But His Hand Is Stretched Out Still
His vineyard lies in waste
as the hills tremble with fear
His chosen are scattered
as seeds dispersed by wind.
But His hand is stretched out still
Israel cries as the bricks
of disobedience fall upon her
the haughty made low
the mean brought down.
But His hand is stretched out still
Woe to those who pull sin in
with chains of pride
vanity with cords of vice
injustice with ropes of crime.
But His hand is stretched out still
A light will appear
a sign in the holy realms
a babe shall be born
a Savior—
With His hand stretched out still
~~Written one morning after reading in 2 Nephi.
An Answered Prayer
Cailey on her bike
Zach holding Baxter’s leash
set out to the school yard
one hot, summer day.
Across the field
from the playground
Baxter spies a rabbit
scuttling through the brush.
With great sudden force
Baxter breaks from
Zach’s hold and into
the dense undergrowth
he goes with collar, leash
and all.
Baxter! Baxter! Here Boy!
over and over they yell.
With the arrival of Rylan,
Cara, Cole and Mommy—
Baxter is long gone.
Baxter! Baxter! Here Boy!
over and over they yell.
Kids are so upset,
worrying that his leash
is entangled
or Baxter might be lost.
The brush, briars, and
blackberry bushes
too thick to go into
to search.
Needing a higher help
Rylan voices their prayer
pleading to the Lord to
please help find Baxter
soon.
Cailey on her bike
flies home to get Dad.
As the others continue
to call:
Baxter! Baxter! Here Boy!
over and over they yell.
Jingle! Jingle! they suddenly hear
from under the thorny brush.
Baxter! Baxter! Here Boy!
louder and louder they yell.
As Dad and Cailey drive up—
out from beneath the briars
comes Baxter coated with
mud from head to tail.
Back at home
little Cara says their
“Thank You” prayer—
so grateful that
the Lord cares about
a silly, ole dog named
Baxter.
Elder Brother
Mother and small daughter
clasping hands
older son sandwiched between
Father’s strong arms as
they push baby’s buggy
on an evening family walk.
A crisp fall breeze wrestles
through their heads of hair—
with leaves dancing everywhere,
laughter and squeals of
neighborhood kids filling the
autumn air.
Approaching their final
ascent toward home
sister’s legs give out—
I am too tired, she wines
falling to the paved walkway.
Mother coaxing and pleading
with her little one to finish
their final incline, but to her
dismay there she laid.
Without word nor prompting
an elder brother walks over
to his sister and with all the
might and strength his small
arms can muster—bends over
and picks up his little sibling
and begins the final rise
homeward.
(dedicated to Bradley, an elder brother )
He Carries Me
At times in the midst of adversity
we feel the bricks of life are
falling down upon us—buckling
under the weight of it all.
Fearing one more trial will crack
and crumble the earth below—
plummeting us into a dark, deep
hole.
If we could see beyond mortality
the comings and goings of heavenly
beings working unceasingly in our
behalf, we would fall to our knees.
If we could envision blessings
being prepared for our good—
our faith would soar, and our
hearts would sing.
We would know without question:
He loves me. He is aware of me.
He knows my name. He carries me
when I cannot walk.
I Am Loved
Lying in bed with monthly cramps
I cradled the warm bean bag
as I mulled over the quietness
of the house wondering what the
kiddos were up to.
Mustering up enough strength
I forged down the stairwell to
find a very decorated living room
with flashing Christmas lights
in the middle of May.
Our son Josh’s creativeness on
bright display with bobbing
balloons and homemade paper
chains dangling in all array
tapped on the walls.
My unannounced appearance
brought all action to a halt of
a little play the girls and Josh
were practicing for their ill
Mommy upstairs in bed.
Remaining cool and calm
not reacting to my inner
dismay of the living room
disarray—I wobbly took
my seat.
Their simple little play
touched my heart strings
and taught me of real
charity with pure, unselfish,
and innocent love.
Joyous tears fell down
my face as I pondered how
blessed I am to be their
Mommy feeling that all is
right in my world.
(Written after reading a journal entry dated Sunday, May 2, 1993.)
The Leap
One warm, sunny day
breaking waves forming cusps
littered shell fragments
moist, gritty sand between our toes.
Amid squeals and laughter
Amber with her still camera
visual images in her lens—
instructs us: One, two, three,
JUMP!
Wrapped in my arms
little KayKay clings to me,
as Karston, Camee, and I
leap with great force
propelling ourselves upward
with kinetic energy.
With the click of the shutter button
the gathering beam of light
with freezing frame
seizes a glimpse of fleeting
time and captures
this memaw’s heart.
Written with Papa’s inspiration and editing.
Letdown
Escaping from the apartment
mother needing a break
heads to the local market
with swollen, tender breasts.
It was just yesteryear—
when I cradled and held him near.
Arms folded with bowed heads
mother, father, and son
standing in the Church parking lot
as father words their prayer.
In the store the mother
hearing another baby’s cry
is startled as oxytocin
fills her alveoli with milk—
It was just yesteryear—
when I cradled and held him near.
An adult son with his
new Jeep Grand Cherokee—
tearing parents bidding him farewell
as he begins his journey back home.
A tingling sensation inciting
an internal rush of milk
the letdown seeping down her blouse
quickly she crosses her arms—
It was just yesteryear—
when I cradled and held him near.
The mother made her son
a lunch of two roast beef sandwiches
with a bag of chips, a red apple
and two bottles of lemon water.
With gentle pressure
stopping the flow of milk
embarrassed with wetness
she scurries out to the car.
It was just yesteryear—
when I cradled and held him near.
The grown son in his SUV
accelerates the gas pedal
as he climbs the mountains
traveling homeward.
With thoughts of her tiny son
back home in dad’s care
she accelerates the gas pedal
wanting to nestle him near.
Now he’s a man—a very fine man.
Snowflakes splattering on his windshield
the son pulls into his drive
before he gets out of his Jeep
he calls his waiting mom.
As with the snow melting and disappearing,
thirty years seemingly have vanished,
but that older mother can still
feel the internal rush of letdown.
Remembering When
Sitting in an oversized chair
Ena nestled in Papa’s strong arms
her head gently resting on his chest,
listening to stories about her mommy
of when she was once cradled in Papa’s lap.
She’s my baby.
No Papa, she’s my mommy.
Papa peering deeply into a photograph
of a tow-headed little doll—
Who’s that Papa?
Tears trickling down his cheeks
I once rocked this tiny angel.
She’s my baby.
No Papa, she’s my mommy.
A cell phone vibrates
Mommy missing her Ena,
but Ena’s having too much fun
while Papa is reminiscing.
She’s my baby.
No Papa, she’s my mommy.
Cool Dude
Half man—but still half boy
Animating spirit
Remarkable and sensitive
Reflective on deeper meaning
Incredible and determined
Scout with his papa
Off-spring of a Father above
Noble leader perhaps one day
(By Mema and dedicated to my Harri
on this 17th day of July, 2010)
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