A New Year’s Toast

Sipping the future and swallowing the past

A glass ball falls
while our hopes rise
that past regrets
and wordless sighs
will be relinquished
and forgot
and never brought
to mind

A midnight gong
and glasses clink
as couples kiss
while others drink
a toast to
this brand new year
will bring.

So here’s to peace
within Iraq
so all our troops
will soon be back.
And to old friends
in New Orleans
rebuilding what
they lost.

To people on
the streets alone
who have no place
to call their own.
To single moms
and jobless dads
and those whose
mates have died.

To neighbors, friends
and family
who fill our lives
and to the Lord
whose gift to us
is this
awaiting year.


A look at the meaning of the Incarnation through the windows of technology

Long ago in a land far away
an illegal operation was performed
and the human hard drive crashed.

Upon rebooting,
a garden variety virus was detected.
Lacking any means of self-repair,
mankind with mice in hand
clicked in vain.

But the Creator would not let
the unique technology
He’d designed remain inoperative.
Gazing through the windows
of eternity future,
He wrote a software program
He labeled “grace.”

Although it was the perfect antidote
for the virus of sin,
this program had to be downloaded
before its benefits would take effect.
Proof that the download
had been successfully achieved
was seen in the icon of God’s image
that appeared on humanity’s desktop.
Curiously, God did not choose
maximum modem speed
with which to connect to His world.
Although He had created outer space,
He didn’t choose cyberspace
as the means by which
he would highlight his love.
Neither did he download himself
digitized on a 19 inch color monitor.

The incarnation was not virtual reality.
In RealTime the Almighty actually entered
into time and space
through the available port
of a virgin’s womb.

Thus, the pace at which
grace came to us
was not instantaneous.
It was the length of time
it typically takes
to grow what love conceives.

And what the Creator conceived
needs no upgrade.
The anti-virus program
is a person who remains the same
yesterday, today and forever.
This Christmas
Jesus the Christ
is just a faith-click away.

The Mike Behind the Mike

Why Michael Medved is more than just a talking head

From the most livable city
in the greatest nation
on God’s green earth,
a voice is heard
speaking right words
to a culture gone left,
to a world increasingly
bereft of reason.

He’s a broadcaster
with a narrow view
of religious freedom.
It’s called
the First Amendment.

But Michael Medved
is more than just
a talking head.
His body of truth
animates his entire life.
Just ask his wife.
She’ll tell you.

He’s an Orthodox Jew
who has more than a clue
about how to
honor his family
and worship his God.

Week in and week out
Michael acts out
what he speaks up about.
This Seattle-based
partial observer
is unabashedly passionate
when it comes to the rights
of those who are left behind
in what sadly remains
a racially-divided

He’s also an advocate
for those who embrace
traditional values
who have been disgraced
by the proponents of
“political correctness”
or denied their prophetic voice
by a society that promotes
a totalitarianism of tolerance.

Far from a Rush hour,
Michael’s three-hour
daily commute on network radio
finds him trafficking in truth
without succumbing
to reckless speeds
that would leave his
unseen passengers dizzy.

Although he aggressively
drives home his point of view,
he refuses to merge onto
the express lane of arrogance.
And unlike some of his profession,
Michael is not given to rogue rage.

But he is given to watching
Hollywood’s best and worst.
He’s a film critic
who’s courageous enough
to be critical of mindless crap
that tarnishes the silver screen.
He is also willing to stand up
for a wholesome motion picture
most of his colleagues have put down.

It’s true.
Michael Medved
knows what really happened
to the Class of ’65.
That was his class.
Those were his classmates.
He wrote the book.
In the process
he found probable cause
to examine
the often-troubling consequences
of unexamined lives.

Yes, Michael Medved’s a class act
who knows what will likely happen
to those who simply
march to the cadence
of a culture that can’t detect
the drumbeat of the Creator’s heart.

There’s good reason
why more and more Americans
are listening to this
Mike behind the mike.
His is a voice of reason.

I’m Dreaming of a Right Christmas

Examining the injustice of religious tolerance

I’m dreaming of a right Christmas
when those who love the left
will hate the freedoms then allowed
of which I’m now bereft.

Like seeing live nativities
lit up on city squares
or saying “Merry Christmas, sir”
without it seeming rare.

Like hearing carols at the mall
instead of “winter songs.”
Why is it Frosty rates so high?
Is Silent Night so wrong?

It’s bad that I can’t find Good Yule
on Hallmark greeting cards
while Hanukkah and Kwanzaa ones
are there. It’s so bizarre.

The Christians’ fest is pot-shot prone
chalked up to tolerance.
Yet other faiths are bullet-proof.
I think that’s kinda nuts.

The liberty to practice faith
is guaranteed to most.
But if it’s thought you’re born-again,
you might as well be toast.

And so I dream of Christmases
that won’t be a nightmare.
A day when what the law allows
is true for freedom’s heirs.

What It Takes to Make Love

A recipe for commitment Jessica and Nick overlooked

A virgin bride
put faith aside
to be seduced by fame.
For young Ms. Simpson
marriage was
a made-for-TV game.

A Saintless Nick
with abs of brick
paved Jessica’s success.
But while they played
their marriage was a mess.

The Newlyweds
claimed skill in bed,
but making love is more
than what takes place
between the sheets.
The way you really score

is saying no
when work says go
and leave your spouse for weeks.
It’s staying true
when one night stands
are what your passion seeks.

You score big time
when you unwind
and hold each other close
to watch the news
or share your dreams
while sipping hot Red Rose.

True love is made
when feelings fade
and beauty bows to age.
It’s made when you
live out “I do”
and pay commitment’s wage.

Love’s recipe
it seems to me
requires more than thyme.
It’s time well spent
with just a hint
of more of yours than mine.