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- Shine Wise
- Mediocre Poems
- Beyond the Veil
- Longing and Letdown
- The Time I've Been Given
- How much is that Parrot in the Window?
- The Door Marked "Fear"
- So Little Strength
- Where are all the Sins?
- Returning Favors, Unopened
It doesn't matter how small the light; if the night is black enough, the light can be seen. I thought about the tiny lights on our Christmas tree, musical lights that dance off and on in time to the melody. They are very small lights, not enough to read by, and yet, they show up quite nicely in a darkened room.
Shine Wise
(Daniel 12:3, I John 1:7)
We are tiny, blinking lights
that do not often burn in unison:
glowing sporadically,
shining erratically,
Small lights against
a cave-black backdrop.
Small lights,
walking in His light,
reflecting His glow,
Shining on.
Shining on.
Lori Fiechter
December 23, 2001
Ephesians 2:10, Amplified version:
"For we are God’s own handiwork (His workmanship), recreated in Christ Jesus,
[born anew] that we may do those good works which God planned beforehand for us [taking
paths which He prepared ahead of time], that we should walk in them [living the good life
which He prearranged and made ready for us to live].
The Greek word translated as "workmanship" is Poiema, from which we get our word, "poem"
Mediocre Poems
Another mediocre line in a mediocre poem;
I aimed higher that time and fell lower.
A collection of mediocre poems:
this one insipid,
that one mawkish,
pretentious, abstruse;
nothing robust, nothing real, nothing original:
No spark, no breath, no life;
not one that seemed to make any difference.
Miserably mediocre.
These are my poems, my workmanship.
And yet, I am also His workmanship,
His poiema, His poem.
Written by Him to
Walk in Him, to
Work for Him--
to be more than mediocre.
Lori Fiechter
December 23, 2001
Beyond the Veil
There is a veil,
diaphanous gauze, between
the healthy and the infirm,
the standing and the fallen,
the living and the dead.
The shadow of tragedy brushes by,
We shudder as it passes;
it does not rest on us this time
But our necks feel the chill
and we wrap our scarves more tightly.
We stand outside the heart of the shadow
in relief and yet in fear.
His fate might have been my own;
and might be yet.
We are pinched awake to relief or anguish.
We hope—we know—that
there must be something
beyond the veil.
Something worth living for,
Something worth dying for,
A life and a light
past the shadow.
Lori Fiechter
12-23-01
Longing and Letdown
Unwrapped.
No matter how perfect the present,
there is a letdown when it is unwrapped.
There is a quality in anticipation
that fulfillment can never match.
We reach, but cannot grasp it
this side of heaven.
We live midst plaintive, minor chords;
the sadness that walks
in tandem with beauty.
Perhaps we glimpse that other world where
we belong and thus
beauty makes us homesick;
those glimmers of heaven
bring bittersweet joy.
Lori Fiechter
12-23-01
For such a time as this, for such a place, for such a purpose.
Or in the words of Tolkein’s Gandalf,
"That is not for you to decide.
You only have to decide what to do with the time you’ve been given"
The Time I've Been Given
Cosmic questions
Why are we here?
For what purpose?
To what end?
Distilled to the personal
Why am I here?
What am I to do
with the time I’ve been given?
What is my duty?
What is the next step?
Or perhaps I know what I must do
but fear to do it.
My part?
My part is to do my part.
To fulfill my unique mission, my calling, my path.
My thread, no matter how small,
will be woven into the
whole tapestry.
Lori Fiechter
12-23-01
How much is that Parrot in the Window?
I don't want children,
I want parrots.
I have them.
But surely, I don't sound like that!
I want them to parrot my intentions,
not my actions.
I don't want children,
I want robots.
But I never programmed them
to do that!
And how dare they differ
from me!
Not parrots, not robots;
I have independent spirits
that I am trying to guide,
not coerce.
Besides, they're not
really mine;
they belong to God.
Lori Fiechter
11-17-01
The Door Marked "Fear"
Don’t open it,
that door boldly marked "Fear"
Don’t listen at the keyhole.
Don’t look inside;
it’s full of crazy mirrors,
reflecting and magnifying
things that are not
even there.
Turn your back on fear
and open that other door,
that little door,
weathered, yet sturdy,
the one marked
Faith.
Lori Fiechter
11-17-01
Revelation 3:8 "…I know that you have but little power, and yet you have kept my word…" (Amplified)
I read the story of how Corrie Ten Boom was able to forgive and even shake the hand of the prison guard, now a repentant Christian, who had been so cruel to her and her sister Betsy at Ravensbruck. Even though horrified, Corrie managed to pray, "Oh, Jesus, help me lift my hand!" He was faithful, and she was able to joyfully forgive.
So Little Strength
I have so little strength of will
yet I believe if I but
incline my will toward His,
that little strength
will be enough.
I do not want to do the thing I must;
I have no strength to do it.
But my desire is to please Him,
my desire is to follow.
So I will lean my will
in His direction
and ask for grace
to do the rest.
Lori Fiechter
November 25, 2001
I just read statistics where even professed Christians have trouble
calling certain sins, sin.
Where are all the Sins?
Where are all the sins?
Not gone,
not admitted, either
but painted-over,
labeled something else.
Where are all the sinners?
Scarce.
Oh, we are still
prideful,
contentious,
selfish,
lustful,
covetous and envious,
but we don’t
see ourselves as sinners,
as rebels against God.
How then can we be
reconciled to God
when we don’t sense
the separation?
Lori Fiechter
November 28, 2001
How rare and how welcome are those who—like our Lord Jesus—can both give and receive with equal grace. (I have a brother like that.) Yes, it is more blessed to give but it can be even harder, and more humbling, to receive.
Returning Favors, Unopened
Compliments bounce off her
like hard rain
on a tin roof;
She spits them out
like venom,
afraid they will taint her humility.
She feels so undeserving
and must always pay her own way,
her fair share;
She must always have
the upper hand,
must never feel obligated.
Her bootstraps are a shrine
to her own self-sufficiency.
"Not to me, not to me,
give them to someone else."
She won’t take a mile,
not even the proffered inch.
To receive is to be poor,
and that she can’t accept.
Oh, she can give with grace,
but don’t ask her to receive.
Lori Fiechter
November 13, 2001