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The Farm

 

 

window picture

While driving a back road the other day
came across an old farm in sad decay.
I pulled off to the side to view the site.
Wonder how this farm fell into this plight.

Searching I pictured sites; from long ago.
The farmhouse was blanketed by the snow.
Smoke curled from the chimney by night and day.
Kids ignored the cold while busy at play.

Looked once again and saw Spring drawing nigh.
As play was replaced by chores by and by.
All hands were required to work the farm.
With each generation; farm life lost charm.

With summer came work from daylight to dark
and seldom a chance for a play-day lark.
A dip in the creek; seemed a rare treasure.
Life on a farm left small time for pleasure.

With Fall’s arrival came new work to do.
There’s meat and tators; to mention a few.
Cords of dry wood to stack neatly in rows.
Then stock the larder and fill the silos.

Winter comes to offer a brief repose.
Dad works on the books and Mama she sews.
Kids all enjoy; what seems a holiday.
Climbing the hill to ride down on a sleigh.

Each passing year the desire has waned.
“Jobs are in town,” all the children explained.
Venturing off they all leave one by one,
parents pass on and the farm; it is done.

Farm life’s been replaced by sad memories,
I thought as I sat there beneath the trees.
A life style forgotten and left behind.
One trip pass that farm brought this all to mind.

c.d.m. 2010

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A Word for Christians Suffering around the World

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The First Martyr’s Testimony

Stephen lived sometime ago
in a land of great turmoil.
When those in power served themselves
the mass’ were their spoil.

So as others all around him
Stephens hopes grew very dim.
Til the day he heard Yeshua speak
and hope revived in him.

He was tried; as conflict rose
from those he’d known the best.
But his Saviour’s all consuming love
withstood with ease that test.

With joy and great conviction
he would daily testify.
Til the maddened unbelievers
screamed out Stephen you must die.

With every blow the life ebbed from
his broken earthly form.
Yet his “spirit man”, ascended
dancing high above the storm.

Stephen sang out, “I see Jesus,
mercy Father” was his cry.
The grace in his heart touched the hearts
of some who had stood by.

Today we often hear the tales
of little bodies broken.
While witness’ recount the scene
defence is left unspoken.

Does Jesus’ words still transform
the hearts and lives of men?
Have we enough of Christ in us;
to live and die as Him?

book of Acts 6:5—7:54-60                                      C.D.M. 2009

 

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Easter Morning [from my friend]

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Easter Morning

“The Easter Bunny came,” he cried
without  a trace someone had lied.
“Yes my son the rabbit came,
but we both know it’s just a game.”
” Can we go to hunt the Easter eggs,
when we get dressed?” the small one begs.
“Yes we shall but first let’s pray
It’s more than ‘just’ a holiday.”

“The Easter bunny’s not the one
who gave me you my only son.”
“He’s too small to understand,”
Grandma said patting my hand.
“The Easter bunny is all he knows,
he’ll learn the truth as he grows.”

All though my Mother raised me well,
I did stumble and I fell.
I want to do the best I can,
to raise this boy to a wise old man.

Suddenly a soft voice said,
as if He was inside my head,
“If the boy learns on his own,
too many years he’ll walk alone.
Time and truth are best at hand,
to raise your boy to a wise old man.
For if he is wisest of them all
all will stumble, all will fall.”

Connie Jean VanMatre  Easter 1980
[from front page of Perry County Tribune]

 

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