Saturday, March 3, 2018

With Life Anew 3-3-18

Like Eden's garden, park was still.
A perfect place right up until -
the selfish played.

The lake was smooth, as smooth as glass -
but then a breeze came rolling past -
as they all played.

A dark cloud seemed to push the breeze
that whispered firmly to the leaves -
while they had played.

Then all the grasses wiggled too
and seemed to toy with breeze that blew -
as they had played.

A couple squirrels in a tree.
First I saw two, then I found three -
and they had played.

A couple toads jumped stone to stone.
Together, they were not alone -
and they had played.

Some floating leaves rose with each wave.
First up, then down, they'd misbehave -
as they had played.

We all endured the passing wind
that we had felt while others sinned -
when they had played.

And when the winds had caught my ear,
the storms of certain wrath were near -
while they had played.

The wrath of God was imminent
but habits fixed, were like cement -
so they still played.

The storm clouds, close, were now a threat -
but not a drop had fallen yet -
so still they played.

Then suddenly, a lightning blast -
brought thunder's roar and down-burst fast! -
so wet they played.

Unfaithful ones, now surely stuck,
were washed away in mudslide's muck.
T'was overdue...

But faithful ones above the sod
had found down-pouring grace from God
...with life anew.

©2018 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


Saturday, February 24, 2018

Rev. Billy Graham 2-24-18

One-half a century ago,
a day about routine,
became one quite spectacular
for boy about thirteen...

A faithful black and white TeeVee
had doors that opened wide,
inviting all to sit a'spell
and watch what was inside.

Once on, dad had to turn a knob
for vertical control.
And then the horizontal one
in that tube-filled console.

A strong determined voice was heard
by boy and everyone.
Then picture tube came into view
with all fine-tuning done.

And what he saw astonished him -
so many people there.
Packed full, a football stadium.
He saw no empty chair.

"Evangelist", dad said he was.
He was straightforward, bold -
and not ashamed to preach the Word.
A 'someone' to behold.

A well-read Bible always would
lay open in his hand.
Not like today where gadgets live
and kids don't understand.

But why did people love this man?
What caused his flock to grow?
What special thing did this man have?
At first, he didn't know.

But when the cam'ra zoomed, he saw
a tear run down his face -
while speaking of the love of God
and His amazing grace.

Embarrassed, he was not at all.
He loved those people there.
He cared about their fragile souls
A man like that is rare.

"Just As I Am" was always sung
as invitation song.
A score of people always came
with lines to alter, long.

That little boy had learned a lot
in front of that TeeVee.
He gave his life to Jesus too
and God had set him free!

Before this story poem ends
there's one more thing to know -
I still remember that young boy
so many years ago.

©2018 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


"One day you will hear that Billy Graham has died. Don't believe it.
On that day I will be more alive than I ever will be.". -Billy Graham.

Sunday, February 18, 2018

My Faithful Friend 2-18-18

As I awake, the truth meets flesh -
I breathe in life, so cool and fresh.
Crisp air is mine, my faithful friend.

I step on cabin's old wood floors -
and say a prayer before my chores.
This country's mine, my faithful friend.

I light lamp's weak and little torch -
then step out on my weathered porch.
Pre-morning's mine, my faithful friend.

Just standing still, like statuettes -
the trees are shadows, silhouettes.
Those trees are mine, my faithful friends.

Some clouds meander with the breeze -
so high above these lowly trees.
Those clouds are mine, my faithful friends.

The stars are there, while night enshrouds -
but shine light through the lowly clouds.
Those stars are mine, my faithful friends.

Nighttime dies, sun arises.
Colors scream, bright surprises!
That brightness mine, my faithful friend.

The morning rays I so embrace
are warming as they kiss my face.
The sun is mine, my faithful friend.

The Great Creator, I so love -
has wrath as rock, but grace as dove.
My God is mine, my faithful friend.

Creation grew and bore a Son.
There never lived another One.
The Lord is mine, my faithful friend.

Creation trembled, shook the land -
but Christ arose to God's right hand.
Now peace is mine, my faithful friend.

©2018 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


Sunday, February 11, 2018

One Little Wave 2-11-18

A non-eventful morn it was
as many were before.
The sun came up exposing life
just off the sandy shore.

The winds blew in across the lake
creating quite a stir -
and waves grew up from nothing yet
there's lessons to infer.

I followed just one little wave
to see what it would do.
It seemed to be behaving well
or did I misconstrue?

Between two other waves it moved
across the little lake.
It'd sometimes try to reach up high
which was its first mistake.

For what it saw were waves ahead
so he became aghast.
Why, they were all in front of him -
while he had followed last!

Each time it swelled to reach up high
it wanted to be seen -
but then it'd drop back down again
and stay there in-between.

Then those two waves on either side
had closed in on the one -
which raised him up just high enough
he glittered in the sun.

"Hey, look at me!" he seemed to say -
with ego growing large.
He liked- no, he demanded that
alone, he'd lead the charge.

So there he rode above the rest -
now highest wave of all.
And there he took in all of life
which made him feel tall.

Behind, he looked - and saw those waves
applauding- east to west.
His popularity increased
as you might well have guessed.

So there he was still looking back
with ev'ry want and whim.
While riding high, he saw those waves -
those waves that followed him.

But life is short, so very short -
and most don't understand -
that hourglass starts running low
with top devoid of sand.

Applause was great and greatness too
while he sought even more -
but suddenly his time ran out
in death on other shore.

©2018 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Friday, February 2, 2018

The Great Man 2-2-18

How big is the ocean?
How tall is the sail?
How big is the clipper?
How tall is the tale?

How big is the great man?
How tall is his pride?
How big is his ego
that flows from inside?

How loud is his boasting?
How loud is his horn?
How loud is his bragging,
yet quiet, our scorn?

How many, a promise?
How many times said?
How many believe him?
How many mislead?

Oh, where hides the shyness
and where hides the man -
when big man is lessened
as when he began?

How short is the thistle
and shorter, the thorn -
but great is the torment
when foot's skin is torn?

Transparent, his actions,
transparent, each thought -
and God does not 'know' him
because he was bought;

First by the minute,
Then by a smell -
of fire and brimstone,
by Devil in hell.

Exposed is the thistle.
Exposed is the gloom.
He's naked as baby
right out of the womb.

How fake were his pledges?
How fake was his stride?
How fake was his swagger
before he had died?

Does God see the motive?
Does God look within?
Does God judge the great man
when God knows his sin?

Beware of the ego.
Beware of the pride.
Beware of temptations
in life's fleeting ride.

©2018 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


Matthew 7:21-23 (KJV)
21 Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven.
22 Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name have cast out devils? and in thy name done many wonderful works?
23 And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.

Saturday, January 13, 2018

His Land 1-13-18

I think I have solutions to
our country's deep disgrace.
I think I have the answers to
the problems that we face.

Yet heroes fought and died for me,
so who am I to brag?
Oh, who am I to claim to be
the bearer of our flag?

Deserve I little comfort now.
Let bombs burst in the sky!
While I encumber those like me
our taxes go sky high.

I vote for those who promise things,
that put food on my shelf.
I vote for free stuff I can get
that benefits myself.

Are we a nation full of sin
that we have not a clue?
Greed has so unraveled threads
of our red, white and blue.

The red continues running as
the white becomes blood-stained.
The blue has faded into gray.
We all should be ashamed.

And politician's greed and graft
I also will speak of.
It seems that they have helped themselves.
For country, they've no love.

Great heroes fought and died for them,
so who are they to brag?
And who are they to claim to be
the bearers of our flag?

If they, nor I, have right to bear
our flag that we hold high -
then who can be our leaders now
when all we do is lie?

With lobbyists and twisted words
our country cannot stand.
Yes, God will one day judge us all -
for this is still His land.

©2018 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Now That Is Peace 12-19-17

Small snowflakes float on easy breeze -
without an effort, find the trees.
Now that is peace.

They rest upon the solid branch,
upon the roof of humble ranch.
Now that is peace.

They settle on a rail fence
without a thought, without suspense.
Now that is peace.

They blanket softly, all around,
upon the leaves upon the ground.
Now that is peace.

The Christmas snow reflects all light
from its decor with such delight.
Now that is peace.

More snowflakes settle.  They're unheard -
as Heaven speaks without a word.
Now that is peace.

The stars above, they sparkle too -
a gift from God, to me, to you.
Now that is peace.

Without the pomp and circumstance,
the scenic beauty is romance.
Now that is peace.

A babe in manger once was born -
without the fanfare, without horn.
Now that is peace.

Through virgin love, through virgin birth -
A blanket grace for all on earth.
Now that is peace. 

So why this blanket when it snows?
So why this gift?  The Christian knows.
Now that is peace.

©2017 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


Saturday, December 9, 2017

But Grace 12-9-17

When I think back at my whole life that I have spent on earth -
and when I think of all the wrong that I have done since birth -
for selfishly I'd done my will.
My life was all for me.
I wonder how God loves me still
and wants me to be free?

I failed my spouse, I failed my kids, I failed my screaming boss,
I failed my ever patient God - and also, too, the cross.
I wonder why He sent His Son,
I lied and lied and lied.
I selfishly had been just one -
one reason that He died.

But God is patient, more than I.  He's waited many years -
for me to find that faithfulness, for me to come to tears.
I wonder why He loves me still.
I wonder why He cares.
I need that mustard seed to grow.
Does He not hear my prayers?

And pray, can I, a sinner's prayer?  What right have I to pray?
What right have I to anything with life in disarray?
But grace is mine and that's because
mere works do not suffice.
I have no right, but Jesus does -
because He paid the price.

©2017 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


Friday, November 24, 2017

That Distant Light 11-24-17

The air was calm below the palm
so rested, I awhile.
I stared across the quiet lake
with my own lazy smile.

The sun had set and I had let
the time just slip away.
I lost myself among my thoughts
and it had seemed okay.

Reflections though, had taught me so.
There's something you should know -
how they reflect the real thing
in fascinating show.

There's no delight in distant light
where nothing misbehaves -
But watch those sparkles dancing on
the tops of rippled waves.

That shimmer see, will always be
from light across the lake.
That dancing drew attention from
the light that isn't fake.

Half-way across the lake they tossed.
They glittered brilliantly.
Deceiving, long reflections as
that light shone silently.

I liked the show - reflection's glow -
and there was nothing feared.
But when that distant light turned off,
reflections disappeared.

Was I deceived?  Did I believe
that distant light, God's Son?
Or focused I, on rituals -
merely the reflection?

©2017 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


Friday, November 17, 2017

The Covered Bridge 11-17-17

Still washing o'er and 'round the rocks,
the splashing rapids pass the fox.
They pass the beavers before dawn.
They pass the doe.  In time, the fawn.

The chipmunks work.  The 'possums too.
The river flows past me and you.
Time doesn't stop.  It knows not how
with covered bridge before us now.

The water moves, the river flows.
God makes it so.  That's how it goes.
The bridge we walk is like our birth -
A fresh red coat for what it's worth.

Like ol' homestead, the bridge is red,
but it seems brighter here instead.
Enjoying travels, springtime views -
no other roadway, we would choose.

The hewn-cut logs are under foot.
And all our faith in God, we put.
Each step we take, we hear the boards.
Experiences bring rewards.

Then walking past the eight by eights,
a calendar of days and dates,
they hold the roof that keeps us dry -
like summer rains as we pass by.

Then near the end, the autumn air -
brings me to tears to know we're there.
Life seems so fast- like rushing dream -
like splashing rapids of the stream.

As she steps off, I see her go.
Yet she's in Heaven.  That I know.
I pause some here as I recall -
our great relationship and all...

Those times together I still see -
forever always, her and me.
Love and devotion, God gave both.
Remember well, our Christian growth.

I see her bright and smiling face.
My mem'ries hold, as her embrace.
I hear her voice - fresh as the breeze.
Her songbirds echo still from trees.

The bridge, now old, weathered a bit.
And soon, we too, will step from it.
A moment's pause.  I see them too.
These colored leaves are much like you.

A blanket, soft of powdered snow -
will come one day - and this I know -
will cover road and cover bridge,
cover trees and winter's ridge.

The sunset's bright.  I see the moon.
So please be patient - see you soon.
The things of earth just keep changing -
but never God.  He's amazing.

Still washing o'er and 'round the rocks,
the splashing rapids pass the fox.
They pass the beavers before dawn.
They pass the doe.  In time, the fawn.

©2017 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED