Sunday, May 26, 2019

WE'RE PRAYING FOR REVIVAL...

Image credit: revivalhut.com


REVIVE US, DEAREST JESUS ll

My Prayer for Revival in America

The morning sun is streaming in as I prepare to pray
recalling what my pastor said in his word to us one day.
He spoke of the time we live in and of people losing faith,
of disregard for God’s Holy Word, and an increase in hate.

Many churches are closing or the Gospel gets watered down,
there’s disrespect for spiritual things and God is made a clown.
My pastor said he’s burdened; therefore he’s asking us to pray
for a nationwide revival; hope for all who’ve gone astray.

Oh, my dear Lord Jesus, You were born to save us, this I know,
and by Your death upon the Cross, You conquered the evil foe.
I know Your desire is that none be lost, that’s my desire, too,
therefore, I am humbly on my knees and crying out to You,

to reveal to all who know You, Lord, the need to repent.
Point us back to Your Holy Cross and why Your Blood was spent.
America must turn back to You, and live our lives Your way.
Oh! Let there be revival here.  Let us see it in our day!

We must have sorrow for our sins, and confess those sins to You.
We need to call upon Your Name, and then be Born Anew.
Through Your amazing grace and love, there’ll be splendors in store
and by Your Resurrection we will have life forevermore!

May multitudes flock unto You, countless as grains of sand.
May churches fill up with faithful folks all across our land.
May dusty Bibles be opened and hearts abound with love.
Lord, I’m sending my morning prayer, straight to Your throne above.

O Savior, You are worthy to receive our honor and praise.
Draw the backsliders; draw the lost, to walk in all Your ways—
Revive! Revive us, Jesus! I long to see what You will do
in answer to this earnest prayer…all glory belongs to You!

Maude Carolan Pych


Sunday, May 19, 2019

METAMORPHOSIS


It's Spring!

I've been noticing the pretty butterflies
and thinking about...


Image credit: martydavisphotos.com


METAMORPHOSIS

Once I was a caterpillar, dwelling upon the earth,
Crawling along day by day, adept at feigning mirth.
I only knew the earthy life, I thought that that was it;
I took what terra firma gave, the pleasures and the grit.
There was no beauty in me.  No one ever looked here twice,
Few cared if I were evil, no one knew if I were nice.
I was only concerned with myself, what the earth could give,
Yet, inside I was sensing a far better way to live.
Instinct led me to spin a thread and weave a neat cocoon;
I became a living mummy, wrapped tight within my tomb.
What was happening to me?  I tried to kick and shout,
“Help me!  Open up this thing!  I want to get right out!”
No one heard and I was powerless, so I went to sleep,
Not knowing what was ahead of me, feeling something deep.
I don’t know how much time went by within my tiny tomb,
But sensed that I was being changed, as one inside a womb.
Finally, instinct worked in me.  There was a sudden urge
To break out of my chrysalis and from the dark emerge.
Somehow, I then received the strength to burst my being free;
Alas, the golden Light broke through and there was a new me!
I took some time to understand, some time to wonder why,
Then I just shook myself a bit and I began to fly!
And `lo, I was so beautiful, and `lo, I saw the sun...
Oh, after living on the earth, soaring was great fun!
A wretched worm was I no more, I knew that that was true,
I was reborn and I became a creation wholly new!
A butterfly!  A butterfly!  I received my wings,
Glorious splendors of the Heavens, all the higher things.
All old things have passed away, they’ll never come again;
I’ve set my mind on things above, on these I will attend.
Now, even when I swoop to earth and walk upon the ground,
I’ll never be a worm again...I’m Butterfly...glory bound!
Praise God for metamorphosis, it’s by His loving grace
That I’m a new creation now, and I shall see His Face.

Maude Carolan

Sunday, May 12, 2019

In Memory of My Mother


Happy Mother's Day!

In Loving Memory
of my dear mother...

Frances Longo Walsh--1915-1966



OLD MOTHERS

Never had the opportunity--
missed the privilege
of doting upon my old mother.
Mother died
of a heart attack
at fifty-one

Watch with envy--
sweet old mothers
with rosy rouged cheeks
and charming smiles
carefully navigating
footed canes
or wheeled walkers
Dutiful daughters
accompany them
pleasantly
in doctor’s waiting rooms
taking their tweed coats
making small talk
about the grandchildren
and what Aunt So And So
will be serving
the church ladies for lunch
Blessed daughters
who left beds unmade
dishes in the sink
who listen attentively
to doctor’s instructions
see that Medicare
and supplementary insurances
are processed properly
who assist them
with their coats
and to their cars
stopping at pharmacies
on the way home

Maude Carolan

The above poem won an honorable mention in the Allen Ginsberg Poetry Contest and was originally published in the "Paterson Literary Review."

Sunday, May 5, 2019

To All the Busy Moms...

Let's see
if we can give a tired mother a break
this Mother's Day...

ALL THE WOMEN I KNOW ARE TIRED

I see it in their strides
their slumped shoulders
their shuffling feet
as they drag themselves
through their tasks

I see it in their uncovered yawns
their dull expressions
the darkness below
their lusterless eyes

All the women I know
are weary, drained
unfocused
they stare into refrigerators
they stare out windows
they stare at papers
they try to remember
what they intended to do next

All the women I know
shower rather than bathe
drive rather than walk
phone rather than visit
They dream about
what they hope to do
when there's
time

All the women I know
are sleep deprived
up too early
down too late
rest-less
as they try
to get it all done

They can't get it all done
there's not enough time

All the women I know
are tired

Dog tired

especially during the holidays
because they love, they
shop and clean
cook and bake
wrap, decorate
send cards
invite
invite
invite

They're exhausted

especially those who go to work
especially those who go to work
and have children
especially those who go to work
and have old, ailing parents

All the women I know
fall asleep over teacups
in the evening
or over a book
or over the bills
or in front of the TV

All the women I know
believed the lie
drilled into them
in the '70s
that they could do it all
be it all
have it all

all what

all is nothing

when they languish
in their shoes

Maude Carolan

The above poem won an honorable mention in the Allen Ginsberg Poetry Contest and was originally published in the "Paterson Literary Review."