Just His Guest 4-5-13

I sit a'spell and ponder 'bout,

creation at its best -

and savor life each minute knowing

I am just His guest...

And frolicking, those two fawns did, near green, dense forest brush -

just playing in ecstatic glee.  I laid low, quiet, hushed...

A bubbling brook meandered past one little playful twin -

and slipped down over smooth washed stones in sheets most paper thin.

So quietly I watched them play, as mother doe stood still.

She guided them and peered around as only mothers will.

And grandly standing on the knoll, a rigid eight point buck.

He stood as if a statue there, as if his feet were stuck.

A squirrel scampered up a tree.  The twins both took a drink.

The mother doe stepped closer and- this whole view made me think.

I pondered God's creation.  Such beauty man can see -

of peace and true tranquility...  but then a "BOOM!" shook me.

CRACK!!  That bang had echoed- still echoes in my head.

The eight point buck, with startled jerk, had lurched and then fell dead.

How quickly things can happen- and in our lives as well -

when we could end up just like that- in Heaven or in Hell.

Though He had loved and only healed and gave us full increase,
some couldn't 'stomach' long ago, this Man of grace and peace.

We kill to have our stomach filled, indifferent for the loss.

This fateful time man killed with gun- but former time, a cross.

Those creatures scattered with that shot and I saw not a trace.

The eight point buck gave all he had- but Jesus, life and grace.

I sit a 'spell and ponder 'bout

creation at its best -

and savor life each minute knowing

I am just His guest...

©2013 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

-------

Lonely Acorn 9-10-10

Lonely is the acorn
from way atop the oak -
tumbling fast through branches,
down past all other folk.

Lonely, not the squirrel
emerging from its hut -
and storing safe for winter,
that lowly, little nut.

Lonely is the acorn,
buried in the ground -
who once survived in sadness,
where truth was seldom found.

Lonely, not the the hunter
who stands behind his gun,
who aims at his next target,
who shoots it on the run.

Lonely is the tap root
that grows down in so deep,
drawing up the moisture,
so life itself, can keep.

The hunters haunt the hunted
with minds so twisted, twirled -
and satisfied will never be,
in this defining world.

Not useful as a mortal nut,
no longer living free -
so bury it, if that's the wish,
but some day it will be...

...a mighty tree in stature,
where truth still grows it more,
and though it very lonely,
has acorns by the score.

A tree that feeds the hunted
and hunters faithfully -
but tree still very lonely,
if that's how life must be.

Lonely are the fragile,
and lonely are the weak -
so lonely are the trampled,
and lonely too, the meek.

Popular the answers taste,
for queries others feed -
and hunger pangs will linger on,
until all truth is freed.

But springs of living water,
is where God's truth is found -
so count it as a blessing,
when buried in the ground.

Numerous and popular
are lies that pass the tooth -
but lonely still, the acorn,
and lonely too, the truth.

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

-------

Deuteronomy 6:14 (NASB)
"You shall not follow other gods,

any of the gods of the peoples who surround you..."

John 4:10 (KJV)
Jesus answered and said unto her,

If thou knewest the gift of God,

and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink;

thou wouldest have asked of him,

and he would have given thee living water.