Beauty-Blessing Of A Big Wood-pile

Sometimes, as I start the fire in the mornings I think of stories I read about the pioneers scavenging the prairies for buffalo chips to keep the fire going, when they had no wood or dry wood!
Not only a fire hot enough to keep their home warm but hot enough to cook on!
It makes me so thankful for the old wood pile.
I wrote this poem for my friend's parents who moved into a retirement home without a wood-stove this fall, so they gifted to us some of their wood.
When I asked my friend what they would like for a bit of a thank-you she suggested a poem about a wood-pile, recalling how glad her dad always was for theirs!

Oh humble unsung hero; both of now and days long dead

It fills far more than corners in the cellar or the shed

For it is the begetter of winter-weather reprieve

Where we gather together to enjoy a cozy eve

With *‘Schizzel’ full of popcorn and a *schoze so full of book

Or maybe we are playing games like Lost Heir, Uno, Rook

And all the riches in the world could never make us smile

Like humble, good times we enjoy, thanks to the old wood pile

Now dad can put his sock feet up; set anxious thoughts to rest

Knowing that though the storm may rage, feathered will be his nest

And all his little fledglings need not dread the days to come

But live the best life has to give in simple joys of home

For wealth is not the number of its dollars we accrue

But rather gold-framed echoes of love’s happy me and you

Where the treasure of memories is worth each homespun while

And made ever the sweeter by the grin of a wood pile

The flicker of flame-dancers is a fine thing to behold

They leap and crackle where the warmth of it never grows old

And everyone is gladder while the wild of winter wails

With woodstove full of fire to grant comfort from its gales

So lest we overlook its quiet nook and modest pose

And lest we reserve poetry for romance of love’s rose

Let’s take a moment to applaud the gift of wooded isle

And thank God for the beauty-blessing of a big wood pile

© Janet Martin

* Schizzel- Pennsylvania Dutch Word for bowl

*schoze- Pennsylvania Dutch Word for lap

The Way We Are...

 Inspired by the tributes to George H. W. Bush

His motto; Preach Christ at all times. If necessary, use words.

George H.W. Bush's historian shares stories that span 9 decades

Tribute From Brian Mulroney former Canadian Prime Minister

Tribute from Alan Simpson, former Senator

Tribute from son George, also 43rd President of USA

 Rev. Dr. Russell Levenson Jr.'s full homily

 Yesterday George, through these loving tributes touched so many more lives in death,

 inspired by his life, not perfect, but well-lived...reminding us as long we we live, Life matters!

We never know whose lives we touch with what we do and say

Or how the way we are will help or hinder someone’s day

…how big the smallest lives we shape; the lad at mother’s knee

Is the beginning of the man that he turns out to be

To make the most of here and now is all that we can do

For when the quilt of dusk tucks earth beneath its navy blue

The seal that sets the sun where none of us its course can trace

Preserves those battles lost or won in Bygone’s vast embrace

Where oh, we never know what, down life’s road, one recollects

Or what will paint the pictures only memory resurrects

For what we leave behind becomes a lifetime’s greatest worth

Each numbered day soon strews its dust and ash across the earth

Lord, pray we live each day to day humbly aware of This

That none of us can ever know how near or far death is

Or who is next to cross the ever-mystic Great Divide

While we stand back and wonder what waits on The Other Side  

…where all then, that remains of us is the Permanent How

Of touch and taste tendered to the haste of each Here and Now

The treasure of love’s moments turned into Mission Complete

The measure of a lifetime sealed in other hands and feet

© Janet Martin

The life and legacy of George H.W. Bush

A Bitty Joy-Ditty

 This is NOT just a Christmas Song!

What hope, such promise to secure

What grace, such suff’ring to endure

What love, such rebels to pursue

To save us from death’s endless due

What joy, the heart of man should fill

What purpose should each plan instill

What honor should invoke our touch

To serve He who loves us SO much

© Janet Martin

Morning Prayer...(roused by morning/mercy's riveting flare)

 Our heart's deep worship is wordless! 

but sometimes we try to find font to fit, 

though a stuttering shadow, to tell of its wonder!

Wake within my worship, wonder

Transfixed by Hope’s Covenant

Where without it, fear would thunder

Like an avalanche, hell-bent

Stir, through Thy Word, faith’s endurance

*Until sight annuls its need

Startle weariness with nuance

Of new morning’s mercy-deed

Fire desire with longing

For that which earth cannot grant

Keep my idle mind from wanting

That which would Thy love supplant  

Keep my feet and eyes from wand’ring

Where Distraction wields its vice

Lord, help me make Time my off’ring

Through love’s Living Sacrifice

Teach me, as I reach to others

How to make my love like yours

Where we, all sisters and brothers

Need the Hope Thy grace secures

© Janet Martin

 Yesterday, as we gazed at my friend's dad lying in death's repose
we couldn't help but wonder what his last breath's Sight revealed!

Hymn by Margaret Mackay...Asleep in Jesus

1. Asleep in Jesus! Blessed sleep,
   From which none ever wakes to weep;
   A calm and undisturbed repose,
   Unbroken by the last of foes.
2. Asleep in Jesus! Oh, how sweet,
   To be for such a slumber meet,
   With holy confidence to sing
   That death has lost his venomed sting
3. Asleep in Jesus! Peaceful rest,
   Whose waking is supremely blest;
   No fear, no woe, shall dim that hour
   That manifests the Savior’s pow’r.
4. Asleep in Jesus! Oh, for me
   May such a blessed refuge be!
   Securely shall my ashes lie,
   And wait the summons from on high
5. Asleep in Jesus! Far from thee
   Thy kindred and their graves may be;
   But there is still a blessed sleep,
   From which none ever wakes to weep.

To Takers of Time's Latest Prize...

Emerging on yon eastward skies

A band of gold ignites the skies

Where breath of life has lent its prize

As eyes and sighs awake

While Mercy sets the diadem

Of dawn upon earth’s yawning hem

And beckons, with time’s rarest gem

It’s free-for-all, to take

…where man, who sees the outside knows

How sure and swift Time’s gift bestows

A labyrinth of highs and lows

To ‘whys’ and ‘ohs’ God-lent

To bridge the breach of doubt with trust

For this cradle of ash and dust

Is woven through with wanderlust

And worship’s wonderment

Then do not fear; the love of He

Who fashions heaven’s majesty

Then lends to likes of you and me

The rose to crown the thorn

Will not forsake us in the task

All that we need to do is ask

Then believe He who tips night’s flask

And fills time’s glass with morn

© Janet Martin

 ...and oh!!! what a morning!

 where we, a little sun-rise starved through all of November drink,

like thankful beggars from the well-spring of Mercy's surprise!

 (I had to laugh and laugh as I listened and imagined
what my not-so-morning people would do if I cranked this song up first thing when I got up!)