Archives: Poems

The Spotlight

In entrance of her presence, this light would shine its ray.
Cascading, luminous sunshine in whatever she would say.

The light encircled your life; you felt special and proud.
The truth – she was the spotlight; this thought we shout aloud.

The glimmer of her sparkle, though dimmed, will never fade.
Her touch became the legacy through all the friends she made.

How very much we’ll miss the star that made our lives so bright.
But deep inside the flicker’s there – she’ll stay tucked in there tight.

My heart in pieces cries for she now gone from mortal sight.
May God in mercy hold each up in tunnel’s darkened night.

Down Under

These gentle mates of ours are breezing to another port
That respite place of peace and strength,
We give you our support.

This sabbatical of time and space will refresh you in the way.
We are pleased to pray you forth in love on this great Lord’s day.

As you go to Aussie land, we’ll feel so torn asunder;
you’ll be there, yet in our hearts, so safely tucked “Down Under”.

The Pastor Keeps Rolling Along

Over hill, over vale, we’re not over Pastor Dale, though the pastor is rolling along.
In – now out, is the shout. I, myself, will sit and pout, since the pastor is rolling along.
From the “hi” he gave to the food the ladies saved, keeping up the energy so strong.
And where’re you go, you will always know that the prayers here keep rolling along.

Over hill, over vale, always looking for that sale and the pastor keeps searching along.
Fortunate is the truth, he gleans food just like in Ruth, and the pastor keeps searching along.
For it’s “yum, yum, yum, can’t I just have some?”. Count down the calories as one.
For where’re you go, you will always know that our menu keeps rolling along.

Over hill, over vale, please quit driving on my tail, cause the pastor is driving along.
In and out, up and down, wheels are supposed to go around and the pastor keeps driving along.
For it’s “hey, hey, hey, please stay out of my way”. Confession is the nature of that song.
So, where’re you drive, folks will stay alive, for the pastor keeps driving along.

Over hill, over vale, pastor loves to do email and the pastor keeps typing along.
Hunt and peck – will he check, Sunday sermons will be next, and the pastor keeps typing along.
And it’s one-two-three, how many did you see, of emails that ended up sent wrong?
And however you type, folks will trust the hype, that the pastor keeps typing along.

Over hill, over vale, our support will never fail, as the pastor starts rolling along.
Down the road, heavy load, just do what the Lord has told, and the pastor keeps rolling along.
Though it’s “bye bye” here, we want to make it clear: to Living Springs you always will belong.
And where’re you go, grace will always grow, cause our pastor keeps trusting along.

A Recovering American Soldier

With grateful appreciation for the sacrifices made . . . . .

A recovering American soldier is on the frontlines of our heart.
The sacrifices each one makes shows freedom from its start.
The gift our veterans give this land is felt here every day,
So at this joyous time of year, please know we’re proud to pray:
Oh Lord, a recovering American soldier has wounds beneath the skin.
Please take that hole and find a way for healing to begin.
It is an awesome thing to know that someone fought – it’s true!
This was the marching order of the Babe, who came to die for you.

Tunnel’s Darkened Night

In entrance of her presence, this light would shine its ray.
Cascading, luminous sunshine in whatever she would say.

The light encircled your life you felt special and proud.
The truth – she was the spotlight; this thought we shout aloud.

The glimmer of her sparkle, though dimmed, will never fade.
Her touch became the legacy through all the friends she made.

How very much we’ll miss the star that made our lives so bright.
But deep inside the flicker’s there – she’ll stay tucked in there tight.

My heart in pieces cries for she’s now gone from mortal sight.
May God in mercy hold each up in tunnel’s darkened night.

Passing Senses

“Recollections of the loss of a father”.

The eyes tell all, the touch is dry. You look and think and wonder why.
Their painful glare, as if to say, “Please help me, here, right now I pray.”
The hands point out to lands unknown – they have the look, they feel alone.
The feeling gained is pain for all; the one leaving, those left to call.
The air you breathe, while death stands bold, is not relief, though you are told.
You want more time, there’s none to take. You check your heart, it’s sure to break.
They slip away, you stand and stare – it’s just not right, it can’t be fair.
Their smile is closed, they talk no more, but look to God, your spirit soar!
Our God took death and made it His. The reason’s plain, it’s clearly this:
He slipped away in front of man, but still can take us by the hand.
He took our sins and shame that day. He did it in the only way.
We must look on and see His cross – to know that it was not a loss.
To view what Christmas has done for man. To know He’s doing all He can
To bring a world to know this fact, that God did bring His Son right back.
A Father’s loss was ours to gain, if we can see it in our pain.
This has been told to say to you, I miss my Dad; He’s with his Father new.
I wish you would have known my Dad – the funny lines, though heart was sad.
The only thing that brings me through is knowing Jesus walked there too.
But more important is this part, to know Christ Jesus in your heart.
A father’s death – The Father’s loss . . . Come together in the Shadow of a Cross.

Thanks For Our Millie

Thanks for our Millie – A million reasons why her influence will never die, knowing that her welcome still extends beyond the sky. Thank you so much.

Thanks for this blessing – the annual dinner here with Dick and Loretta dear. You make us feel at home and we’re grateful for the Walquist cheer. We thank you so much.

Thanks to our Savior – we serve His church with prayer, His burdens we gladly bear. Millie and George inaugurated this time of great pastoral care. We thank you so much.

On behalf of all the pastors, spouses for the past forty plus years,

Ain’t It Grand?

Ain’t it grand to be at Swarthouts – ain’t it grand? We weren’t lost coming to Anoka – understand. At this pastoral/zone and meeting, we have no sermons, only the greeting. Ain’t it grand to be at Swarthouts, ain’t it grand?

Ain’t it great to be with pastors, wives, and all? They do this in the summer, not the fall. Pastors usually try to wait, unless they’ve already got their plate. Ain’t it great to be with pastors – ain’t it great?

Ain’t it sweet to be here with Doug at his home? You won’t find him serving us while on the phone. Doug’s not only a wonderful pastor, but here he serves as the head grill master. Ain’t it sweet to be with Doug, here – ain’t it sweet?

What a charming hostess, that’s our Suzi dear. You can see by her face, she’s glad you’re here. She works at Wells Fargo doing her best, and always keep your interest. What a charming hostess she is – Suzie dear.

Do you remember last year’s party – with no keg? When a squirrel ran to Al Gorecke’s leg?
We sure have fun with God’s great people. To have real church, you don’t need a steeple. Ain’t it grand to be at Swarthouts, ain’t it grand?

This year we have to stop and say good bye. The Bakers are going to Ohio in God’s style. Your church and the camp will miss your face, but you’ve left footprints well in place. Ain’t it sad to say good bye here, ain’t it sad?

And no matter where in the world you may roam, it’s always such a joy when you are home. Andrea’s here – there’s no mistake. Doug and Suzi keep filling her plate. Ain’t it grand Andrea’s home, now – ain’t it grand?

Thanks for listening to what became a fuller song. My benediction will not be very long. Doug and Suzi – you’ve welcomed all, and it’s time for my curtain call. Thanks again for such a party – it is grand!

Don’t Let Them Forget!

Who could forget wicked gates of iron, hell bent to dash their hope.
Who can pretend that this place is not real, with burnt remains thrown down the slope?

Who could forget those, who each day since have walked into water of shower?
The fear intense there, as they recall the terror,
Must be with them each day and hour.

Though fifty years have come and gone since liberation’s run,
I think of what couldn’t be burnt away: the brightness of the sun.

So here in this, reminder’s day, the skylights speak so clear.
That looking up, they could not take the light that shined so near.

Let now the skies burst forth with shout – A Song of Freed refrain.
When shadows veil and force ignite – Oh God, Please Not Again!

Our Yellow Rose

Our Yellow Rose appeared one day. It came to bless us on our way.
And when we saw that little bud appear, to that flower we drew ever near.
Yellow Rose, Oh don’t you know, how we watched you grow.
You bloomed into a very lovely flower, affecting everyone you’d know.
You were no ordinary flower that would just bloom in the spring.
For our Rose was to become a fragrant blossom of the King.
Yes, there were thorns along the way, but they never marred you much.
For the beauty that was in your heart, it went way beyond their touch.
The bud then closed, the thorns fell off. It was troubling in our sight
Till the Lord said that our little flower, “She is risen this very night.”
Roses bloom for a few days, yet it is wondrous to behold
That our Little Rose is planted where the streets are made of purest gold.
Yellow Rose, Oh don’t you know, how we love you so.
You were with us such a short while. We were sad to see you go.
We question why you’re gone now, but of this we both agree,
Our Yellow Rose left a while ago, but her fragrance lingers here.
Yellow Rose, we all now know, you are way beyond the sky.
You are blooming in a brand new place: A Place Where Roses Never Die.