The Way To The Cross 2-28-09

So you want directions?
You're at a loss?
You want me to point
the way to the cross?

Well, it's not a "direction",
and not about speed -
but get there, you're able -
you sure can, indeed.

You can't go by auto,
nor by a plane,
A rocket won't help you -
nor will a train.

You can't use your eyes
to see your way there,
You can't use your ears
or recite a prayer.

But close your eyes, listen -
to that still, small voice,
which draws you in closer.
God gives you a choice.

To choose a direction
would tear you apart,
but listen, you're closer
to your very heart.

To find that old cross,
don't look through the trees.
Just humble yourself
and drop to your knees.

©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

-------

Cross On Over 2-28-09

Do you know in this world that there's no guarantee?
Cross on over to Calvary.

If you're lonely right now to such a degree...
Cross on over to Calvary.

Strip all pride away that keeps you from Me.
Cross on over to Calvary.

You may be confused, but do not flee.
Cross on over to Calvary.

I am the bridge that you can see.
Cross on over to Calvary.

Leave your troubles, world debris.
Cross on over to Calvary.

Grace is yours, always free.
Cross on over to Calvary.

See Calvary's tree.
Cross on over to Calvary.

Your faith is key.
Cross on over to Calvary.

There's no fee.
Cross on over to Calvary.

You, Me.
Cross on over to Calvary.

We.
Cross on over to Calvary.

©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

-----

John 14:6 (NASB) Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me."

Poet's Prayer 2-27-09

"Father," I pray as I walk along,

"give me the words that would flow like a song.

A poem of promise, of hope and of love

that would focus lost sinners on You up above....

The moon's shining bright from behind an oak branch,

but it's cold here tonight on my dear humble ranch.

I'd be so happy if I was a tree,

for they stand much taller, much taller than me.

Their tops are much closer to Heaven I know,

and they just get closer, the more that they grow.

There's no clouds in the sky - but if so, they would be

joyously singing up there with Thee.

The stars in the sky seem much brighter tonight.

They must be so close they reflect Heaven's light.

The gold, alabaster - the pearls and brass

I bet shine like prisms through diamond-like glass.

Oh, to get closer to Heaven - one peek....

could give me the thoughts that would make these words speak.

The sights would bring words and to earth I could bring

the poem of poems.  Itself, it would sing.

Instead, here I stand in the shivering cold,

a mindless numb man who was late getting old.

But here, down on earth, I'll perform every task,

and faithfully do everything that You ask.

I know that these people will not have a clue,

because this small poem cannot describe You.

So quickly this world forgets who You are,

They miss (as they're sleeping), the bright Morning Star.

I know that the God of Love's heart had to grieve,

when Heaven's gates opened to let Your Son leave -

to die on a cross that folks want to forget.

They just do not care - not one little bit.

But because of Your grace- and faith, I believe -

for You're the Great Poet and me, You don't leave.

You live deep within, so I'll faithfully start -

for the greatest of poems come deep from the heart.

©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

(We merely reflect God's wonders...)

-------

A Cardboard Christian? 2-26-09

Are you a cardboard Christian - who folds so neatly out,
then goes to church on Sunday - yet seldom goes without?

Do you look good to others - yet void beneath the skin -
a box that never carried fruit, a box that should begin?

Wake up! and look to Jesus! Do not be weary eyed!
Did He not pray profusely - that night before He died?

Are you a cardboard Christian - a shadow on the wall,
a ceiling fan that spins around but never hears His call?

He calls from that old rugged cross - the perfect sacrifice.
Do we deny like Peter - not once, not twice, but thrice?

Is your sword made up of plastic? Is your helmet made of tin?
Is your breastplate sounding hollow? Is your shield paper thin?

Take up your cross and follow Him. Take up your yoke and plow.
Was that huge stone not rolled away? Is He not living now?

Don't focus in the mirror - but on our God above.
for we are merely blood and guts - but He's the God of love!

Some questioned Jesus and His ways. Don't be a doubting Thomas.
Focus on the "least of these" and listen to His promise!

Wake up! and smell God's roses! Lift up your voices, sing!
Raise high your hands and stomp your feet and praise our Lord and King!

©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

-----

Knocking at the Door 2-22-09

Can you believe it?? My team is up by ten!!
With this interception, we might just score again!!
This is so exciting - and now they'll run the clock -
but what was that? I heard a knock, knock, knock.

Probably a salesman. "Go away!" I yelled!
(I was MUCH too busy with the remote control I held).
Just one quarter more to go and then it's the division.
Knock, knock, knock I heard again - but I made my decision.

I snatched up popcorn in my fist and stuffed it in my mouth,
and should they win this final game - they will be headed south.
I grabbed a drink, opened it and chugged down half a can.
No one ever questioned it - that I'm their biggest fan!

Knock, knock, knock I heard again. Grrrrrr, "I don't want any!!!"
This is SO important. It's now third down and twenty.
UGH - they scoop a fumble, with a touchdown spike the ball -
now with only three points up, my team could finally fall.

Knock, knock, knock. Okay, that's it. This I won't forgive!
I got up off my special throne. I have advice to give!
I flung the door wide open - gazed with a deadly stare,
then poked my head out quickly - asked, "Is anybody there?"

Silence - 'cept for a neighbor, "Did you see who that was?"
I yelled back, "I do not care - and care less what he does!"
he called back, "Do not get mad - and certainly don't cuss!
The man you didn't answer to was none-other than Jesus."

Jesus? - (my thoughts ran wild) was knocking at MY door?
My priorities I straightened now, not worried 'bout the score.
"He's gone." I thought discouraged, "I didn't hear His voice.
That game was too important - and I had made my choice."

"Jesus!" I yelled out loud, "Come! I really care!"
But the neighborhood was silent, and Jesus wasn't there.
"Did I miss a chance?" I thought. An ambulance drove up.
Men ran through my open door and shocked my little pup.

I ran back to see it all - and I sure got a scare,
for there I was a-sittin' - dead in my special chair.
So my life is over (sobbing), give me one more chance!
That game was not important as - I fell into a trance....

©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org

Revelation 3:20 (NASB) "Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me."

-------

Poem From Jesus 2-21-09

If Jesus wrote a poem,
and shipped it down the ladder,
would He send it lovingly,
condoning empty chatter?

Or really, if He wrote one
would He truly have a fit?
I wonder what He'd tell us -
well, maybe this is it...

---

"My dearest child, I love you.
You'll never know how much.
I see you but I can't appear
through prayer.  Please keep in touch.

If you saw Me, you'd believe,
but faith would fade away.
I wish you'd pray once in awhile,
you really should today.

Have a heart, I reach for yours,
with both my wounded hands -
but know you're much too far away
from Heaven's perfect lands.

So grace I give abundantly -
please listen to my voice.
It's still a sweet, soft whisper,
I give you all a choice.

You know My time is not your time.
I hung for not mere hours -
and oh, that wicked cross I bore
still has its sacred powers.

The whip, the torture, rope and nails
still pains me yet today -
when I see all my people -
forget me, go astray.

It's then my tears in torrents pour,
they come in drenching rains.
Those winds are my mere whispers
that blow across the plains.

I formed you in my image.
I made you good and true,
but then allowed a serpent
and left it up to you.

Many were deceived by him,
from Adam's time 'til now.
Their faith grew on the simple,
mere earthly things allow.

So trivial your wishes,
on petty things you feed.
Please stumble not on Satan's lie -
remember 'mustard seed'?.

My grace was all sufficient
for every soul on earth -
but faith is all I ever asked
from you who want rebirth.

I created you, a human,
not a servant angel.
Faith will choose the Heavens -
the lack, forever hell.

By grace you are saved through faith
not grace alone to coast -
nor by any other means,
nor works, that you might boast.

Few enter through the narrow gate.
They listen to instruction.
But most will focus not on me,
but wide path to destruction.

Oh, please believe I love you.
You, my precious few.
Because of faith I chose you.
Your faith has seen you through.

My dearest child, I love you.
You'll never know how much -
so pray until I bring you home
to feel this Master's touch."

©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

-------

Matthew 7 (NASB)
13 Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.
14 But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.

Prayer Poem (of love) 2-20-09

I pray this soiled poem that's
so tattered, torn and curled,
finds its way to every eye
around this wicked world.
Pen and ink have spilled my love
upon this paper's face.
I've poured out every ounce of love,
then added Father's grace.

I walked this soiled paper out -
right to my mail box.
and know that it was carried far,
for several, several blocks.
It found its way on semi's,
on trains, on airplanes too -
then criss-crossed 'round this big ol' world,
to make its way to you.

I pray that my concern for you
disperses not in vapor.
My prayer behind these lonely words
cries out within this paper.
I've been in your shoes many times
and no, I've not been perfect,
but here it is, this poem's yours
with utmost, dear respect.

This poem's traveled many miles
and now it so appears,
it is for you, for you to read,
here after all these years...
Take now, a bold and humble step
to find out something new.
Around the world this poem came -
and now it's here for you.

---

"Oh Father, see this poem that
I'm holding in my hands?
It's been to several countries and
its seen so many lands.
But now it's here, I'm holding it.
It really is for me -
and I am so discouraged that
I ask to be set free.

"Just like this letter, traversed I,
so many, many miles.
Yes, I've been lost for many years.
Sin stole so many smiles.
My heart was cold just like the tree
that stands collecting moss.
Until this poem had searched me out,
I could not see Your cross.

"Now Father, You have changed me
from black to perfect white -
and I have put your armor on.
I'll be your special knight.
This shield of faith protects me and
my sword, I'll always read.
And in it, I'll find answers to
my every, every need.

"Now thank you for my special friend
who cared enough to give -
this love-filled poem to me so -
so now, I too, can live.
I'm sending this small poem on
so other friends can see.
But now I know why it's so soiled -
I've added tears from me."

©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

-------

Get REAL! 2-18-09

With tattoo's ink smeared everywhere,
and piercings by the score -
and color-copied rainbow hair -
how can we handle more?

To get a little self-respect
our clothes must have a label,
our auto's must be perfect or
we all appear unstable.

Eye lashes must be fastened on.
Our scent squirts out from sprayers.
Eye liner must be perfect drawn
with powder caked in layers.

We wear our jewelry with pride
and aging spots we cover.
And wrinkles we can try to hide
so no one will discover.

Through remedies we dig and dig.
We make a real fuss -
but it's like lipstick on a pig,
it's surface, surface, surface!

We try to conquer blunders and
we think we've conquered dull,
but what I have to wonder is -
what's inside the skull?

Man can't look beyond the skin,
Man looks at the face.
Man sees only fat or thin.
Man sees only 'race'.

God sees through all shallowness.
God sees through the skin.
God sees down inside our hearts,
God sees deep within.

Some day we just might teach our youth.
Some day we just might feel.
Some day man might learn Godly truth
and hopefully get REAL!

©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

-------

Picture Frames 2-18-09

Picture frames sure vary so,
no matter, big or small.
They all have work they need to do,
no matter, wide or tall.

Picture frames are so unique,
maple, oak or pine.
But focus not on picture frames,
They're merely for design.

Frames can border a photo.
Frames can border a place.
Frames can border a work of art
or border someone's face.

---

When I was just a little boy,
(and though I was quite small),
a picture I remember well
was hanging on the hall.

I know my father put it there.
It hung for many years.
There it was throughout my teens -
showed sorrow, pain and tears.

That picture was of Jesus
bowed lowly on His knees -
at a huge and solid rock,
near branches on some trees.

His hands were neatly folded.
Love flowed from both His eyes.
His head was tilted way, way back -
His face gazed at the skies.

Dark clouds had covered most the sky.
Moon's rays had lit His face,
and seemed to put a glow around
this humble Man of grace.

For years, that picture on our wall
drew thoughts within my mind...
God sent on down, His only Son,
to sinful men, unkind.

I remember well, that picture.
I don't recall the frame.
So let us frame, that others see,
that they might know His name.

©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

-------

Poems 2-15-09

God's poems are like mustard seeds,
helping those with real needs,
spreading poem's seeds around,
rocky soil and fertile ground.

I pray these seeds will fall on soil,
pulling souls from earthy toil,
growing strong with such great root,
providing more with it's good fruit.

God's poems are like mustard seeds,
helping those with real needs,
and by God's grace, I do implore,
I pray this poem saves one more.

©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

Matthew 9:37 (NASB) Then He said to His disciples, "The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few."
-------