My Pastor 7-2-12

My pastor, I will not forget,
and wasn't my first choice,
to lead my favorite gospel hymns
with his low, raspy voice.

He couldn't seem to keep a beat
or hit a single note.
He once admitted to us all,
he sounded like a goat!

At times, the sermon, he'd forget.
Sometimes he'd drop his cane.
Most thought he was a special man -
but some, a bit insane.

Though he was sometimes questioned by
his well-intentioned peers,
a wisdom came to flourish from
vast Bible-reading years.

He often had a part-time job,
yet seemed to be around,
to answer all my crazy calls
with questions more profound.

Although he eased my fears and pain,
he had fears of his own.
Because we never heard complaints,
his ills were rarely known.

He sometimes lost his glasses and
the few announcements too.
His pocket watch would sometimes stop.
He fell a time or two.

His clumsiness was obvious,
He spilled his water cup.
Though Satan tried distracting him,
he never did give up.

So preach, he did, each Sunday morn,
through babies cries or cough.
He'd speak awhile and then some more,
'till grandpa dozed right off.

His speech would race, emotions great -
he'd tell us of God's Son,
who had to die to save the lost -
for me and everyone.

Once grandpa 'sawed his logs' quite loud.
Who knew what grandpa dreamed?
Yet pastor never missed a beat.
So futile preaching seemed.

Sometimes I'd reminisce when he
would knock on grandpa's door -
to visit him when he was sick,
then here, dismiss his snore.

But higher still, than grandpa's snore -
his words echoed above.
He'd pound down on my hardened heart
the softness of God's love.

I'll not forget his alter calls,
his passioned plea, to come -
and lay my every burden down -
so Christian, I'd become.

And one thing more I'll not forget,
in sermons through the weeks -
that he loved every one of us -
the proof ran down his cheeks.

My pastor, I will not forget.
He wasn't my first choice.
Delighted, though, I'd be again
to hear that raspy voice.

***

We love you pastor. You're sincere.

Oh, how we all recall,

the many ways we challenged you.

You rose above it all.

There's so much more you did for us.

Compassion you could share.

You've 'walked the talk' so faithfully,

so this begins our prayer...

"Dear Jesus, hear us. Give this man

a very special place.

You'll know him when you see him there -

for he reflects Your grace.

Today, we'll reminisce and miss,

past times that slipped away.

We thank you for our pastor and,

his very special way..."

©2012 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Thank You! 2-23-12

I felt I was trampled by thousand-cow herd -

and hoped I could write it in poetic word -

but first I sat down and I started to pray,

and saw God's creation so all I could say,

was "Thank You!"

My eyes rose up high to a picturesque sky -

while thoughts ran off rampant to years gone by -

where burdens had settled on one special day,

that flooded my soul - so all I could say,

was "Thank you!"

Though breezes blow storm clouds around to and fro -

and every so often still trouble me so -

the sun always shines above all the fray,

dispersing the storm clouds - so all I can say,

is "Thank You!"

A rainbow appears over the rugged cross -

a cross much more painful than my finite loss.

A sacrifice, perfect - but that was God's way.

And now tears are falling and all I can pray,

is "Thank You!"

"Thank You for mangers, Your great humbleness.

Thank You for crosses and all who You bless.

Thank You for being the God that You are.

Thank You for wearing those great many scar.

"Thank You for grace that's so endlessly pure.

Thank You for strength that will always endure.

Thank You for showing me a new perspective.

Thank You for faith and a brand new directive.

"Thank You for children who make my heart glow.

Thank You for loving them now as they grow.

Thank You for teaching them how to respect.

Thank You for blessings despite my neglect.

"Thank You for lifting me out of sins' hole.

Thank You for Pastors who challenge my soul.

Thank You for churches, all joined at the hip -

and thank you for friends and the great fellowship."

So now when I'm trampled and my life is blurred -

I open my Bible - God's great living Word.

It's then I see clearly, it's then I can pray -

and though I'm tore open, it's all I can say.

"Oh, Thank You!"

©2012 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Sufficient Grace 4-4-10

There's rumbling in the Heavens.
There's anger in the sky.
There's tears of wrath upon us.
yet we can't answer why.

There's something in the question,
as we stand drenching wet -
and wallow with the prideful,
as we don't get it yet.

The storms that hover 'round us -
which soak us to the bone,
are simply there to prod us -
to reach our Heaven's home.

The Bible, if we read it,
will lead us to the light -
will lead us to His promise -
and rainbow shining bright.

Full color in His radiance,
the glow about His face -
and if we fully do believe -
will find sufficient grace.

©2010 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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2 Corinthians 12:9 (NASB)

And He has said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness."

Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses,

so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.

HOMER 5-16-09

I am taking the liberty of not posting a poem this time.

This is a true story that I felt compelled to post.

It's true - as I witnessed it personally.

I pray that you enjoy 'HOMER'.

-

Homer.
A 'special' person?
Successful?

Few would call him that today.
He was not an 'important' elected official.
He was not a 'well-known' celebrity.
He was not a 'CEO',
nor did it seem he was even 'needed'.

In the mid 50's
after heart trouble
needing a warmer climate

and wanting to do mission work-
he moved to Texas - Weslaco, Texas.
He knew no one there.
And of course,
Mexico was just across the river.

The Mexicans were very poor.
I suppose most of us knew that -
but few really noticed.

I visited him once.
He drove me around
and showed me places -
and I remember seeing
a very young girl playing
naked in front of
a small square shack (her home).

Homer saw a need -
but few noticed.

Homer lived in a trailer.
He didn't have heat
and it got cold at night -
but few noticed.

The border patrol got to know Homer.
They trusted him.
They knew him
as they saw how he lived,
and the work he was doing.
We crossed the border
into Mexico and back,
easily -
without being checked.
He prayed, then delivered food.
He prayed, then delivered clothes.
He prayed, then delivered hope.
He prayed, then delivered change -
to their lives.

For years he delivered their needs
and the Good Word -
but few noticed.

He didn't pastor a big church.
He didn't pastor a small church.
He didn't pastor any church -
but I remember once
at a Wednesday night prayer meeting -
(during one of those rare times
he returned to Wisconsin)
several men stood up
and gave their testimonies.
I can't remember
what any of them said.
But then Homer stood up.
He didn't say anything spectacular.
He just told of how poor his 'new friends' were
and how he was trying to help them.
He spoke for awhile and asked if
we might be able to share or donate anything -
clothes, food...
and then started to sit back down.
But everyone wanted to hear more
- so he continued.
He spoke for the full service.

There was no "prayer meeting" that evening.
No one left early.
The pastor never spoke either -
but few noticed. 

His faith was big
but he did small things.

Few noticed.

Decades later

as he got older,
he moved in with us -
back in Wisconsin.
I owned a few rentals
and charged him nothing.
He insisted on paying, though -

so he did,
$40 per month
which covered the utilities.
He could afford that.
He stayed in that small lower unit
a number of years.
I learned a lot -
as I saw him daily.
I was not a benefit to him,
but rather, he was a benefit to me.
You might say that we
were one, big happy family.
We seldom knocked.

I remember once
walking in on him
and saw him in his bedroom
on the floor
on his knees
at his bedside,
praying.
He didn't hear me
or see me
so I quietly backed out.
He was a man of prayer.

He read his Bible continuously.
We spoke often.
He carried his Bible everywhere -
and rarely left home without it.
He walked to the other end of town and back
twice a day, for exercise.
He loved Gods world -
but few noticed.

He continued his normal routine,
his daily Christian walk -
but few noticed.

One day
as I was driving down main street,
on the far sidewalk,
I saw him.
As I stopped for a red light,
there he was - up ahead,
walking the same direction as I.
Who could forget that distinctive walk?
A little hunched over,
but a deliberate walk -
as if he always knew
exactly where he was headed.
Few noticed.

As I got closer -
as I looked closer -
of course, at his side,
under his arm,
in his hand
was that same familiar Bible.
He didn't see me.
I didn't sound my horn to wave.
I just looked ahead
and smiled, thinking...
'that's Homer'.

On the sidewalk
were other passers by.
I wondered if they, too, saw his Bible.
Few noticed.

Now maybe Homer
was not a 'special' person in our world,
but he was a special person to me -
and a very 'special' person to God.
A great believer,
A 'special' person for sure -
though few noticed.

Are we 'special' to those around us?
How will people remember us?
And more importantly,
how will God remember us?

Homer passed away in 1991
at the age of 95.
A few people in Weslaco, TX
or in Mexico
might still remember "the nice man".
The children that he fed and clothed then
should be in their 40s or 50s now.

Homer McDermott
1896-1991
He died poor -
but few noticed.

If every American
in this nation -
prayed as hard as he did -
worked as hard as he did -
gave as hard as he did....
if every American
in this nation -
proved their love as he did -
to our neighbors here,
and around the world -
then America, once again, would be
that "shining city on a hill"
Reagan spoke of in Dallas in 1984.

And God would be defined to the world
through pure Christian living -
not through theology books
sold in bookstores,
or by
(allow me to say it this way)
"make-believers".

Homer didn't "make-believe".
Homer didn't 'act' like a Christian.
Homer was a Christian -
though few noticed.

Homer never worked for his salvation,
nor did he worry about his salvation,
nor did he charge
for his Christian service -
and few noticed.

Few people knew Homer -
but God did.
Few people noticed Homer -
but I did.

Tears pour from my eyes
when I think of how far I fall short
of Homer's great love and faith -
in life,
for others,
for God.

Homer -
a very 'special' person?
I guess that's for each one of us to decide,
depending on our goals in life -
but as for me - yes, absolutely.

Homer McDermott,
a most humble man -
a man of faith -
a man of most unselfish love,
with the greatest, most worthy testimony.

And though few noticed
my grandfather, I did.

~louis gander

2009 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Voices 2-23-08

Do I read my Bible, fold my hands,

but then forget God's great commands?

I look around our little church,

do a headcount, do a search

of each and every person there -

then ask myself, "Do we not care?"

Okay I know, I'm not to judge -

but wonder if God holds a grudge.

If God is love please tell me this -

why killing infants we dismiss?

No, the unborn cannot speak

and each so weak and each unique.

I wonder if those cries of pain

will always call to me in vain?

While fervently I pray for life -

another's lost under a knife.

Is it my fault? What have I done?

Does my vote count? I have but one.

For years and years and years and years

their cries have fallen on deaf ears....

Would I for someone take this cross

when that is someone else's loss?

So softens as we wayward drift

the echo's from His gracious gift.

Oh, some might say it's so absurd -

but was it His small voice I heard?

Yes, our rights we grease and grease

while legal infants' voices cease,

Created in His image too,

their one lone right - is that not due?

While squeaky wheels take the oil,

the unborn are financial spoil.

Thrown out in waste cans with the trash,

replaced with dirty filthy cash.

Can I not care year after year -

nor shed again just one more tear?

Do I ignore when His voice speaks?

Will tears no longer find my cheeks?

I'm saddened I have so succumbed

to selfish ones who beat their drums.

I get accustomed, sing my praise -

while others vote their selfish ways.

We go to work. We go to schools.

We follow all their subtle rules,

Time consumes us - sun to suns.

Will God still lift us lazy ones?

When we accept another's choice,

do we not hear God's still small voice?

Do we sing hymns in mindless ease -

or really love the least of these?

Do we read Bibles, fold our hands,

but then ignore God's great commands?

©2008 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Luke 6:46 (NASB)

"Why do you call Me, 'Lord, Lord,' and do not do what I say?”

Matthew 25:40 (NASB) 
 "The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you,

to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.'"

God Loves Me 4-25-07

.
When I was just a little child, so many years ago,
joy and gladness filled my face wherever I would go.
I never had to worry. I had no earthly care.
I'd play all day and then that night, I'd say my evening prayer.

But then, as I grew older, some pain would fill my face,
I'd scrape my knees and elbows - once broke mom's pretty vase.
Then passing through my teenage years, I learned so very much,
but opinions got the best of me and stole the Masters touch.

Years had passed - and decades too - in my tenacious life.
Oh, I had pounded my own drum and blew my little fife.
Like a tree with trunk and limbs - I knew each branch, their twigs.
I grew in all directions - in twisted zags and zigs.

As God exposed His beauty - in me, in every leaf,
I soaked up all that certainty, with faith in my belief.
One by one leaves opened, full proof for all to see -
but I forgot about my roots and what God's plan might be.

One day while sitting on my throne - in educated bliss....
I wondered (Bible in my hands) what secret did I miss?
I panted in my studies. I prayed in earnest pleas....
It hit me like a ton of bricks - and crushed me to my knees.

My mighty tree had crashed in vain. It timbered from the sky....
Yes, only God knows everything – every truth and lie.
God found that long lost child once more as tears poured down my cheeks,
and I found that special joy again. I listen when He speaks.

I follow in His footsteps. I let his Spirit heal -
and once again, as long before, the Master's touch I feel.
In faith I lay me down to sleep - my deathbed He can see,
and nothing really matters now, except that God loves me.

©2007 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org

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Grandma 2-12-07

Grownups seem so funny. They never seem to change.
‘Specially my ol’ grandma. She always acted strange.
Peculiar smells escaped out when she opened up her door.
And as I stepped into her house - heard creaking in the floor.

She seemed a bit hunched over. She wasn't very thin.
Her teeth would sometimes chatter when she moved her double chin.
She decorated very nice. A corner held the broom.
And she'd have her nylons hanging ‘round the living room....

God made grandma special. Her cooking, Heaven sent.
She hadn't much to offer but she really was content.
She was always cooking with her hair back in a bun.
And always had her apron on – had little time for fun.

Sometimes I got in trouble taking cookies from her jar....
The crumbs would seem to mark my sin. I didn't get too far.
One day we had a party. She cried when she was glad.
She cried when she was happy too and cried when she was sad.

Once she claimed I was in sin. I asked her what she meant,
So she opened up her Bible and read a whole event.
I had so many questions that she took me by the hand,
She had so many answers that I couldn’t understand.

She said God loved so deeply and - death held the only key,
So back behind the bloodstains Jesus had to die for me.
Maybe sin is so disgusting that - love has to be unfair,
And maybe that's why grandma cried - when she knelt down in prayer.

When I got hurt, she kissed it well. She was the "best-est" nurse,
Then she said, "Be careful" quoting yet another verse.
She often looked so busy. She sometimes looked quite weak;
But when I left, she always had the time to kiss my cheek.

I miss my grandma very much. She died some time ago.
But when she spoke of Jesus, her face was all aglow.
When I close my eyes I see - that same familiar face,
Reminding me of Jesus and God's everlasting grace.

©2007 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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