Planting of the Lord

Planting of the Lord

I

want to

be a tree

Rooted steadfast

Flexible and free

dancing against the wind

Bowing before angry storms

Bent bowed sometimes permanently

But not broken bruised not despairing

Strike me with lightening I turn hard as stone

Cut me down I never stop reaching

Hold hope let desire sprout forth

I hold wisdom to my heart

Like hippies who hug me

I'm a righteous oak

Singing for joy

Clap my hands

Come birds

Angels

Creatures

Sunshine

Good soil

Fresh rain

Green leaves

Heal nations

Find still waters

Bear bushels of fruit

*Job 14:7, II Chron. 16:33, Is 55:12, Jer 17:8, Psalm 1:3, 52:8, 92:12-15, 128, Proverbs 3:18, 11:30

A shapely poem

                     She

              bows

her head.

Like golden gossamer

         wings of angels, her hair cascades down

                                           Like a thousand pristine waterfalls in the heart

                              of creation, doves take flight, strong men softly sigh, and

                                             God smiles. She is his precious child. Just like

                                                           when He spoke to create light, He says,

                                                                    "She is good." Behold

                                                                             and I say

                                                                                      she is

                                                                                             good