Lamenting the fire-breathing beast back east;
Let’s Give Our Thumbs a Hand

Heat Wave Woes
Lamenting the fire-breathing beast back east

A heat wave? Duh! The prince of tides
is not the ocean deep and wide.
This royal pain is just hot air
that takes your breath away.

My relatives who live back east
are dealing with this dreaded beast
that (like a dragon) stalks the streets
exhaling scorching flames.

The temp’s as high as it can go!
No wonder they are feeling low.
And when you add humidity,
you feel like you could die.

But in the Gulf you don’t just boil.
The tide’s complete with suntan oil.
Their heat wave’s laced with Coppertone
and beach balls made of tar.

It’s just July. Imagine that!
When dog days come, the August stats
could find us dreaming of some snow
and Christmases of white.

Let’s Give Our Thumbs a Hand
Celebrating an often-overlooked digit

Imagine life without your thumbs.
You couldn’t pick up coins or crumbs.
You couldn’t hitchhike easily
or sign the alphabet.

Those digits on our hands called thumbs
allow a cop to cock a gun.
Without them bowling would be hard.
We couldn’t get a grip.

You couldn’t button up your suit
or play the clarinet or flute.
You couldn’t even hold a key
to open your front door.

Jack Horner couldn’t pluck a plum
if he was missing both his thumbs.
And Thumbelina and Tom Thumb
would be unknown to all.

You couldn’t thumb your nose at life
or use chopsticks to pick up rice
You couldn’t say that you’re all thumbs
although that’s what you’d be.

Let’s give our thumbs a great big hand
and thank the Lord for what He planned
to give us freedoms dogs don’t have.
Let’s give God two thumbs up!

A present-day look at the past;
It’s Still My Home, Sweet Home

Gulf Oil Redefined
A present-day look at the past

Remember when Gulf oil
was the place you stopped for gas?
The folks in Plaquemines Parish
filled their tanks en route to mass.

The Gulf guy washed their windows,
checked their oil and their tires
and while he pumped high octane 
they would quench their thirst with Hires.

Fast-forward 50 years or so…
When someone says Gulf oil
what comes to mind are not gas pumps
but beaches now quite soiled.

Beachcombing isn’t just a stroll
along the sandy shore.
To comb the beach is hardly fun.
These days it’s so much more.

It’s raking tar balls from the sand
and digging up what’s dead.
It’s sifting through the gooey sludge
while feeling endless dread.

And though the combers work each day
they never are quite through.
Tomorrow’s tide will yield more tar
and with it more to do.

As in the Gulf, the waves of sin
deposit daily crud
that only can be neutralized
through Christ’s most precious blood.

And so it’s good to comb our hearts
confessing what we’ve done
that we might sense God’s cleansing grace
with each new rising sun.

It’s Still My Home, Sweet Home
Birthday wishes to a not-so-beautiful America

In spite of BP’s oil spills
and murders in the Oakland Hills,
I’m grateful that America
is still my home, sweet home

Despite a weak economy
and healthcare battles in DC,
the greatest nation in the world
is still my home, sweet home.

And though police are shot and killed
and kids go missing ‘gainst their will,
I’m grateful there’s the rule of law
within my home, sweet home.

And while our heroes cheat on wives
and some we trust get caught in lies
we value truth and being true
here in my home, sweet home.

And even though we’re still at war
and critics protest shore to shore,
the right to fight and criticize
defines my home sweet home.

Yes, where I live still has its flaws.
To honor God’s against the law
and yet He is the reason
why I love my home, sweet home.

With praise for my iPhone;
Recalling My Ordination Day

The World at My Fingertips
With praise for my iPhone

I love my iPhone with its apps.
A camera, GPS and maps.
This small computer is much more
than simply just a phone.

It shows the best airfare to Crete
or how my stocks did on Wall Street.
It lets me know how warm it is
back East where my kids live.

There is a breaking news alert
and first-aid facts should I get hurt.
The iTunes feature lets me listen
to the songs I love.

My Bible software lets me read
the antidote to stress and greed.
The Facebook app helps me check in
with friends and family.

My iPhone’s never far away.
I use it for both work and play.
This small device within my hand
connects me to the world.

Recalling My Ordination Day
It’s more than pressing redial on my iPhone

Near old St. Paul I took a stand,
while bowing to God’s sovereign plan
that cloaked a nervous willing heart
and covered feet of clay.

The robe I wore reminded me
how ministry’s a mystery,
how I am clothed in righteousness
though flawed and needing grace.

They handed me a cherished book
in which they said (if I would look)
I’d find my message and the means
to qualify my call.

They draped me with a fabric yoke
and in my heart the Spirit spoke
reminding me I’m not my own
but made alive to serve.

And then I felt upon my head
confirming hands whose kind touch said,
“You have been set apart by Christ
who promises a crown.”

And like St. Paul I realized
that I must press toward this prize
held out to those who’ve heard the call
to serve in Jesus’ name.

* I was ordained as a minister in the Evangelical Covenant Church 25 years ago this week at the Minneapolis Civic Auditorium. The theme of the 100th Annual Meeting of the Covenant denomination was ALIVE TO SERVE. For more information on this unique denomination go to www.covchurch.org

(even though my dad is dead);
BP’s Svanberg Lays an Egg

Why I Still Love Fathers’ Day
(even though my dad is dead)

My dad died eighteen months ago.
And while my heart has healed, I know
there’s still a hole that can’t be filled
the third Sunday in June.

And yet I still love Fathers’ Day
though Dad’s not here to hear me say,
“I sure am proud to be your son.
You mean the world to me.”

The truth be told a day like this
helps call to mind the man I miss.
Though I don’t need to buy a card,
I need to honor him.

I need to pause and contemplate
the little things that made him great,
like how he’d wash and wax my car
when I made visits home.

Like writing me a little note
and tucking it inside my tote
or handing me a hundred bucks
when we’d pack up to go.

Like how he’d say, “I pray for you
each single day before it’s through.
I ask the Lord on your behalf
to guard and guide your way.”

It’s when I start to reminisce
about a dad I dearly miss
I realize that Fathers’ Day
can be most any day.

BP’s Svanberg Lays an Egg
Small people? How about all people?
 
Ya sure, ya betcha folks are steamed
down in the humid South.
And all because that BP Swede
inserted foot in mouth.

He said he cares for small people.
Did he mean common folk?
Perhaps! But such a careless crack
felt like a cruel joke.

If people of the Gulf are small,
that means that BP’s big.
A big gigantic toxic pain.
Just like their leaking rig.

Carl-Henric Svanberg laid an egg.
I’d say he cooked his goose
along with all our shrimp and prawns
in waters colored puce.

And while it’s good to care for those
that some prejudge as small,
my goal in life is not to judge
but care for one and all.
 
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100616/ap_on_bi_ge/us_bp_small_people