The Poem

The Poem

I confess that I didn’t pay attention in twelfth grade English class. Reading Shakespeare and poetry did not grab my attention. I was focused on graduating, not realizing that this subject was essential to a well rounded life. Isn’t it interesting that we are taught these treasures at a time when many of us could care less.

For years I have tried to get interested in poetry. I have purchased poetry books promising myself to read them. I subscribed to poetry apps online with the intent to better myself. I keep an open ear to others who love poetry trying to discover their secret. Unfortunately, my poetry tastes have not matured much.

I say this as a preface to a poem that did grab my heart. When our daughter was in grade school, her teacher held a poetry contest; each student was asked to create a poem of their own making. The winning poem would then be published in the school paper. Of course, her mother and I knew nothing of this assignment. Quite by accident Judy found the winning poem in her school bag.

Here is my favorite poem:

                                  “I Love You”

               Huggable you. Loveable you. Kissable you.

               Trustable you. Any kind of you. I love you.

               A you in the kitchen. A you in the car.

               A you in the street. A you on a star.

               Loving you. Friendly you. Soft you.

               Quiet you. I LOVE YOU.

                                                              Katie Semsch

Wow!

            

The Miracle Fan

The Miracle Fan

It was a very hot summer. We were living next to the church with four small children in the parsonage, a two-story house with no air conditioning. Every day was in the high 90’s with matching humidity.  We had moved from Montana where the summers were temperate. We were not prepared for sweating out a long, hot summer.

We had never lived in the inner city. Judy and I were raised in the suburbs with plenty of lakes, beaches and shade. At the parsonage, we were surrounded with concrete and asphalt. With all the windows open, there was hardly a breeze but lots of noise. As if there was not enough noise with the kids running around.

We did not have the money to even buy another fan. The church budget didn’t allow for such luxuries either. Judy said we should start praying for a ceiling fan. Being the mighty man of God that I am, I thought she was a little over the top bringing God into the situation. Before I knew it she had the kids praying for a fan. What was I to do?

Several weeks passed when one hot, humid evening, our doorbell rang. When I opened the door, there stood a man and woman. I recognized them as neighbors living down the street. They said that they had been praying and felt God told them we needed a fan. In obedience, they came to give us enough money to buy a ceiling fan. I was in shock. Judy and the kids were ecstatic. God answered their prayer!

Several years later, when me moved back to Montana we took the miracle fan with us. We installed it in our living room as a witness to the Lord’s provision. Every time I turned that fan on I remembered God majors in the small things of our lives. When we sold the house, we gave the miracle fan to the new owners as a gift. I believe it is still there cooling and blessing.

I am reminded what God’s Word says: “That’s why I urge you to pray for absolutely everything, ranging from small to large. Include everything as you embrace this God life, and you’ll get God’s everything.”

Requiem For A Lawnmower

Requiem For A Lawnmower

I confess that I get attached to my machines. It must be something in the male genes. I take good care of them, making sure they are in top running condition. Each machine has its own personality and quirks. I marvel at how they are made.

It is with this in mind that I share the sad story of my Craftsman self-propelled lawnmower. I eyed this beauty at the Sears store. It was a wonder to behold: forest green with black wheels. I knew this was the machine that could manicure my lawn with precision. 

The backstory is that I was in a season of discontent. I was unemployed having resigned my pastoral role at a large church. Because the parting was not sweet, I was in turmoil. Much of my time was in rewind of what went wrong and how I was wronged. In short, I was having a huge pity party to which only I was invited.

With my new lawnmower in hand, I attacked the backyard. My mind preoccupied with issues of revenge. I was not paying attention to what I was doing. All of a sudden I heard this bang! A loud shudder from the lawnmower and a dead stop: my new mower had died. I knelt down looking for the problem and discovered that the mower had run over an above ground tree root and bent the drive shaft. After repeated pulling on the starting cord, I realized my beautiful mower was dead.

 I knelt there in the grass sobbing. I couldn’t believe it. My new mower destroyed. I hurriedly picked it up, put it in the trunk of my car and drove to the Sears store hoping that they could repair it. At the store, they said it would be cheaper to buy a new one. A new one: I was in mourning for my broken one? I went back out to the car and sat there crying like a baby for my dead mower.

I know this sounds crazy. However, when you are at the end of your rope nothing is crazy. God’s word says: “If you fall to pieces in a crisis, there wasn’t much to you in the first place.”

Sauerkraut And Prayer

Sauerkraut And Prayer

Now this is an interesting combination. Because I have German blood flowing through my veins, I have an insatiable appetite for good sauerkraut. Because I grew up Catholic, I am well versed in prayer. You might think this a toxic combination but there is a story to be told here.

When I was young, my family attended a Catholic church whose pastor was a German Benedictine monk. As I remember he was a large man with huge hands, a shock of white hair and a love for food. He looked like a well-fed Santa Claus in a black robe. His name was Father Demetrius. Frequently he would come to our supper table bearing gifts of eggs and sauerkraut.

About this time I started to show an interest in becoming a priest. Somehow my parents caught wind of this and thought it a good idea for me to get to know our parish priest better; spending time with the padre might be a catalyst to secure my future. Accepting an invitation to join him on a trip to his monastery, I learned some things about sauerkraut and prayer.

The secret ingredients for the Benedictine sauerkraut came from the old country handed down from generation to generation. A gallon of it found its way home with me. It was the best sauerkraut ever. While at the monastery, I was given a card with a prayer on it. I didn’t think much about it at the time. Later, when I was going through my pockets I found the prayer card. The only words on the card were “Lord, make me a man after Your own heart.”

Yes, a simple prayer but one that was to become my prayer for the next fifty years. Yes, I said lots of other prayers: ones by rote and ones from the heart. But this prayer, King David’s prayer, became the prayer of my heart.  It is the prayer that has brought me safe thus far.

Now you know what good sauerkraut and a simple prayer can produce. Isn’t it amazing how God works through the ordinary things of life: food, friends and prayer to lead us down the road of life. I have not forgotten the monk and I pray for another taste of that sauerkraut.