Pageant practice starts today.
Children’s hands wave in the air,
“Pick me! Pick me! Pick me,” they say.
The teacher is choosing the cast for the show.
I’m waving my hand there in the front row.

Pick me to be Mary!
Her part is the best!
I can sit on the donkey. I won’t even fall.
I’d remember my lines and hold on to the doll.

But the part goes to Mindy, I’m short and she’s tall.

Well If I can’t be Mary, then maybe I’ll be
an angel who stands on the riser and sings -
a beautiful angel with halo and wings.

Pick me! I’m an angel!
Pick me to be her!
I’d sing hallelujah, and say “Lo” and “Behold”
with my lacy white wings and my halo of gold.

But the part goes to Linda, I don’t fit the mold.

Ok, if I can’t be an angel, I know what I’ll be -
a wiseman dressed up in a crown like a king,
wearing long purple robes and a bright golden ring.

Pick me! I’m a wiseman.
Pick me, I can be
a beautiful wiseman. I’d sure fill that spot.
I can walk with my head high – Oh, no. I forgot.

The part goes to John. He’s a boy and I’m not.

Joseph and the innkeeper, the parts are so few.
The teacher has chosen – the boys get those too.
Now I’m so sad that the parts are all gone.
Oh, except for the shepherds – they need more than one.

I could be a shepherd, but you know that I’ve heard,

they just stand around and they don’t say a word.

Well, they do see the Christ child and then they bow down,

but they look kind of grubby in their old robes of brown.

It doesn’t sound great a shepherd to be -- But last year I ended up being a tree.

So now. . ..
I stop to think of shepherds in the hills of Bethlehem,
and how they felt afraid when the angels came to them.

I think about the part they played when Jesus came to earth.
You know shepherds were the first to hear the news of Jesus birth,
the first to worship at his crib,
the first to bow and pray,
the first to celebrate the fact that he was born that day.

Well, even though they don’t wear halos,

and they don’t have golden wings
and even though it seems they don’t have special songs to sing,
and even though they look a little tattered, it’s alright.
‘cause the shepherds had a very special part
to play that night.

So I raise my hand again and cry, “Teacher, please pick me!
A grubby shepherd girl
is what I truly want to be!”

The teacher smiled and said she’d always hoped that I would see
that a humble shepherd girl is someone I should want to be -
that child who ran to see the babe and bowed there in the stall
with eyes for Him and not herself, and a heart of love – that’s all.

May we see the Christ Child rather than ourselves this Christmas, and like the little girl in the poem may we realize that we don’t need to be the star of the show for God to give us a special job to do.

Merry Christmas,

Diane

© Diane Gruchow 2009

Scars and Burns and Bendings

As I sit on the deck, this cool autumn morning, the breeze brings me fragrance that is impossible to describe. It rained last night and the good earth drank that rain in like a thirsty child. The trees, washed clean, leave a pine smell that is almost overpowering.

It’s the voice of those trees that I want to hear. I imagine them standing on my hillside, whispering to me the story of their lives. One big pine nearby is about 70 feet tall. I think of the time when he was but a sapling – a short piece of wood and needles. Was he afraid that he may be drowned by the rain, smashed to bits by a falling tree, bent by the heavy snow of winter? Would he be trampled by the elk or would the hungry deer eat his needles when there was nothing else left, when everything else was dry and dead from the long arid summer?

I want to hear the story of his growing – he did grow. Oh he’s missing a branch here and there. He has a funny bend in his trunk from growing around another tree that had fallen and leaned against him for years. He’s not straight, not perfect, but still he grew. Winds, winters, and drought assailed him. He is blackened on one side where a fire tried to snuff out his life, but did not. He is a survivor. Still he grew.

The tree stands now looking down at a sapling beneath his branches as if to say. If your roots are anchored, if you look up to your maker, if it’s God’s will, you too will grow and live and survive all this old world has to throw at you. It’s the way of things.

Likewise it’s the way of things for us in this world. Men and women are planted here. They sprout and grow because the storms in their lives give them water to live. The droughts toughen them and give them a will to go on when there is no relief from the heat of battle. Their battles may be against pain, or sickness, loneliness or emptiness. The fires of life come on them suddenly and sometimes all they can do is stand. And finally, people are forced to grow around the bendings brought on by other people hampering the straightness of their lives.

Yes it’s the way of things, but I believe that scars and burns and bendings are more interesting and more beautiful than just straight sticks.

If your roots are anchored, if you look to your maker and if it’s in God’s plan, you too will live and grow and become beautiful in the eyes of the one who cares for you above all else.

© Diane Gruchow 2009

The Eagle

His white-capped head bows down to destiny as a voice that only heaven knows, whispers “The time has come.”

He’s lived a life of power and brilliance.

He’s an icon of freedom, living amid the solitary grandeur of nature. From high on the crags of the lofty mountains he plunges into the valleys below, and then with swiftness and grace he ascends to the boundless spaces beyond. His likeness is found on our coins, the silver dollar, the half dollar and the quarter and on the great seal of the United States. There we see the eagle with outspread wings, a symbol of our freedom.

During his long life he has soared through wind and rain hunting for prey, not only for himself but for his offspring. His ultimate commitment to his lifelong mate lasted until her death and now - he would join her. He embraces death with same fierce determination that he has faced life.

His failing sight, still many times as keen as man’s, searches for the perfect place to meet his creator. High, high on the mountain, at almost 10,000 feet, a granite rock becomes his target. Soaring with strength born of determination he reaches his monument.

Grasping the huge rock, his talons claw into the minuscule crevices,
and he holds on,
and he holds on.
With his face towards the sun, his eyes focusing on something beyond this world, he holds on and waits.

His shrill voice is silent now, and his heart is at peace.
© Diane Gruchow 2009

The Road to Calvary

The night that Satan thought he had me, the night he planned his victory,
the night his servant Judas kissed me, finished my walk to Calvary.

The rough arms came, reached out, and seized me.
My dear friend drew his sword to fight.
Put back your sword, I said to Peter,
it has to be this way tonight.

Oh don't you think I could withstand them without your help if I should try.
Oh don't you know ten thousand angels would be at hand with just a cry.

And then I asked of those who seized me,
Why did you come with clubs and swords
while every day I sat among you
teaching in the temple courts?

On those days did you arrest me?
No, now you come in evening’s hour.
For Satan's way is always darkness
and you -
by hating, give him power

Oh don't you think I could withstand you at any time if I should try.
Oh don't you know ten thousand angels would be at hand with just a cry.

But lead me on the way to Calvary.
We'll take the road together now.
I'll walk along - no need to drag me
for I won't use my heavenly power.

Oh I could call ten thousand angels
if I wanted to be free.
But my love for you will keep me silent, until I die upon that tree.

My love for you is what will hold me
upon that cursed redemption tree.


© Diane Gruchow 2009

Catch me, God

This is a poem I wrote quite a few years ago. It describes part of my journey. I pray that, if you have not been caught in God's wonderful arms, that you'll reach out and let him take control.

“Catch me God,” I cry.
See this carousel I’m on.
The nights and the seasons, stampeding, go by.
Dark pains and dark pleasures about me all fly,

and I cry,
“Catch me please, God – before I die.”

“Catch me God,” I cry, as the black in my heart edges in.
My life and my actions increasingly grey -
the good and the perfect are further away,

and I cry
“Catch me!
Please, God – before I die.”

“Catch me God,” I cry,
The carousel mirror cries back at me
It tells of a life full of sin beyond measure -
a self-centered life hurting those I should treasure

and I cry,
“Catch me please God – before I die.”

But I've found that

playing the game of catch-if-you-can
is something our God will not do.
I had to stop running,
reach out,
take His hand.
and listen to Him - then I knew.

That He was there all along seeing my plight.
He answered each time I prayed in the night.
He hurt when I hurt and He said when I cried

“I caught you my child, --
when I died.”

© 2008 Diane Gruchow

I Took a Fall

I took a fall.
I broke my knee.
I cried aloud
“How can this be?”

It was vacation.
T’was time for fun.
But now I sit here.
The deed is done.

What should I do now?
Four walls I see.
“Poor me.” I blubber,
“Poor me, Poor me.”

This silly poem came to me this week as I was sitting in my warm welcoming living room. The fire was burning in the stove. My darling was cleaning the house and I’d had a nice shower and breakfast and was feeling blue.

Poor me pity parties are powerless. They do no good. And more important than that, they are lies. I am not poor. I’m blessed beyond belief. Stuff happens to all of us - stuff that God doesn’t necessarily plan or cause. Stuff that puts our normal lives on hold sometimes causes us to wonder if God is there, or if He loves us. Sometimes, like with me, it’s only a broken bone that’s going to take a long time to heal. Sometimes it’s a broken heart that we feel may never heal. Sometimes it’s a bad situation that we believe is permanent – that we can find no way out of or an illness for which there is no cure. This last kind of stuff is what courage is made from. It’s the stuff that causes us to depend on the only one who can make beauty out of it all.

God’s love is so powerful. The knowledge that He is there for us, is walking the road with us, and is lifting us up when we can’t hold ourselves, is what gives us the strength to go on – to move beyond ourselves. God’s love is so obvious to me today. He shows it to me in words from his Bible, in words from wonderful Christian authors, in gifts of food, flowers, and videos from friends, in visits and phone calls and cards. God warms me when my darling husband humbles himself to treat my wound and exercise my worthless muscles. God hugs me when Ron hugs me - when God’s people hug me.

I read recently, that sometimes trouble is an opportunity, something God has trusted us with to use for his glory. I can’t use anything for his glory if I’m stuck in my pity party. So what’s the answer? Try to look outside of the party. When you’re given the opportunity to use the happenings of your life to glorify God, attempt to look at God’s hand outside of the happening. You may see God's face in a beautiful sunrise, a phone call from a friend, a warm hearth, or a helping hand. Each one of these is a gift from God. Will you give him the glory?

James 1:17 says;
Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

The Mesquite

Her name is Mesquite – she’s obstinate, resilient, defiant and resourceful. Resourceful, yes! Her taproot may go down more than 50 feet into the ground to search for life-giving water. Defiant, yes! Her needle sharp thorns grow up to 3 inches long and can puncture a sneaker or even a tire. The thorns at the ends of her branches protect them from hungry, eager animals. She’s beautiful to the traveler, offering shade and shelter.

She’s an abomination to the rancher as he believes that she strips the soil of moisture needed to make the rangeland grasses flourish.

She is shelter and food to the wild animals. The coyote, wild turkey, ground squirrel, jackrabbit and javelina eat her fruit, leaves, flowers and seeds. The bees make honey from her nectar. She enriches the soil with nitrogen which feeds the saguaro, other cacti, and a variety of desert plants.

She is my shelter today. The hot desert sun is trying its hardest to set me ablaze, but Mesquite’s tiny leaves are topped with small fuzzy hairs designed to deflect the sun’s harshest rays. She is waving her arms in the breeze, allowing only gentle sunshine through. I sit and I examine my benefactor. Her elephant hide reveals a scar on its largest trunk branch. Bark, like waves of fat, close in on the wound. I wonder what caused this beautiful blemish. As I look through the layers of branches and tiny leaves, patterns of sky are painted in blue. The canopy over my head reaches the ground in some places sifting out even more of the harsh desert light.

I’m so grateful that she was created for this time and that she is here in my desert sojourn. I sit and I relax and I ponder. How long has she been sheltering, is her job nearly finished? What has she seen in the years she’s been allowed to live and grow? What does she see when the desert moon brightens the night? When the coyotes howl and prowl, does she protect the tiny baby rabbits? As the javelina digs at the base of her trunks, does she wince with pain? Does she smile on this fanciful traveler resting under her branches?

Only her maker knows.

These my Christmas Dreams

Information

Who are you?

I’m told in the scriptures that we will know you by the works of your hand – by creation. So as I look around, I ask –

Are you like the mountains
piercing the sky,
proud and forbidding, where vast Glaciers lie?

Are you like those mountains – untouchably high?

Are you like the valleys
catching the snow,
the keepers of water for life down below?

Are you like the valleys – with life giving flow?

Are you like the river which grows in its quest
seaward and downward
from east and from west?

Are you like the river – never at rest?

Are you like the flower, the grass and the tree
protection and food for the bird and the bee?
Are you like these gifts – a refuge for me?

Oh God of the mountain, the river and glade
Oh God of the raindrops, the sunshine and shade
Oh God of the flowers, the springtime and fall
Oh God of creation – are you like them all

To high to reach
Too deep to Feel
To grand to know
If you are real.

© 2008 Diane Gruchow