The Mother-of-the-Bride

What lessons can Hillary teach to Chelsea?;
The Missing Kid with Missing Teeth
;
Let’s Hear it for Reunion Name Tags

The Mother of the Bride
What lessons can Hillary teach to Chelsea?

On Chelsea Clinton’s wedding day
I wonder what her mom will say.
Will Hillary be candid
’bout the demons she has faced?

Will she give Chelsea little clues
of what to look for when “I do”s
have been forgotten by her man
before they have been done?

Will she confess what she has learned
when overtures of love are spurned
and you are left to feel the shame
(betrayed and all alone)?

Or will she tell her daughter why
she gave her man another try
because she promised to be true
when what he vowed proved false?

I’m hoping that she does all three
for that is what dear Hillary
has come to know and now can give
as mother-of-the-bride.

The Missing Kid with Missing Teeth
Searching for Kyron (and answers)

The missing kid with missing teeth
(a pint-size victim of some thief)
has found a home within our hearts
though he remains at large.

He’d just completed second grade
with no real cause to feel afraid.
Sweet Kyron loved his Skyline School.
He loved his mom and dad.

That ready toothless childish grin
(his parents long to see again)
has been reduced to photographs
on posters and the news.

Those haunting posters with his face
are more than that. They make a case
for how within a God-blessed land
we’re stalked by evil still.

Dear God, be near this dad and mom
who try their best to stumble on
in search of answers (and the boy)
they loved with all their hearts.

Let’s Hear It for Reunion Nametags!

Reflections at a 40-year high school reunion

So many years have come and gone.
Recall the way we were?
Because we’ve traveled far and wide,
the memories have blurred.

Without your nametag, I’d be lost.
Without it, where’d I be?
In forty years you’ve really changed.
Surprisingly, not me!

I’d recognize me anywhere
(especially in the mirror).
I haven’t changed the way you have.
It’s really kind of weird!

You’ve put on pounds and lost your hair.
What’s left is turning white.
And I’m just like my yearbook pose.
Time hasn’t touched me. Right?

Ok, I lie. No one escapes.
Four decades dings us all.
But, what the heck! Who’s to impress?
Relax and have a ball!

A Capitol Phenomenon

The Covenant Triennial turns heads in D.C.;
Transformed for Service

A Capitol Phenomenon
The Covenant Triennial turns heads in D.C.

Not far from where Michelle Obama
wakes up every day,
eleven hundred women
have converged to sing and pray.

They have gathered from St. Louis,
San Francisco and Tucson
as well as from Seattle
(in the other Washington).

There are women from Chicago,
Dallas, Nashville and Detroit
(not to mention gals from Boston
New York City and Beloit).

They have joined their hearts
to listen to the Word of God proclaimed
and to protest human trafficking
that keeps young girls in chains

It’s a Covenant “camp meeting”
in the middle of D.C.
where the world can hear the heartbeat
of its Women’s Ministries.

Transformed for Service
The “unofficial” Triennial hymn

With unveiled faces they are reflecting
God’s awesome glory for all to see
They are a mirror of grace and goodness
and of the power by which we’re free.

With upraised arms they humbly acknowledge
a transformation from what they were.
God’s endless mercy new every morning
is ever faithful, steadfast and sure.

With outreached hands they join with each other,
sisters united in God’s great cause.
Theirs is His mission birthing potential
in those now victims of broken laws.

With grateful hearts they worship the Savior
who by His Spirit makes us all new.
We are His body remade to serve Him
in what we say and in what we do.

* the above can be sung to the tune for “Morning Has Broken”

** The theme of TXIII is Reflecting God’s Glory and is based on 2 Cor. 3:18 “And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.”

*** to read more about The Triennial Conference of Women’s Ministries of The Evangelical Covenant Church, go to www.covchurch.org

Possibility Thinking? Think Again!

There are cracks in the Crystal Cathedral

At the Crystal Cathedral
(that temple of glass),
there are panes (quite translucent)
revealing what’s crass.

Possibility thinking?
You kidding? Good God!
There’s godless behavior
between Bob and Bob.

Both Robert (the father)
and Robert (the son)
have quenched God the Spirit.
Their kingdom’s undone.

The palace of Schuller
is one royal mess.
It’s cracking and crumbling
and may I confess…

The Hour of Power’s
become Family Feud
with warring-like factions
un-Christlike and rude.

I’m worried about
how God’s Church is perceived
by those looking on
who (as yet) don’t believe.

What think they of Christians
and sermons on grace
when pastors who preach them
can’t love or embrace?

And so while there’s feuding
in churches of glass,
let’s pray they’ll hang curtains
as long as it lasts.

See the following links…

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2008694351_schuller01.html

http://www.fresnobee.com/2010/07/11/2002862/rev-schuller-retiring-from-crystal.html

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5hX3tXWJCI7Qu_ioeUimnAadVOQmAD9GUC1I01

Heat Wave Woes

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!

Gulf Oil Redefined

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.