Adrift! 3-8-12

Waves were crashing everywhere -

port, starboard, forward, aft...

My troubles kept on pouring in,

upon my humble raft.

Typhoon winds of pain whipped up -

first one way, then the other.

My earthly troubles slashed about -

another and another.

Adrift on troubled waters,

but where? I did not know!

Yet here out on the stormy seas -

there was dark death below.

The shark infested waters

that I remember still -

snapped temptations fangs at me

and broke my fragile will.

And then on top of everything,

it couldn't get much worse -

when wet, dense fog surrounded me -

my little faith, a curse.

I screamed from my position,

"Do something! Please... You must!"

My fist shook at the Heavens.

I lacked sufficient trust.

I threw my hands up in the air

and wondered, "What's the use?"

Now isn't this the way life goes?

Then sodden ropes let loose!

The wicked waves tore at the logs.

My raft began to split.

Apart, my hopes had scattered off.

What could I do, but quit?

And then when giving up on life -

I saw - but could it be??

Walking troubled waters there -

my Lord had came toward me!

But raft continued breaking up.

The waves were just too great...

My groping arms flung out to Him -

but He was just too late...

With remnants of my raft adrift -

this Jesus disappeared!

Out in the fog He vaporized -

a sick mirage, I feared.

The gift of life is special -

but eternal life much more.

For Jesus was my sacrifice,

and who that cross was for.

Were hope and faith both obsolete

as waves crashed on my back?

Last remnants of my raft dispersed -

and everything went black.

Engulfed by churning breakers,

my feet touched solid stone...

God's precious love threw me to shore!

I never was alone!

I'm thankful God broke up my raft.

Could I have asked for more?

That raft was really nothing with -

my Jesus on the shore!

©2012 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Psalm 23:4
 "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me."

Beyond My Weathered Window 10-8-11

Beyond my weathered window,

beyond my little view -

I see one from my rocker and,

I pray you see one too -

see one on each hillside,

see one on your way,

see one in each valley,

see one every day.

The moon shines on the water,

the sea reflects the light.

Boats pass through this painting,

with sails of halo white.

A sea bird glides in silhouette,

above the sails masts,

above the ropes and bollards,

as breezes travel past.

Final work arrives at dusk

before reflections cease -

on piers I've known since childhood

on this, God's masterpiece.

But few have seen this sunset,

and fewer wonder why -

God's bright and vivid colors

still wash across the sky.

And people race His colors -

oblivious and blind -

as God continues painting

so generously kind.

Wide brush strokes still continue,

with colors bold and lush.

Though 'man' has stole the meanings,

God still holds the brush.

Beyond my weathered window,

beyond my little view -

I watch Him from my rocker and,

I pray you see Him too -

see Him in the sunsets,

see Him in your prayers,

see Him in the life you live,

and see Him everywhere.

©2011 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Grandma's Place 10-11-09

The paint was cracked and weathered.
The 'welcome' chimes would ring -
and grandma's place so special on
her old porch swing.

Her dinners were delicious,
her cookies she would bring,
as rich aromas found me on
her old porch swing.

At times the wooden seat was damp.
The morning dew would cling -
but I couldn't keep from sitting on
her old porch swing.

The chains, stressed on occasion,
that held a many thing,
and all her friends kept resting on
her old porch swing.

Served well those rusty bolts.
Though not for queen or king,
but all the folk were welcomed on
her old porch swing.

The conversations several -
the arm rest, everything -
as we discussed my problems on
her old porch swing.

Nothing makes my heart so glad
and nothing makes it sing,
until I think of grandma on
her old porch swing.

Many years have long since passed.
To memories, I will cling -
those days I sat with grandma on
her old porch swing.

The workers razed the homestead -
In fear, the birds took wing,
but always in my memory is -
her old porch swing.

Some say it wasn't special,
nor good for anything -
yet that's where I found Jesus - on
her old porch swing.

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

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