that I am good,
thinking I have done
all that I should...
for others,

and can I hope that it covers
the deep sense of shame,
for all of my sin
and for all of the pain...
I've caused?

so, I choose to trust
in a Gospel of grace,
in the work of Christ's cross,
and in a smile on the face...
of Jesus.