In My Garden

In 1912, C.Austiin Miles penned the words to the song, “In the Garden”.   The first verse and refrain went like this:

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

In a far away place (my younger life) about thirty-four years ago when I was feeling more of the weight of the world upon my shoulders than usual, and trying to figure out a way to keep cool without air conditioning in the heat and mugginess of a late July night, I sat on the stoop of my apartment that joined the sidewalk.  The air was so thick and heavy with heat and moisture and sleep was nowhere to be found.  I was scribbling on a tablet and found myself humming the words to the song above.  It was then I thought about my own “garden” and it was at that time I was impressed to write In MY Garden.  I hope you will be blessed.  (By the way, four days after I wrote this, I met the man who would become my husband of 33 years now but who’s counting?)

“You'll be like a well-watered garden, a gurgling spring that never runs dry. You'll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew, rebuild the foundations from out of your past.” Isaiah 58:11 (The Message)

IN MY GARDEN

I long to go to the garden alone,

To be quiet and rest with my Lord.

Away from the hustle, my burdens, and cares.

Alone just my Lord to adore.

I’m just tired, I am weak, and I’m worn

I’m not asking for much, don’t you see?

It’s just that my soul is troubled, my peace is disturbed,

And your Word promised rest just for me.

I’m anxious lately and my joy I find ebbing

There’s always work to be done, the children to raise,

Someone needs me wherever I go

How I long just to sit in your presence and just praise.

Yes, Lord, I’m not asking, I’m just weary now.

But I’m trusting you Lord, it can’t last too long.

Even you became tired and went away just to rest

You promised me the same since to You I belong.

So, here I am Jesus, please come and lift me up

Above all my worries and cares.

Let me soak in the light of your presence

Just You and me – alone to share.

The road I must travel gets rough and steep;

I’ve fallen again and again.

But You’ve picked me up and helped me to see,

Your glory for me in the end.

So alone with you Jesus in the garden I love

To smell your sweet fragrance so fair;

I thank you, dear Father, to the garden you take me,

Alone in my closet of prayer.

            (Originally written 07-25-1978)

Snowflakes and Children

Spending a day cleaning my office is not on my top ten list of favorite things to do, but something that occasionally must be done in order to maintain a reasonable semblance of order in my paper world.  It was time to throw out a lot of really old stuff – you know, the “why in the world did I ever keep this for?” kind of stuff.  In the midst of throwing, I pulled from the back of my file drawer in the bottom of my desk a folder full of poems and inspirational writings that I used to do when I was young. . .mostly before I was married.  I thought I would share some with you over the next few weeks. 

The weather has been unseasonably warm for this time of November, but we will soon pay with subfreezing temperatures and what the weather people say will be one of our worst yet.  As the first big snow begins to fall (one of my favorite things), I thought this would be an appropriate first poem to share with you.  I hope you enjoy it.

SNOWFLAKES AND CHILDREN

I watch serenely as the snowflakes fall

Upon my window pane

Each one so different, no two alike

A miracle again and again.

Fresh and clean, pure and untouched,

The pillows of snow soon appear.

It reminds me of a new born babe,

Warm and soft, so precious and dear.

All too soon, a stranger walks by,

Leaving dirty footprints in the virgin snow.

And all too soon the baby dear,

Gets prints on his soul as in life he grows.

We can’t help but see the prints in the snow,

That leave their mark so plain.

And, if we’re not careful with our child so dear,

We’ll soon see on his life a stain.

The snow will melt and the prints fade away.

Not so with the heart of a child.

He must be shown the right way to go,

While he’s still young, and tender, and mild,

Fresh, clean snow falls many times,

Bringing beauty, fun and delight.

But a child has not so many chances,

So he must learn to love and what’s right.

For a child doesn’t fade and his sin melt away,

Like the snow when the sun shines upon it.

Only Jesus can make his heart clean and pure,

When to Christ the child gives his heart.

Next time the snow falls fresh and new,

Take note of each unique flake.

Remember that children are much like the snow,

To be molded, their young lives to shape.

Snow will fall ‘til time is no more.

With a child, his time will run out.

So, take time, love, and patience to guide him,

For unlike the snow, a child will not melt.

--Rhonda Shure

(originally written 12-20-1979)

It's My Turn Now. . .

It was one of those days.  I was thinking to myself, I really don’t feel like doing this, but I just have to do it now or I won’t have any other time to get it done.  The Christmas decorations.  Should I put up one tree in the sunroom?  Put the other tree downstairs?  Do I decorate all the side tables. . .then it dawned on me, I had to do it.  I had to carry on tradition.

When I was a little girl, Christmas Day meant that all of my mom’s sisters and brother and their families and all of the cousins would be gathered at Grandma’s and Pap Pap’s house by noon. There would be no doubts in our little minds that Santa had visited Grandma’s house!  The smell of the pine from the live Christmas tree with the bubble lights permeated the air in the big old house. As you moved from the front parlor into the dining room and kitchen, smells of candied yams, ham, fresh bread, cinnamon apples and pumpkin wafted all the way through the house.

The adults mainly stayed in the kitchen and dining room helping out (They just wanted by the food!) and talking among themselves about all the things adult sisters and brothers talk about.

There were presents under the tree in the living room and there were beautiful Christmas decorations (many of which were provided courtesy of the grandchildren’s creativity) of every kind adorning the tables, the wooden banisters (it temporarily prevented our sliding adventures), and Grandma had oodles of yummy, chewy cookies and candies that called to our taste buds and irresistibly drew us into a tantalizing ecstasy of indulgence with gooey chocolate chips, sweet date pinwheels, figs, pecans, walnuts, and fruits. . .all delightfully cut out and shaped into magnificent treats.  In the background, soft Christmas carols would be playing on Pap Pap’s old record player.

Each one of us were thrilled when, after awhile, Grandma would say, “I think Santa Claus left you a little something, but I don’t remember where he put it, so you’ll just have to go and hunt for it.”  We let out a whoop and started looking under furniture, along the stairways, behind doors, until we found the treasured gift with our name on it.  After a day of playing with our gifts and our cousins, eating sumptuous ham and turkey and desserts, we would curl up on the floor anywhere and drift off to sleep listening to the adults chatter.

Better get those Christmas boxes out and get the tree trimmed and the tinsel and wreaths hung.  Cookies needed baking. Some gifts needed wrapping. Christmas carols were playing on my iPhone. Christmas would be here soon.  I had to get it done.  It is my turn now.  I must carry on.  I am Grandma!!

- - - - - - - - - -

I thought this poem was a fitting tribute to my Grandma.  She did wear an apron all the time and I find myself pulling one out of the pantry to keep my clothes neat when preparing a meal.

The strings were tied, it was freshly washed, and maybe even pressed.
For Grandma, it was everyday to choose one when she dressed.
The simple apron that it was, you would never think about;
the things she used it for, that made it look worn out.
She may have used it to hold some wildflowers that she'd found.
Or to hide a crying child's face when a stranger came around.
Imagine all the little tears that were wiped with just that cloth.
Or it became a potholder to serve some chicken broth.
She probably carried kindling to stoke the kitchen fire.
To hold a load of laundry, or to wipe the clothesline wire.
When canning all her vegetables, it was used to wipe her brow.
You never know, she might have used it to shoo flies from the cow.
She might have carried eggs in from the chicken coop outside.
Whatever chore she used it for, she did them all with pride.
When Grandma went to heaven, God said she now could rest.
I'm sure the apron that she chose, was her Sunday best.

-by Tina Trivett-

I Stand in Awe. . .

Since September, our Bible study has been studying a discipleship series, “Worship from the Tabernacle” by Wayne Barber, et al. Tonight as I was putting the finishing touches on what I wanted to share with my small group, I was wowed by how the Israelites were instructed to approach God, what would happen to them if His instructions were not followed, and how nonchalant we, as His church, had become, not only in our approach to God, but in our attitudes toward Him.

I KNOW we do not live under the bondage of the Old Testament Law and that we exist truly and only by the grace of God; that Jesus was the ultimate and only sacrifice for our sins and yes, His death and atonement provided direct access for us to the throne of God, but it makes me shudder to think that Satan has gotten such a foothold in our churches and in our lives, that we believe we can take God for granted and the “coming boldly” to the throne of grace means that just because we have access to Him, we can barge into His presence with a less than holy approach. Remember, even the high Levite priest could go in before Him once each year on the day of atonement and if He did not approach God's throne holy and humbly, He would be smitten dead.   

As much as He continually waits for and desires our fellowship, there is a process that is acceptable to Him and for us to deviate and approach Him with a nonchalant, “hey, God, what’s happenin’, Bro”, I feel good, you feel good attitude is like the Israelites not following the Instructions to enter into the Tabernacle. Unless they went through the thirty-foot wide, one and only, entry gate, they could not get in. And, unless we first deal with our sin, renew our heart and mind and enter into His presence with a clean heart and pure intent, we may feel we have a relationship with Him but we will not enjoy fellowship that could be likened to being in the very Holy of Holies.

The Doobie Brothers song, “Jesus is Just Alright With Me”, is, unfortunately, the mindset of the majority of believers today. Where has our reverence, the awe, the wow of coming into the presence of a holy, mighty God – creator of heaven and earth – gone? Why do we treat Him like a good luck charm?

As I have prepared each week to teach this study, I am convicted, I am humbled, I am in awe and I can but feel as the Psalmist David said, "God, make a fresh start in me, shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life. Don't throw me out with the trash, or fail to breathe holiness in me. Bring me back from gray exile, put a fresh wind in my sails!"(Psalm 51:10-12 MSG)  Our Heavenly Father is approachable and He waits, having the table set and ready for our fellowship, but we must come to Him, humbly, thankful, and expecting that we will be received.  I am so glad, He always comes to meet me as I "run" to Him.

All in all, after I have examined my own heart, and my attitudes, I can confidently say ,“God made my life complete when I placed all the pieces before him. When I cleaned up my act, he gave me a fresh start. Indeed, I've kept alert to God's ways; I haven't taken God for granted. Every day I review the ways he works, I try not to miss a trick. I feel put back together, and I'm watching my step. God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes.” 2 Samuel 22:21 (MSG)