Christmas Eyes 11-1-12

My mama was a loving spouse who did her very best

to keep my father happy and she never did protest -

to what my father said and did to add to her abuse -

and all the things I saw him do.  There wasn't an excuse.

My father was a spiteful man who argued quite a lot

and it had hurt my mama so that she became distraught..

I pulled weeds from her garden and I chopped a lot of wood

that heated up our cooking stove.  I helped her all I could.

As we prepared for Christmas Day and all that was in store,

enjoyed, I did, those special times with mama even more.

Yes, more than any other month could ever even boast,

December was that special time that we enjoyed the most.

One cold December morning came when father went to find,

a full and perfect Norway Spruce.  (I tagged along behind).

The woods were vast.  There must have been a million evergreen

which held a billion snowflakes out in sparkling winter scene.

Reflective sunlight shimmered bright which made my eyelids squint

so I looked down and found that all my footsteps made a print -

in snow so fun to walk through as it crushed beneath my feet -

(although at times the drifts caused me to detour or retreat).

That made me pause and catch a glimpse of smoke from fireplace

meandering above our house so wanting to embrace -

a family fraught with nervous fears and silent times 'to boot' -

as father, with his ego big, had muffled mama mute.

But fragrance from the many pine had found my little nose -

and tiny snowflakes glistened while they settled on our clothes -

reminding me that all is well despite my parents quarrels

and I could choose a better life with character and morals -

to live a life, not crooked, as we trekked from place to place -

to find that perfect tree to decorate our living space.

We trampled each direction and at last he gave a sigh.

We finally found that perfect spruce - my father, saw and I.

The night was strangely silent as we sat around our tree
when mom's love and compassion had been proven true to me.

Out through the corner of my eye, I viewed dejected years -

and though she tried to hold them back, I saw her lonely tears.

Throughout that night the light escaped reflecting off the floor,

and whispered prayers were carried out from underneath her door...
But light no longer flickers from the candles flaming tips

and silenced too, are verses that I heard from mama's lips.
I know that father long regrets his former wicked ways -
but through my tears, I won't forget those special Christmas days
with scenes of the Nativity and tree exactly right,

with memories of mama and the truth that came to light.

Yes, this was many years ago that father and I spied -

then cut that perfect Norway Spruce the day before she died.

I heard his weeping through the door - such deep, repentant cries -

but now he sees as mama did... through humble Christmas eyes.

©2012 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Romans 10 (NASB)
8 But what does it say? “The word is near you, in your mouth and in your heart”
—that is, the word of faith which we are preaching,
9 that if you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord,
and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved;
10 for with the heart a person believes, resulting in righteousness,
and with the mouth he confesses, resulting in salvation.
11 For the Scripture says, “Whoever believes in Him will not be disappointed.”
12 For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek;
for the same Lord is Lord of all, abounding in riches for all who call on Him;
13 for “Whoever will call on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

Log Cabin Christmas 11-11-11

You ask about this picture

that hangs here on my wall?

Many thoughts come to my mind.

I can't recall them all.

It's of our old log cabin

that stood along a stream -

nestled in a heavy woods

with weather most extreme.

The summer heat, unbearable,

preceded autumn hues -

and winter brought the heavy snow

which drooped the many yews.

Our hard work filled the wood box.

Much colder times, there'd be.

I'd follow dad's familiar tracks -

to seek a Christmas tree.

A chair set by the window,

sat I, upon the chair -

peering down our old dirt road

with grandpa not yet there.

The sunrise and the sunset

was all the clock we had -

so hours I would be on watch

with brother, mom and dad.

So patiently the snowfall

would cling to window sill.

Serene and quiet were those days -

snow blanketing each hill.

Then at last his carriage came,

bouncing up the drive.

Anticipation answered,

and Christmas came alive.

The planks beneath dad's footsteps

sounded from the floor.

He gave a pat as he walked by,

then answered our front door.

The gift that I received that day

came in a homemade box.

I opened it and once again -

long underwear and socks.

Toys were quite a rarity.

I thought it not unfair -

for on those chilly winter nights,

I didn't really care.

The fire dancing in the hearth

was better than fine art -

and love was not for brand new toys -

but rather from the heart.

The inconvenient hardships

were really not so bad.

Grandpa and my family,

were really all I had.

Sunday was our day of rest

that I enjoyed the most -

when father parked our wagon near

the church's hitching post.

Patience filled our earnest souls,

charity, the mind -

and my most precious presents now,

are memories, every kind.

We bore so many crosses

with work and suffering -

but they bound us together and,

I wouldn't change a thing.

If now an opportunity

brought back 'the good old days',

I'd trade todays conveniences

for more rewarding ways.

I don't regret my childhood.

I would not trade the years.

Now please, you must forgive me for

my sentimental tears...

Oh goodness, my - how time does fly!

It's almost half-past seven!

But stories more, you'll hear some day

when we meet up in Heaven.

So that's my picture on my wall,

reminding me of Christmas -

a world of true tranquility -

where I found love for Jesus.

©2011 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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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/

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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.