But Not for Me

the wind is moving sweetly
from a tree here then over
there dropping a whisper

here then over there but
not for me like the song
of the same name

even so a gentle breeze
touched me to remind me
that hope is never lost

only momentarily forgotten
but always within reach of
a believing heart and mind

there was a time when I
thought that hope was for
everyone else but not for me

Along the River

the first of a string of cold nights
and mild days are a welcome
change

I am not outside at my usual
time so the stillness and quiet
are very refreshing

I can hear the drone of a lawn
being cut probably at the church
and a siren far away

add a loud bird and I think it may
be stereo another lawn being
cut on the other distant side of me

my tea went from sipping hot to
cool enough to gulp if I want to
with less than half a cup left

do you know what is missing
my steno pad as I opted to bring
my laptop outside for the first

time so my Namiki fountain pen
already a relic by age alone is now
a sure sign of my past

thirty-five years ago or so on a
day like today I’d walk from my
Kaserne to a bench along the

Nahe River to sit and fill a
notebook with all the woe is
me of the day and to pray

or cry

no cell phones and no PCs really
just a few word processors at
work using large CP/M disks and

floppies I think
about one sip of cold tea to go

you know the same God who
used to hear my cries then
as I looked out over the river

hears me now

I for one am glad that some
things don’t change and God
is one of those things

my father God has never
forgotten one of my tears as
we sat along the river

The Sound of the Wind

I was sitting outside in my new chair
for the first time. It was a Valentine’s
Day slash birthday gift from my
sweetheart.

I wasted as much time as possible
because I could easily sit in this
lounge chair for hours on end.

I read my Kindle on my phone which
is a different book than on my
Kindle. A book I had forgotten I was
reading.

I opened a crossword. I closed the
crossword; my mind wasn’t up to it.
I was content that death may not
be coming today.

Which made me think as I listened
to the birds, a time is coming when
I won’t hear the birds anymore or
the piercing sound of the wind.

I am holding on to a thread of faith
that says God has the power to do
all that he has promised.

I wait eagerly for what lies ahead
even when my faith is too weak to
see anything but the sound of the
wind.

Who I Was

It is a warm seventy-five for
a day in February, with a
refreshing gust of wind from
time to time.

One street over, the same
dog that barked its head off
yesterday is doing it today.

I’d guess that it was the same
train that went through with
a different engineer because

the horn blasts were new. It
was two shorts and long. Rest
and repeat. Rest and repeat.

What came next I couldn’t see.
It came and went too fast to go
take a look. The sound of a

military jet was so ear breaking
awesome, I was ready to reenlist
on the spot!

For me, twenty years in the army
flashed by with the sound of the
jet. That dog is still barking.

Daily I am faced with the reality
that I can no longer do what I
loved to do so long ago and not
so long ago.

I must be content with the things
I can do now. As I have gotten
older I rather do more, not less.

The Lord knows our limitations,
but we serve a God who shows us
his unlimited grace.

I trust God will open yet another
door I now cannot see. The dog is
tiring. I, too, may be tired.

But I do not tire of your grace or
your love for me. Age has stepped
in but my time is in your hands.

By your unending grace, I can serve
you as I am now because you are
the God who made me who I was

with the knowledge of who I was
to become.

Sunday is Coming

It’s cold. The rain is steady
and cold. Not a soul outside,
Just me. There goes a bird.

Another bird from a different
tree. The rain is stopping soon.
I’m hopeful on Fridays because

COVID–19 is leaving and Sunday
is coming.

Then Sunday passes. The call
will come. Maybe not today.
Maybe tomorrow because

Sunday is coming.

Not a Cliché

the reason for the season is
not a cliché

it is a simple reminder of
the deepest truth of all
time prophesied by Isaiah

“Therefore the Lord himself
will give you a sign. Behold,
the virgin shall conceive and
bear a son, and shall call his
name Immanuel.”

the reason for the season is
not a cliché for Immanuel
means God is with us