God Showed His Love to me Today

God showed His love to me today
in fluffy clouds and new mown hay,
in mountain's towering peaks that rise
from gentle plains, to ice blue skies.

In flowers

shouting loud and clear -
their colors bright

with dew drops tear,


and tall green trees that wave, and sway
in summer breeze - they boldly say,
"God's showing love to you today."

Glowing coals from evenings fire
Red flames leaping ever higher,
Sparkling snow on winter night
The full moon casting icy light,
Cold clear streams that leap and roar
and soothe a throat that's dry and sore --
in all these thing my heart can say
"God's showing love to me today."

In gentle hands that help and bear
and tears that come from hearts that care,
in family's love and loyalty
God shows his mighty Love to me.

In words that come from deep within
the loving heart of a dear friend,
a pat, a hug, a tender touch
that says, "I love you, oh so much,"
dear ones, in all you do and say
God shows HIS love to me today.

Diane Gruchow

© Diane Gruchow 2010

He is Risen

Gentle footsteps, slowly walking,
stopping not upon the way.

Ere the dawning of the sun
gentle footsteps softly come
to the place where Jesus lay.

Gentle footsteps, walking onward
see the women go their way
toward the garden where the dead
lay wrapped in cloths now stained blood red.
T’was the place where Jesus lay.

Gentle footsteps, gentle ladies
walking to their master's side.
Hard, the task that lay before them
bearing spices to embalm Him
so they walked and sadly cried.

As they trod along they wondered
who would roll away the stone.
With the dawning of the sun
gentle footsteps softly come
to the Christ of flesh and bone.

At a distance footsteps halted -
what is it our eyes betray?
Is the scene that has arisen
just a shadow or a vision?
Has the stone been rolled away?

Gentle footsteps running onward
to the tomb that Joseph gave.
As they stopped and looked within
sitting where their Lord had been
was an angel in the cave.

His appearance was like lightening
and his clothes a snowy hue.
Then he told them "Have no fear."
"He is risen! He's not here.
and in time you'll see it's true."

Gentle footsteps, going nowhere
listen to the angel's plea.
"Quickly go and tell the others.
He has risen, tell his brothers.
He's going on to Galilee."

Gentle footsteps of the women
walk away as in a dream.

Is it true -- what the angel's say
or have they taken him away.
And who will believe what we have seen

But they told! And so should we!
He is Risen!

Separation

"Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani."
From a bloody Roman cross

came this tearful lonesome cry.

"My God, My God

why have you forsaken me?"

were the woeful words from that cursed tree.

As that cry rang out on Calvary's knoll
the Father heard and it broke His heart
because of His love for that pain wracked soul.

He could have stopped it
He could have eased the suffering.

He could have held that soul in His arms
protecting Him from this terrible harm.

What if Jesus had felt His Father there
easing the burden - the sin he had to bear?
No, 'cause that wouldn't have paid the price that was due,
the price of salvation for me and for you.

The only price
that could save the lost

was the separation of God on the cross
from God in his heaven, the Father and Son,
to be torn from each other - a tearing of one.

That day on the earth
the darkness that reigned
came not from the soldiers
came not from the pain.

It came from God's heart
tearing in two
hurting much more than any should do.

God loved us so much, that He broke His own heart,
tearing the Son on the cross and the Father apart.

Separation,
The price that was due
as God hung on the cross
paying the ransom for you.

© Diane Gruchow 2010

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