A silent sweetness reigns amid the homey things-- Exalted hope, enduring faith, a love that sings-- A promise holding fast through all my days, A future pure, triumphant, filled with praise. For all the pain and sadness that full obedience brings-- The parted ways, the broken dreams, the torn heartstrings-- Christ brings the chariot of peace, the height of mountain views, Amazing grace

God's grace is like a flower-- Here today but not tomorrow, But the seeds of the last bouquet Survive what fades today. And so- to bloom with daily grace Must I ever seek His Face. Like manna morning-fresh with dew, I find today's provision new-- Shades stronger than the day before As deeper roots seek out the LORD. --CJW--

"He leads us till this life is o'er; Trust and obey." To think my journey has an end-- A destination sure, though veiled, Communion with my dearest Friend, And comfort when my feet have failed-- Suffuses every day with grace, With purpose guides my heart. For one day when I see His Face And joyously behold the chart Of all my travels through earth's dust, I will not find my failures logged But only f

The imaginary World of Mirror, Where everything meets in reverse-- The one-way window to nowhere-- Compels my entrance. But first, Break the spell of the fairy That dusted that world with a glow, And grasp that the world in the mirror But fulfills the reality we know: The enchantment of having an entrance On the right instead of the left-- Of going this way down the hallway To breakfast instead of to bed

A happy new year, like a gift leftover waiting to be opened, nestles snugly under those pinecones and plaid ribbons that escaped the great Christmas-put-away. And, with boxes to the basement, our former selves like decorations are set aside. We've changed. We may not think so, but we have. The new date dictates facts without consent, and time is not only a whole year older in a day; we're different. The blessed kiss of Christmas has touched our souls for the umpteenth time

I don't hate this! I love it! This may seem like an odd list, for we aren’t supposed to hate anything, are we? Oh, but that’s where we’re wrong. Six things the Lord hates, yea, seven are an abomination to Him. Seven, the perfect seven—the things to hate. ~ I hate pride, especially in myself. I especially hate spiritual pride— the pride that keeps track of one’s own “good deeds” and spoils them all by announcing them and expecting something in return. ~ I hate unf

Ever since I was a toddler, I have loved tiny containers— little plastic suitcases, wood boxes, and secret hideaway places like built-in closets and drawers. I loved the little plastic farm and zoo animals at Ben Franklin’s and McCrory’s. I have always loved shells and even used to have dreams where I walked the beach and found hundreds of unique shells, which I collected in breathless ecstasy. ~ I loved collecting pictures of nature from old calendars and sometimes wrote li

The shadow of a leaf descending past my windowpane Shutters autumn’s sun amid the fervent afternoon. Rejoining fellow fallen leaves along the frostbit lawn, The leaf rests warmly blazoned before the year is gone. We thank the Lord for fallen things—for blessings here below, For rain above the dismal heights not yet bedecked with snow,...

Why does fall cause a lump in my throat, a bursting of my heart, a flaming nostalgia to awaken the past still slumbering in childhood dreams? A yearning grows like rising sun to float off into sapphire skies and velvet autumn air; to kick through paths of fallen leaves and find the secret stair to harvest’s maturing sun; to swing among the maples’ goldenrods and climb the mighty oak’s scarlet and persimmon arms waving into cornflower-blue skies. Leaves scratch sidewalks in

Like a candle on a hill you flickered In a gale of will; You smoked like flax Put out almost by slayers' pride— Agonized to shine But never cried—never Breathed a sigh of weariness Or pain but trimmed your blackened Wick and blazed again. Wind mocked the burning truth You beamed all night— And scoffed that righteousness Isn’t right—but you Smiled back—laughed, even, At the fire

Thy truth, in time, will come to light, Like patterns kissed with dawn. Oh, wait, thou window of the soul, Behold the sufferer's sun! In crucibles of love, thy panes With colors new imbued Shall scintillate with courage And sparkle forth in truth. Oh, rest in darkness for awhile, Thy glass stained black for death-- A conqueror's fire shall soon burst forth And crown thy shame in health. For Time a third dimension br

Sunlight on a bird wing And moonlight on a rose— Silver threads of heaven Woven into gold— Breaths of mountain...

For all the hopes that died with time, For all the dreams now dust-- For all the trinkets of the past Encrusted now with rust-- For all the plans left unfulfilled, The books unread still shelved-- For all the closets jumbled With worn out shoes and belts-- For dishes never set for eight, For those who never came-- For napkins creased with decades And silver blotched with age-- For wrinkles etched in b

I loved you in your perfect health When duty filled your day-- I love you now in shifting sands Where no one knows...

To heal is to grow older And leave a special scar-- To square the aching shoulder And still the pounding heart . . ....

We travel numb across the years In lonely hours of thought-- Remember all that Time has brought And crown Today with...

Faith smells a flower in winter, when all is dormant and dead; Sees beyond tangible darkness a glorious sunrise...

Life knows some hours of poetry But most of them are prose-- Some treasured notes of symphony, Far more of monotones....

Cooled air summons under starlight . . . night bugs pulse minor triads; slugs glide shiny trails in the streetlight between shadows . . ....

I love the calm, slate-gray mornings After a middle-night thunderstorm When rain still drips from a dome of trees, How...