Sunday, July 26, 2020

To Jesus...

Image credit:

To Jesus

Sometimes, there are no words—

I come before You, Lord, with adoration
filled with a strong desire to express my love
but all the words that come to mind
seem over-used and feeble
and cannot convey what I long to say

I’m a poet, a wordsmith
with adjectives a-plenty, and
dictionaries, thesauruses, lexicons
close at hand, but
today I yearn to bless You afresh
with eloquence, depth and originality
I want it to be profound
something You’ve never heard before
however, I find there are no words
none to express the inexpressible

so I empty myself of words
and call upon Your Spirit
Sounds begin to tumble off my tongue
and through my lips
I trust a perfect utterance
rises like incense to Your throne
that is pleasing to Your ears

then I simply sit awhile
awestruck in silence
arms lifted heavenward
and let my beating heart speak
the unspeakable

content that You know
how much I love You, Lord

Maude Carolan Pych

Sunday, July 19, 2020

Ocean Grove, NJ

Tent Houses, Ocean Grove, NJ
Photo by Maude

Ocean Grove Beach
Photo was taken by Maude in 2014


Ocean Grove—
This tiny Christian community
comes to life in the summertime
Methodist. Camp Meeting.
Boxy tent houses
with colorful flower gardens
American flags and banners
surround The Great Auditorium
with its lighted Cross
facing the ocean

It’s just a mile square
Quiet. Subtle.
Not in-your-face-religion
church bell chimes
do break the quietude now and then
with a gentle reminder
and there’s a pavilion
on the boardwalk
where Gospel events take place
Folks can walk-in or walk by
and there’s a tabernacle
for morning worship
and solid Bible teaching
but it’s optional

Personally, the spiritual amenities
are what draw me
to this particular place
at the Jersey shore

What’s surprising
is that many vacationers come
not for the Bible Hour
not for the concerts
not to hear great preachers
from all over the world
not to worship in the great old edifice
with its magnificent pipe organ
not to sing hymns of antiquity
in fact, they come
not for the Gospel, at all

but for peace and quiet
for one square mile
of no hawking of tee shirts
and games of chance
roller coasters, carousels
freak shows and body piercing
in fact, there’s nothing for sale
on the boardwalk
and no alcohol for sale
in the grove

No, they come
for a sandy beach
and ocean spray
quaint Victorians, B & Bs
curiosity shops on Main
and shady sidewalk dining
oh! and ice cream at Nagle’s or Day’s

and they know they can rely upon
good old fashioned
Ocean Grove wholesomeness
and Christian acceptance
even if they’re not necessarily
seeking the Christ of Christianity

…and to my way of thinking
miss out on the Best
this precious little gem
has to offer

Maude Carolan Pych

Sunday, July 12, 2020

Teenage Mothers

Years ago, my husband and I provided room in our home
for unwed mothers...

Photo credit:


I came across a pair of blue baby booties

Funny how the mind holds on to things
then whisked me through decades
back to when I was in the hospital
maternity unit labor room, coaching
my foster daughter, Lisa, in Lamaze
because her boyfriend’s mother
wouldn’t allow him to be with her
when the time came
for their baby to be born

When the doctor arrived
to examine her, I stepped out of the room
A nurse approached me in the hallway
to say there was another teenager
in active labor in the next room
She was overwrought and afraid
Would I sit with her a while

LaShanda was alone, struggling
to bear the labor pains
crying and truly terrified
I can’t remember what I said
to calm her, but do recall
my being there had a quieting effect
We engaged in small talk
between her contractions
She told me her mother had to work
and couldn’t be at her side

Taking hold of her hand
I offered to say a prayer for LaShanda
and her baby. She agreed
so I softly lifted them up to God
for a safe delivery
and a healthy baby
and peace
then I wished her well
and returned to Lisa
who gave birth to a son
a few hours later

In a few days
when both girls were preparing
to go home with their newborns
LaShanda appeared in Lisa’s doorway
She smiled as she handed Lisa
a pair of little blue booties—

These are for your Joey, she said
My mother crocheted them
for him, last night

We are so grateful
for the labor room visit
and the prayer

Maude Carolan Pych

[1] The story in this poem is true, but the names of the girls have been changed.

Sunday, July 5, 2020

Here's a Summertime Poem...

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There's something happy about butterflies.
They flit-flitter as they flutter by,
flying flowers against the azure sky.

They alight upon the milkweed, and then
they circle, soar and alight again,
toe-dancing on pink petals in the glen.

Ever dwelling in hue and sweet fragrance,
in garden splendor they flicker as they dance.
Pollination is purely happenstance.

I delight in their overflow of joy.
(They wouldn't even know how to be coy.)
A flame of mirth! A whirligig! A toy!

Do they recall they once were grubby worms,
remember well their dark and squiggly squirms?
Reborn, now grace and beauty each affirms!

This almost seems to be sheer fantasy,
sky dancers as enchanting as can be,
springing from blossoms right in front of me!

So, merrily a-nectaring they go,
reaping and sowing sweetness in day-glow…
Seems they have learned what all of us should know.

In contemplation of their simple ways,
I wish to add their ballet to my days,
to sky dance Heavenward on wings of praise!

Maude Carolan Pych