"Heaven in the hay"

(Composed the second week of Advent 2010).

Heavy is the weight, frigid the air,
Blackest solitude, broken
Are the bonds that would unite.
Hiding, buried deep in earth,
Far from the stars, years since
Last seeing their faint shimmer.

Sinking darker into earth,
Crushing struggle,
Pain of despair,
Deeper pit,
Anchor weighs,
Chains clatter,
Heaviest burden--
Imprisoned by night.

In this night virgin gave birth,
Unto us a child was born,
Into this cave a star arose,
Blessed light of infant eye
In cries of a babe is shone;
Salvation to humanity come,
Divinity in manger lay--
Resplendent heaven in the hay.

"Nestled"

(Resting in the love of our Father
On October 13, 2010).

Tenderly nurturing the tiny babe
Enveloped in warm embrace
Gentle comfort as he sings
Delight streaming from his face

Cocooned in his mighty hands
Protected from all harm
None can dismiss his love
Nor snatch me from his arm

In him I am secure
Nestled in his grace
Mercy wrapped all around
His peace my resting place

"Progress"

(Pounded out on the evening
Of October 1, 2010).

Melding the ancient with the modern
Creating a new work, a fresh perspective
The ancient stones arranged in a linear grid
The craft of antiquity, sculptures of marble
And bronze, now portraying in ways anew
Universal human truths newfangled
Contemporary issues and obsessions
Techniques, materials, myths of old
Recombined, rethought, reimagined

Refusing to simply duplicate
Nor desiring to merely replicate
But seeking to uniquely create
A personal interpretation, expression
Seemingly slow
Still, serene past
Juxtaposed with the rushing, dashing,
Moving, jolting, hustling, steam engine
Drive of the future—or rather the present—

Desiring a slower time
A time of refreshment
Still constantly pressing forward
Relaxation
Continually pushing onward
A quieter time
Barreling ahead into the unknown
A return to the garden
Ever enticed by the siren call of “Progress”

"Image"

(In reflection on the Gerome exhibit
At the Getty Center in September 2010).

Imagining an ancient ruin
A resurrection of sorts
Recreating a distant land
A period far beyond our own
A culture only partially preserved
A people few have understood

Seeking to see as they
To feel as they felt
To explore the exotic
To discover the universal--
The human

Traits and tendencies surpassing periods
Transcending time and circumstances
Reaching beyond borders and boundaries
To find ourselves, our place in the cosmos
And to discern the Hand of God
The Image of the Almighty Beauty

"Spouts"

(Composed at the Getty Center
In September 2010).

Nestled ‘neath the stairs
Alone at a table for four
Listening to the bubbling
Water pouring from dozens
Of spouts in the fountain
Gushing day and night
Always in the same spot
Time after time
Constantly flowing
Perfectly in sync
In one long row
As marching soldiers
Never turning to the side
Yet standing side by side
No interaction
No relationship
Just spouts shooting
Springs of recycled water
Always kept pristine
Remaining untouchable
Save by the curious toddler
Or the starry-eyed lover

"Filled"

(Upon purchasing a new journal
On September 18, 2010).

Lovely leather binding pages
Sparkling with their silver edge,
Blank lines awaiting fulfillment.
Space for thought, room for
Expression; quiet moments to share
Beneath a blossoming cherry tree,
Beside the glittering open sea,
Amongst a pile of golden leaves,
Amidst the blustery winter winds
Pages fluttering and drops of rain.

Pristine now, crisp and clean,
Coffee stained soon to be, crinkled
Corners bent and shimmer dimmed.
Not worth a dime, yet treasured book;
Silent confidant for secrets shared,
Archive of fears, some joyful years,
Vial of tears and chocolate smears.
My life sketched with ink, not lead,
Encapsulation of my soul,
When the pages will be filled.

"Commuting"

(Composed upon returning home
Wednesday, August 25, 2010).

Commuting...there is always traffic,
Especially now Imperial Highway
Is littered with orange cones and
Seemingly spawning caterpillars.
Slow signs label the lanes and
Road construction ahead forebode
Blinkers and barrage of break lights,
Beeping car horns, and blare of rap.

The car ahead cuts into the right lane
Nearly colliding with my neighbor.
"Crazy driver!" I mutter aloud.

Light turns red and I'm stopped
Diagonally behind the Pontiac;
Its back window quickly lowers,
Expecting flash of a singular digit.
Instead, it simply rolls up again.
Reaching the top, it descends once more,
Then rolling upward, tiny fingers appear
Over the edge, skipping 'cross glass,
Playfully following the window's trek,
Flitting as a butterfly among buds,
Soaring and diving as a seaside pelican
Above the waves at San Pedro harbor.
Chuckling to myself and wiggling my
Fingers, as they rest on the windowsill.

Light turns to green and we once more
Crawl forward, as once annoying cones
Transport to first grade soccer practice,
Dump trucks to hearty preschool play.

"Incarnated sol"

(A blank verse composition
Of mid-August 2010).

The blazing ball of fire now sets westward
A shade of orange as vivid as the
Kenyan plain in the noonday heat of June;
Of tribal dance and lively drum beats free
The movement of life, fierce, shockingly bright
Yellow of vibrant hue, as lioness
On the prowl; a striking beauty, filled and
Overflowing with hot embers, ready
To ignite with passions deep; piercing,
Captivatingly rich Indian spice.

In the east, sweet pastels of gentle pink,
As the fragrant lavender rolls over
The Provencal hills of a distant field.
Timid beauty, soft and shy the silk shades
That paint the far horizon of the land;
Tender blush at a passing stranger’s glance;
An English rose garden blooms in the sky,
Reserved elegance, glories in the past.
Singular source of light captured, expressed,
In unique displays, as the heat of day
Gives way to peaceful, cool nights of summer.

Full moon rises in the desert tonight;
Driving ‘cross highway, my sister beside,
Genuine and honest, she won’t back down,
Taking charge and fighting for the distressed,
Freely, boldly expressing her desires
Unlike the introvert behind the wheel:
Quiet of spirit, seeking to refresh,
And often few of words, yet heart devout.

Reflecting, embodying golden rays,
Sublime paradox, incarnated sol,
As we travel back to the smog city
Rays of light diffused and stars to be hid
The stormy shadows seek the light to fade.
Even still each day ends in dusk’s delight.
Banker and social worker recognize
As a most magnificent sight t’ behold.

Some drawn to the east, others toward the west,
Still none deny the brilliance of its source--
Beautiful transformation it affects,
Glorious illumination imparts,
Radiantly transfigured by the sun.

"Blazing beach bonfire"

(Composed on August 5, 2010
Scent of smoke still in my hair).

You know the smell
Just after the sunset
The raw and reassuring
The organic sweet scent
Of burning firewood
Mixed with fresh sea air
Speckled in gritty sand
Smoke quietly billows
Soaking into your skin
Saturating your sweater
Tenderly enveloping you
In its warm embrace
The fire laps at the logs
Hypnotizing waves of
Gold and scarlet flames
Glowing embers beneath
Blazing beach bonfire
Towels spread around
Cool, damp sand underfoot
Soft guitar strumming
Beat of the bongo
A floating melody
And the crackling of the
Marshmallow golden fire

"Eyes fixed"

(Mind's eye on Mt. Wilson
Composed on August 5, 2010).

Overcome by the heat
Eyes fixed to the ground
Focusing on uneven dirt
Carefully avoiding a pebble
Stepping over a little twig
Altogether ignoring great
Mountain of plenteous pine

"Woe"

(Composed in contemplation of
Isaiah 39 in late July 2010).

"It is good news!" declared he.
Many years would safely be
Comfortable in his wanton haze,
'Peace and security in my days.'

Woe to the foolish, selfish king;
Wealth to the winds he did fling!

Rich heritage he threw away;
His own sons he did betray:
Plundered land, dispossessed;
Exiled and harshly oppressed!

Woe to me who would lazily lounge
Forcing others to desperately scrounge!

Seeking comfort, preferring ease,
My fleshly pleasures to appease,
Merely the status quo to maintain,
Ever overlooking others' pain?

Woe to us all if so become we;
I pray, O Lord, may it never be!

"A quiet evening"

(Composed in the stillness
Of July 24, 2010).

The sounds of the night
Sprinkler's mist descends
Distant honk of a passing car
The bark of a neighbor's dog
The muffled rumble of voices
Float from a television set
Palm fronds rustled by the breeze

Candle flickers, lamp is dimmed
Smooth jazz pianist on my iPod plays
While my pen glides across the page

A bit of the city's bustling remains
A few street lights turning yellow
Yet most families are now relaxing
In their homes for a quiet evening
Snuggled in their living rooms
Eating popcorn and watching a film
Perhaps laughing over a hand of cards

On the sofa I recline, journal open
Pondering the water softly trickling
Its gentle whisper in my window

"The sea"

(Composed July 10, 2010).

A mere conglomeration of elements?
Fading blue paint on an old globe?
Or the stage for adventure,
The wild creature, the force
Of which many a poet has writ?
The crashing and splashing
The shimmering waves
Sparkling glow of the sun
Rolling and roaring
The rumble of bass
Terrifying and tranquil
Jet engine, mother's lullaby
The sheer volume, abundance
Ever moving and changing
Oh the mysteries of the deep
The secrets of the expanse
Seemingly infinite, yet bound
Magnificent and strong
Masterpiece of the Potter's Hand!

"Our King"

(In reflection on Ezra, Nehemiah, and
The prophets of old on June 3, 2010).

Exiles return
To city in ruins
Charred remains
Of once golden temple
Dust and ash envelop
The mighty capital
City of King David

Vision of restoration
Rising from the rubble
Strongholds of opposition
Crumble before Almighty God
History's Grand Architect
The Master Builder
Our Carpenter King

Measuring state's boundaries
Plumb Line for the nations
Impaled by the
Tools of His trade
Pierced by the ones
He would save
Our Crucified King

Nailed to the very trees
He imagined in the beginning
Killed by His creatures
Sacrifice for their souls
The divine died
Ineffable mystery
Our Creator King

Resurrected and ascended
Interceding for us now
At the Father's right hand
Seated on His throne
Soon to judge the earth
The Just and the Justifier
Our Coming King

"See"

(Inspired by the words of Isaiah
The prophet on July 7, 2010).

Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear
Open your eyes, O Lord, and see

Stumbling through the curtain,
Clothes torn and covered in ash,
Words echoing in my head:
Who are you?
Why would God care?
You are nothing.
You are alone.
No one sees.

Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear
Open your eyes, O Lord, and see

Tears streaming the paper tumbles
Out of my hand and to the floor.
Head bowed low, I bend my knee:
I am a child of the King.
God does care for me.
I am precious in His sight.
I will never be alone.
God sees all.

Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear
Open your eyes, O Lord, and see

Shouting my prayer to the heavens,
Exhausted, now barely whispering,
Slowly the weight begins to lift,
Gentle peace descends as a dove.
The oppressive haze starts to fade,
Evaporating in the presence of
Light eternal and Love divine.

"Ode to My Alarm Clock"

(Inspired by true events
On Wednesday, June 30, 2010).

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring
When many a faithful year
Thou didst awakening bring,

From dreams of dark
And slumber deep
To day's warm sun
Thy promises keep?

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring,
But left me to sleep alone,
World raced without thy ding?

Slept through my shower
Nor time to break my fast
For I awoke to find
'Twas sixty minutes past.

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring,
But trouble and frustration
As my sheets I did fling?

Alack I hurriedly did race
Past roommates, house, and store,
Mascara and brush in hand,
Left my pillow on the floor.

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring,
Nor bing, cling, or even ping?
Why didst thou refuse to sing?

For pump the coffee in my veins,
Cold water thou couldst pour,
Yet nothing could jolt me awake
Like you silent clock forevermore!

"He offers his hand"

(June 26, 2010).

Exiting the glittering hall
Heatedly I scurry into the cool air
Alone at the last bell's ring

Cobblestones form the path
Slowing, I carefully select each step
So as to protect my treasured shoes
When I notice him across the lawn
He has followed me outside

Ashamed I turn away
Momentarily losing focus
My heel catches in the stones
Wobbling at first
Then hitting the ground

Wiping the dirt from my rags
Raising my head I see
He has rushed to my side
He offers his hand
Mortified I push it away

Jumping to my feet I hurry away
Tripping over once sparkling hem
Now stained and torn
Jogging, he offers his hand
Yet I refuse

Stumbling in one glass slipper
Inebriated by overwhelming disgrace
First slower steps, now faster
Again he offers his hand
I angrily slap it away

Falling, I cling to the railing
Attempting to regain my footing
The metal creeks, then suddenly snaps
Sending me tumbling to the ground
Gashing my leg on a jagged rock

Bloodied, tears streaming
Throbbing with the pain
He runs to my side
Gently touches my shoulder
Soothing my pain

Tenderly, on bended knee
He offers his hand
Embraces me

"Mounting the stair"

(Composed June 2010).

Starting on an upward trek
In the early afternoon
Joyful for the journey ahead
Excited to reach the heights
As I open the wooden door

Mounting the stair
Dark, narrow passageway
Steep and slim the steps
Clutching the ropes
I make my way up

Tiny slits of light
Beam between the stone
Offering a little guidance
Still leaving corners hidden
Cloaked in shadows

Stopping to regain my breath
I quickly glance below
It is a long way down
Yet looking up again
Quite a far bit to go

One hesitant step
Stair after stair
Stone upon stone
Spiraling higher
Suspended in shadow

Cold stone surrounds
Entombs me
Still I continue upward
Rising from the pit
Seeking the sky

Suddenly emerging
Bells ringing overhead
Sun brilliantly shining
Clouds billowing
Glorious light

Gazing at the splendor
Transcendent vision
Released from earth
At journey's end
Beatific delight

"White-knuckled"

(Composed in March 2010).

In silent fear I trembled,
Imagined terrors assembled;
Anxiety laid its vicious trap,
Courage it did mercilessly sap.

From dreaded snare You set me free;
With a mighty hand uplifted me!
Led wearied heart to joyfully sing,
Transported me on angels' wing.

To what can I compare Your love?
To ocean's depths or heavens above?
Where could I go You would not see?
What obstacle is too great for Thee?

Yet how quickly my mind wanders!
When upon corporeal it ponders,
Once beautiful, brilliant light,
Hidden in midnight's awful fright.

How soon do I forget Your grace;
Your mercies appear commonplace,
Drowned by engines' rumbling roar,
Dimmed by enticing sins once more.

O how I long for trust complete,
Truth revealing lies' deceit!
Mountains low and valleys level,
In Your glories we will revel.

For now, white-knuckled I'll remain,
Clutching to Your promise to sustain
'Til the Father it does please
And all declare on bended knees:

Glory to the Lamb who reigns
Sovereign over all our pains,
Washed in His bloody stains;
Faithful love alone remains!

"Red and white"

(In the days before Memorial Day 2010).

Rippling waves of red and white
Twinkling stars amidst navy sea
American flag flutters in the breeze
Proudly displayed from the heights
O'er Pentagon, Capitol dome,
She is a glorious sight!

Those who dreamed
Such freedom to create
Bowed the knee
Raised their rifle
Left family and friends
Sailing to distant lands

Crossing rivers, seas, continents,
Facing firing squads and torture pits,
Furious cavalry, fierce artillery
Hangman's noose, exotic disease,
Summer's heat and winter's snow,
Fire, bullet, rocket, torpedo.

California, Carolinas,
Alamo, Potomac's shore,
Lexington to Gettysburg,
Blood bought land,
Normandy and Vietnam,
Iraq and Afghanistan,

Losing limbs, minds, and lives
Broken bodies, broken homes
Mourning father, son, and brother,
Mother, daughter, sister, friend
All so that banner might wave
Above picket fence, prison cell.

"Taps"

(In memoriam, May 30, 2010).

Piercing bugle's mournful call
Her brave soldier he did fall
Unto him she bows her head
Remembering her fallen dead
Her bold colors blazing bright
Lowered with the coming night

"Graffiti"

(Tagged on May 16, 2010).

Multicolored graphics
Kaleidoscopic wall
Scream and shout
Unto action they call
Sharp warning unto all

Edgy Berlin's so cool
Tourists scurrying past
Snap a picture or two
Rushing by too fast
To realize sorrows vast

Paint splattered on stucco
Or each meticulous stroke
Pain, despair to express
Tears amidst the smoke
Staggering under heavy yoke

Dub it all "Graffiti"
Paint over the spot
Yet questions ignored
Are not so easily forgot
White walls dearly bought

"Opernplatz"

(Upon visiting the square,
Composed in April 2010).


Dort, wo man Bucher verbrennt,
Verbrennt man am Ende auch Menschen
Thousands of leaves flutter in the wind,
Volumes ceremoniously heaped high;
Unacceptable, Vile, Degenerate,
The works, the words, thoughts rejected,
Condemned, consigned to the flames;
Dark smoke billows in Opernplatz.

Such burning, frenzied censorship,
Fear hid in the smoldering embers,
Now fully ablaze with irrational zeal.

Seeking to protect themselves,
Future generations from dangerous tomes,
Exterminating decadence and corruption;
Instead, ignorant masses would create;
The fires of inquisition consume;
This raging inferno destroys.

Annihilating all seeming dissent,
And as the wise man said of old,
It would not end there.

For burning books would not uproot
Seed of difference, diversity of thought.
This conflagration of text would not suffice;
For fragrant forests up in flame
Would but the tinder be to burning flesh
Until all color, all beauty is razed.

Empty bookshelves, empty beds,
No phoenix would be found
Amongst this pyre of ash.

"Das Stelenfeld"

(Composed in remembrance
On April 17, 2010).


Das
Stelenfeld
Hundreds in rows
Low as grave stones
Silent slabs in morning
Amongst the grey I wander
Between the concrete masses
Beginning even with the ground
Then slowly rising from the earth
Until they stretch as charging soldiers
Obscuring the view of the heavens above
Oppressive maze, confusing, they mislead
Memorializing the murdered millions
Lives cut short by hate and malice
Slowly fading back to the earth
Yet even still they linger
Lurking in the ground
Will we remember
Lend our voice
Or look away
Cowardly
Hide

"Moment passed"

(Composed April 16, 2010).

A leaf falls into the stream,
Crisp and golden as a dream,
Floating as a morning song,
Lapping waters roll him along.

"Stay still," I yearn, "that I might gaze
Upon your beauty, sing your praise
Of vibrant colors, lovely display,"
Yet he cannot; he floats away.

I follow him with my eyes,
Refusing to say goodbyes
'Til he rounds the rugged bend
And I can no longer pretend.

I would jump and swim
Seeking to cling to him;
I would grasp him in my hand
Never letting go, demand.

Yet grasping would be losing,
In my greed cruelly bruising;
The plucking would be killing,
My nightmare's fulfilling.

Moments of exquisite delight,
Stir the soul, thrill, excite,
As the beauty of the dawn,
Yet soon they pass away...gone.

We weep and strain to see beyond,
Vainly flailing our magic wand
To follow their dazzling trail,
Yet our eyes simply fail.

We mope, and pout, and yearn,
For their quick, speedy return,
The tender moment passed,
Wishing it would only last.

Still moments do not swim upstream,
No matter how we yell or scheme,
Still theirs is not the only song,
For another leaf soon comes along.

"Today in La Mirada"

(Composed on April 16, 2010).

It's a particularly breezy day
Today in La Mirada.
Enjoying a brief walk in the park
In the glowing afternoon sun,
I am distressed to read the black words
Spray painted in capital letters
"DO NOT FEED THE DUCKS".

As though an icy wind encroached,
Chilling to the very bone,
So this interdiction shakes me.
Beside the gentle flowing pond,
The sweetly chirping and quacking birds,
This prohibition in its silent shouting
Disturbs the melody with its dissonance--
Clanging cymbal 'midst soothing sonata.

"I turn to You"

(A prayer and a resolution
Written in late March 2010).

In times of trouble where do I turn,
When rivers flood and fires burn?
When cars collide and loved ones 've died,
I'm still trying to learn

To turn to You,
Lord, give me strength
To make it through,
Following Your lead
You'll supply my need,
As I learn to trust in You.

The sun beating on my face,
Struggling to maintain the pace,
Muscles aching, resolution quaking,
Limping just to continue the race,

As I turn to You,
Lord, give me strength
To make it through,
Where You direct
Love to perfect,
As I learn to trust in You.

Whether sunshine or sorrow
Calm or cold winds blow,
No end in sight in the dead of night,
You're always here, I know,

So I'll turn to You,
Lord, give me strength
To make it through,
Following You guide
None will be denied.
Lord, give me strength,
Give me Your strength
To make it through,
As I learn to trust in You.

"Anticipation"

(Delightedly typed the
Evening of March 13, 2010).

Sweet anticipation,
That flutter in the stomach,
The thrilling lightheadedness!

With a click of the mouse,
My plane ticket was bought--
I'm going to Germany for Easter!

My bags to pack,
Fun details to plan,
The countdown has begun!

Dear friends to visit,
New lands to explore,
Plenty of museums, for sure!

Forest trails to hike,
Wines ready for tasting,
Maybe I'll try some schnitzel!

Oh how I love to travel,
To discover new beauties,
To seek the awaiting adventure!

To journey with a friend,
To find a new favorite spot,
Experiencing life across the sea!

A few weeks still to wait,
Yet waiting is half the fun,
The joyous anticipation of a trip!

"Reaching to the neck"

(A reflection on Isaiah 8,
Composed February 28, 2010).

Strolling beside gentle stream
Relaxing grassy banks
Warmth of sunshine overhead
Cricket humming thanks

Peal of thunder jolts the air
Electric tensions blaze
Oppressive clouds furiously race
Sky stained inky haze

Rain pours, pelting face
River rushing flood
Running, seeking higher ground
Plunged into mud

Murky water to the knee
Rising tides wreck
Waist, chest, shoulder deep
Reaching to the neck

Treading water 'neath the rush
Gasping for the air
Darkness below, black above
Dizzy, tumbling scare

No branches lend their aid
Nor smooth shore
No lifeboats or rescuers come
Nor stroke of oar

Weary, losing any strength
Torrential stirring
Merciless rain choking breath
All vision blurring

Aching with no end in sight
Branches entangle
Complete, utter despondency
Suffocate, strangle

Closing in as the blade
Guillotine gleaming
When tapestry torn asunder
Brilliance streaming

Amidst the storm, clouds part
Veil's lifted
Glorious beams of light
Radiance gifted

Stars above, soul below
Heavens illuminate
Resplendent hope arrayed
Never comes too late

Reflecting off the very waters
That would drown
Now become heaven's mirror
Everlasting renown

"Faithful"

(Meditating on the Exodus,
Composed February 18, 2010).

Egyptian masters at their heels,
Nearing the edge of possibility,
The Israelites are critically cornered,
Cowering before the sea,
'Til the Lord parts the waters,
Sets His people free.

True to His promises
His word will endure

Entrenched, enslaved to sin was I,
Chasm 'tween us was so wide,
Nothing I could do to escape,
Chained to my rebellious pride,
'Til the Lord comes to earth,
Rescues and purifies His bride.

The Lord is faithful
His love is sure

In the desert Israel did cry,
No sustenance to be found,
Grumbling against the great I AM,
Raising a rebellious sound,
'Til the Lord opens heaven,
Bestows manna on the ground.

True to His promises
His word will endure

Even now in my great need
Before Your feet I humbly kneel,
Overwhelmed and terrified,
Such pain and fear I feel,
'Til You gently comfort me,
My weary soul You tenderly heal.

The Lord is faithful
His love is sure

Oh true to Your promises
Your word will endure
Lord, You are faithful
Your love is sure

"Falling back"

(Composed November 9, 2009).

Springing ahead is tough,
But how I love falling back!
Still the days grow darker,
Leaving work as the sun sets,
Afternoons as black as midnight.
Unlock the door; turn on the light.
Darkness is but the absence of light,
For darkness alone cannot overcome
The glimmer of a single flame,
The blaze of a roaring fire,
The brilliance of the noonday sun,
The glory of the risen Lord.
Darkness may last for the night,
But hope longs for the first ray,
Seeks, clings to the promise:
The coming of a new day!

"The God who speaks"

(Composed in the light of Isaiah 6 and Psalm 115,
On the morning of January 26, 2010).

Crudely carved block of wood,
Lump of blackened stone,
Sun-baked ceramic figurine,
Fragment of broken bone,

Behind museum glass they sit
Beneath fluorescent light;
Permanent exhibit they form,
Here each day and night.

Artifacts of ancient lands,
Revered as gods were they,
Now people pass, children laugh
In line for the café.

Their little ears hear no sound,
Eyes unable to see;
Their lips cannot form a word,
Nor answer an urgent plea.

Praise the Lord who hears our prayers;
He listens to our cries!
Rejoice! Jehovah sees our needs
And graciously provides!

Sing for joy all ye earth
For ours is the God who speaks,
Transforming hearts, changing lives
Of anyone who seeks!

I joined the fight against poverty

“I joined the fight against poverty!” the white-lettered t-shirt seemed to shout from its black canvas, as I pulled it out of the box, careful not to dump the packing popcorn all over the floor. I had been waiting for this package to arrive for weeks, and it was finally here!

It all began last spring. I was looking ahead to my one year review at work, and I wanted to do something special to celebrate my first year as a college graduate. That's when it hit me--I was, for the first time in my life, financially stable, generally independent, and actually able to sponsor a child through Compassion International! I had grown up watching the commercials on TV of children in need, their empty eyes yearning for food, for hope. I had even spent a couple summers with the Continental Singers raising sponsors. I had always wished that I could do something for the poor children of the world, but I hadn’t had a steady income. Now I did! Now I could do something about it!

Excitedly, I logged onto the website, clicking through the photos. With so many children in need, how do I just pick one? Then I saw her, those brown eyes called out to me: Clemence Matano. ‘She’s perfect!’ I thought. A little seven year old girl (She’s eight now!) living in southern Kenya with her parents and two siblings, according to the little biography on the site. In her simple lavender dress and her shy smile, I couldn’t tear myself away. And she loves to sing! Bonus!

In our first correspondence I learned that her favorite subject in school is capital letters. I admitted that they are rather fun to write. “I LOVE TO WRITE IN CAPITAL LETTERS TOO!” I responded. I hoped she might giggle. After all, I don’t think email writing etiquette really applies when writing to my little Clemence. In the days that followed, she began drawing pictures of herself and her home to send to me; I continued to send photos, and not sure what to say exactly, I told her a bit about California: the geography, the scenery, the weather.

This fall I began thinking about how I could give more. I wanted to become involved in a ministry too, somewhere that I could really invest my time and try to make a difference. One afternoon when I was exploring the website, I first read about Compassion’s Advocates Network. “Become a voice for the voiceless.” I had heard the phrase before, yet it meant more to me now. I can’t change the entire world; however, Compassion is eager to show that you can make a difference in the life of one child, and that makes all the difference for her world. Shy as I can be at times, these dear children continue to live and die in silence. Rather, their cries for help are drowned out by our surround-sound home theaters and our blaring iPods.

Looking through the contents of my training material, another pair of brown eyes pierces my soul, Kabuye Sam, the first child for whom I am advocating. A little Ugandan boy, just seven years old, Sam is wearing his little tennis shoes, ready for the next soccer game. I can see him now: playing with his friends in the field, and then sitting in the school this afternoon learning to read the story of Jesus’ life. Without a sponsor this will not be possible. Without a sponsor Sam will become another sad statistic, another malnourished child, another uneducated laborer like his father, perhaps another victim of HIV/AIDS.

Won’t you consider partnering with Compassion? Join the fight! Together we can make a difference: Releasing children from poverty in Jesus’ name! One child at a time!

Sponsor a Child

"Immobile"

(Written on the evening of January 14, 2010,
Remembering where I was last Thursday night).

The battery light flashes on my dashboard.
I cringe as the radio turns off seconds later.
Gliding to a stop at the light, I restart the car,
Praying I will just make it to the repair shop.
The engine shakes, but starts, so I rev the gas,
Shifting into drive as the light turns green.

Rolling forward I push the pedal to the floor.
"Come on, baby! You can do it!" I coax.
The lights go out. The engine stops.

Panic.

Desperately I try to restart the car.
The key turns without a sound.
In fact, nothing happens. What now?

Timidly stepping out, my eyes searching;
Cars swerve around me left and right,
Filled with staring, disgruntled eyes,
Their turning signals flashing as they pass,
Avoiding the bothersome hindrance,
The irritating inconvenience--ME!

Mind racing amidst the honks, stranded,
Lost in the endless waves of car after car,
A stranger approaches and offers a hand.
Another comes, stopping the ceaseless flow,
Then pushing my immobile automobile
Off the crowded, bustling road.


My car is fine now; it all worked out,
Yet I cannot help but wonder if I,
Seeing another stuck, would stop,
Get out of the car, and break a sweat,
All to help someone I'd never met,
Someone I would never see again.

I think of the thousands in Haiti,
Perhaps even millions by now,
Shaken, desperate, in need.
I have never met one of them
(I probably never will)
Yet I cannot help, but seek to help.

I may not lift the rubble with this hand,
Yet I will give to those who can;
For even a weak and weary hand,
When united with his brother's,
Can meet an urgent need,
Can move the immobile.

"To a new year"

(Composed the first week of January 2010).

Some new years feel like a new blouse,
Purchased from the boutique rack,
Colors bright, completely unworn,
Blooming with great expectations,
Long awaited and at a high price.

Others are more like digging through a gym bag
Trying to locate a not so smelly sock,
Filled with more of the same old troubles.

This year, however, like a familiar friend,
Having begun and ended in the same spot,
Is most like pulling a newly laundered
Pair of blue jeans out of the dryer,
Fresh and warm, yet snug and comfy.

Thus, this year begins like the last,
Toasting my plastic cup to a new year,
Bundled on the rosiest street of Pasadena.