Tag Archives: Journal

What did you say?

Here I stand
On a pillowy white cloud.

There is this guy
With a beard standing here

Looking down into
A big red leather bound book.

He is taking a long time
Turning page after page.

I am hearing
A grunt or two,

But not a word from his lips,
Not a welcome.

I shift from
One foot to the other.

What am I
Doing here?

My last memory
Was slipping and falling.

I begin to worry.
I have so much to do.

If he is not finding
What he is looking for

How will his search
Affect me and my future?

Oh, he signals me
Come closer, step over here.

There is no hint
Of a smile or indication

What the book
Has revealed to him?

With a concerned look
And a shrug of his shoulders

He quietly whispers
So only I could hear.

“I am sorry
I do not have your reservation.

I am sad  to say
You must go…..”

Where did he say
I had to go?

I am definitely going
To get new hearing aids!

Sir, where did you
Say I should go?

Again a little louder he said
“You must go back!”

The cloud turned
A little darker and softer.

I am falling down again
Ouch! Ohhh I hurt all over.

 

Created: September 11, 2017

I Am Going Home

A New Beginning!

A New Beginning!

I Am Going Home
Oh Heavenly Father,
Come for me today.
To be home for Christmas.

The earthly toils and tribulations
Have worn my body and spirit down
Come Holy Spirit.

Our long, long suffering is
Torturing the innocents
Surrounding and supporting us.

My body and mind
Yearn for the loving
And peaceful joy
Of being in your presence.

This is the season of Advent
A time of expecting
A time of preparing.

I am prepared.
We are prepared,
Now is my Advent season

I await the miracle
Of my new birth
My new beginning

Free of suffering
Singing with your angels
The glorious songs of old.

Announcing the arrival
Of The Child
And of the new arrivals.

Come Holy Spirit
I await your pleasure
Impatiently, I await

Come Holy Spirit.
Take me home.

Originally written: December 18, 2012

This was written for my cousin, Bill Mehringer, at the request
of his wife Deb. Bill is in hospice as this poem was written.
We love and support Bill and Deb in this long struggle. Bill
got his miracle just a couple hours after Deb read this poem
to him. Bill’s wait is over and he has his beautiful wings.

A Passion for Living

A rose the symbol of love and passion

A rose the symbol of love and passion

To live is to love.
Ah, the passion of living.
Each moment precious.
Each day and year collecting

The good, the bad and
Even the ugly part of life.
Each experience precious
Even priceless.

My collection growing
As my hair is greying.
My appreciation of life’s variety
Expands until it Is boundless.

Originally written: January 11, 2004

I sat across from a friend and listened to the stories he was telling about his life. The stories reflected growing up in an envronment of anger and hate. Later, I was reminiscing on the conversation and how different my life was. I grew up in a poor family wearing hand-me-downs and shoes purchased from Goodwill stores. I admit there were days we hated our unreasonable father.

My sister was the only sibling that remained home to finish high school. All four boys got their high school diplomas later and several went on to college. I came the closest to staying at home until I finished high school. I left two weeks before graduation and went into the military receiving my diploma in the mail. As we grew into teenagers each of us began to have
an increasing number of conflicts with our father.

Yet, I must say we were privileged to grow up in that environment. We can face any challenge and know how to survive even thrive. Each experience we have had whether it was good, bad, or ugly enriched us. As I have grown in age, wisdom has provided a view of past happenings that has morphed from distaste to appreciation. In discussions with my brothers we discovered each of us has confidence in our abilities instilled by having been through difficult times.

I would even go so far as say each brother has a passion for living.

Caught in the Act

To observe the instant a child learns is a miracle.


I am amazed,
And in awe.

To see a baby,
Or a young child

Caught in the act,
Of seeing something for the first time.

The arms, legs
of constant motion stops.

The eyes open wide
Seem to be absorbing.

It is as if I can see
The child’s mind learning.

It is a wondrous sight,
A treasured moment.

Originally written: January 11, 2004

I saw a baby in a stroller see a robin sitting on a branch for the first time. I was totally captivated by the baby staring at the bird. For it’s part the robin chirped and chirped calling for a mate. The child stopped all motion and just looked at the bird. I could see her eyes widen and focus on the bird. It was absorbing and the thought came to mind was the baby was learning. I was elated to have watched the child see the robin red breast for the first time.

The Perfect Christmas Tree

In days long remembered
A young boy lived in a small village.

Small is wrong image.
Just 4 streets, one block long.

Surrounded by farms
Snuggled close by forests.

Days were happily fillled,
Filled with walking here to there.

Walking the forest’s pathways
Listening to the birds singing.

Leaning against the trees and rocks
Listening to the breezes in the leaves.

Enjoying the colors and shapes
Of the trees, bushes, and streams.

The perfect person to find
The special Christmas tree.

A memory of journeys past
Trees along the path.

That perfect tree comes to mind
The path known and followed.

Snowshoes strapped on.
Shush-shush out to the tree,

Zaw-zaw, the saw cuts through
The perfect tree is taken.

Pulled down the path
To home to be our tree.

Shush-shush,
Tug and tug again.

It is the perfect tree
Everyone agrees.

Oh no, our friend has none.
Unanimously, give him ours.

A wonderful Christmas gift
A perfect tree to decorate.

We need a new tree
And tonight is Christmas eve.

There is no more time
For a long walk to the next tree.

Rush-rush, pick one quick
Zaw-zaw cut it down

Tug it home
Tugging quickly.

Oh so scraggly,
Up goes the ugly little tree.

Put the lights on quick
A ornament here and there.

Put the tinsel on top to bottom
Wrap the garland round and round.

A miracle is taking place
The transformation complete.

From the scraggly little tree
To our perfect Christmas tree.

It was a replacement no more
It was our perfect tree.

Originally written: December 6, 2011

Once upon a time, I did pick out a Christmas tree. A beautiful fir tree
shaped by nature. It was straight to the sky with full branches, a conical
form. Proud of the tree even to beat my chest a little. It felt so good to
have looked all year for that tree and now it was our tree.

A neighbor had been laid off and was not able to go out in the woods to cut
a tree nor purchase one from the Boy Scouts. Dad took our tree to them
about 4 pm on Christmas eve. So I went back out and cut another tree. I
was ten years old. It was the first Christmas I got to go pick our tree.

The scraggly tree was transformed by our holiday spirit. A holiday season
remembered and cherished by our family and our friends.

Rose Colored Glasses

I view the world through
Colored glasses.

Colored by  my beliefs,
My background.

Background made up
Through each day’s experiences.

Experiences endured,
Overcoming  life’s impediments.

Learning profound truths
Changing perspectives

Anger and hatred,
Colored dark and black.

Even different colors
Violet for laments and sadness.

Rose tint for love
Taken from my tears and sighs.

My vision changing with happenings
Causing new lenses ground each day

Each new lens
A filter changing perspective.

I am biased by the filters
In my life.

I am amazed
When I bump into a “truth.”

As viewed  from someone
Else’s perspective or bias.

It changes my lenses
Of yesterday to this moment.

 

Originally written:   January 27, 2002
Updated:                 May 30, 2011

No two people experience an event in their lives describe an event in the same
way.   My experience  is changed by sharing with others.

Come Within

Come within,
Join me in discovery.
We are on a journey
Discovering  tidbits.

Come within,
Find tidbits of truth.
The journey may be short,
It may be long.

Come within,
The truths I find
May or may not be yours,
They are my truths today.

I am not profound,
Nor do I expound
Profound truths.

I try to capture the small truths,
That are sometimes
Taken for granted.

It is in living life
And sharing that I seem,
To trip over one
Here or there.

No amount
Of searching purposefully,
Results in a new
Foundling of truth.

It is there full-grown
In the relationships with
Unknowns, knowns,
Hated and beloved.

Originally written:  January  21, 2002

Thanksgiving

 I try to make each moment
A thankful one.

I have so much,
To be thankful for.

For things so great,
And so small.

Each breath, each thought,
Each friend, and family member,

And on and on.
The turkey has been cut,
Table set,

Prayers said,
Food graciously shared,

Songs sung,
Stories shared,

Games played,
And importantly

Thanksgiving re-enacted.

Originally written:  November 23, 2000

Guilt, A Powerful Force

Guilt has always been a powerful force in my life.
 
I believe the first emotion I can recall is guilt and then regret.

Guilty of going home with the potato chip man without approval
at age 3 or 4.  I do not recall what happened when Mom and Dad
found out.  It was never spoken of again.  I do remember being
woke in the middle of the night at the home of the potato chip 
delivery man and wife’s home and taken home by Dad.  I got
the potato chip man in a bit of trouble.  They thought I had
permission to go home with him.  I didn’t. I never even asked
Mom or Dad if I could go.

Guilty of pulling the trigger on a 22 rifle as my brother’s friend
was talking to my older brother Jake and leaning on the barrel
of the rifle.  They were shooting chicken hawks on the farm. I was
four years old and I walked up behind Billy and pulled the trigger.
Bang – the bullet went through his hand and lodged next to his
heart.  Billy carries the bullet next to his heart to this day.
After pulling the trigger and the loud bang I ran around the house
to the backyard and climbed inside of a plastic gun turret
Dad had purchased as a small green house.  Mom and Dad found
me as the sun was going down under the turret.

These may be the first memories of emotions I remember clearly.
The trauma involved imprinted them and made them forces in my life.
Guilt and Regret can be great motivators. 

Originally written:   November 5, 2000
Guilt can be motivational or it can be one that stops all forward
action if one lets it.  I look back and I see it as a basic reason  to
do good with my life.  Oh yes,  There have been other times that I feel
guilty and regret.  Some greater and some lessor than these offenses.

Since this is not a confessional I will not dwell on those sins. I
will say that each has become a force for good.

Desires are Desires

Desires are desires.
You can intellectually desire,
Or emotionally desire.

I have found
Which I am
Likely to feel
And succeed.

When I emotionally desire
Emotion is a stronger force
Than intellectual forces.

Desires are driving
Forces in my life.

I wonder if
I can trace
This all back
To guilt trips.
Originally written:  August 6, 2000

Desires can be intellectually or emotionally based. 
I have found which helps more often lead to success for me.
Then a thought crossed my mind.  Was this all related
back to the emotions felt when I was growing up and
felt guilty and unworthy.  Emotions were very strong.