THE SUN CAME OUT

THE SUN CAME OUT

It had been a dreary week with clouds obscuring
our light, and grayness subduing pretty color.
The shades of bright beautiful hues not showing
instead drab dull pastels somber in their pallor.

Making our moods and thoughts dank, somber and dreary
as we moved through our lives missing light's life glow.
When our thoughts turned they turned ever wrongly
to other dank, angry, sadness grind filled with woe.

Pray tell what is missing now, that was just recently
here that stopped this darkness and brightened life so?
When this warm glow lightened our lives filled with glee
no anger, sadness, angst or stresses did we know.

Then, the sun came out, bright yellows, hues of gold
warmth, safety and happiness returned to the we.
Twas that tingly, lovely color filled day we fortold
to ourselves and promised us we would again see.

The beautiful beams and rays of light did through
the clouds dark and bleak blanket of color deploy.
Brightening her eyes the fine, happy bright sunlight
lifted the we from the dank and filled us with joy.

'The Masters Touch" - A poem by Carol Uneva Rickman

"The Master's Touch"

I love to step outside my door
And feel the gentle breeze -
See birds and squirrels and butterflies
Cavorting through the trees.

Some branches, majestically high,
Are stretching toward the sky,
While grass, beneath, hugs tight the ground,
Letting life pass it by.

The ants are ever busy
In their mounds of sandy red,
While mosquitoes and gnats and such
Fly circles 'round my head.

The skies of blue,
With clouds of white and various hues of gray,
Become a splendid pink and red
At dawn and dusk each day.

Raindrops sprinkle ever so lightly,
Warmly, in the breeze,
Or pour, in torrents,
Challenging even the strongest trees.


Man never made a seed
That makes a baby sapling grow,
Or formed the tiny crystals
In a freshly glistening snow.

Nor does he have control
Of earthquakes, hurricanes and such.
Think, daily, of the magnitude
Of the dear Master's touch

That calms the winds.
The seas obey His omnipresent call.
He is, of course, without a doubt,
The Master of it all.


- C. Uneva Rickman

7-1-09

GALACTIC FATHOMS

When I look at the galaxies
on a clear night out at sea -
when I look at the incredible
brilliance of creation,and think
that this is what God is like,
then instead of feeling
intimidated and diminished by it,
I am enlarged . . . I rejoice
that I am a part of it. The
salt of the sea-spray joy.
Listen to your life. See it for
the fathomless mystery that it is.
Touch, taste, smell your way
to the holy and hidden heart
of it. Love as a wave loves
the beach touching washing
forming, gently, continuously.
Unrelenting, but able to
wash gently around the
child's feet, ever forming
grains in sands hourglass time.
Because in the last analysis
all moments are sacred moments
and life itself is grace manifest.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name. ~William Wordsworth

Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name. ~William Wordsworth

God's Agenda

Oftentimes, our agendas run contrary to God's. The discomfort that is visited upon us in this world is of course, not what we would have chosen for ourselves. Neither is an easy path for us chosen by God. He loves us more than we love ourselves. His plan can anger, hurt, disturb and baffle us. His love however isn't manifest in a worldy manner. His love is often reserved for us in Glory, where our loved ones shall share this grand plan of His with us. Our own selfishness and visceral need for comfort and instinct to survive can fog our vision and make it difficult to see which fork in the road to take. Lift us up Lord, that we can see over the fog of this world and the forks in the road and down that path and through the seasons of our lives.
~Capt. Gene D. Tomlinson

Forgiveness

"Forgiveness is deciding to wipe clean our hope for a better past and to accept the role of others in our "not so perfect" lives. It is placing blame only inwardly and never outwardly. It is loving those who would bring us discomfort and visit upon us the harshness of this world, knowing they too are children of God. It is understanding the price paid by our Savior and His Father for our imperfection and placing upon that gift an intrinsic value. It is reconciling ourselves, to ourselves. It is the true transcention from our worldly selves, to what our Lord would have us be. Forgiveness is love, God style."

~Capt. Gene D. Tomlinson

This Part of Texas ~ This Season of My Life

This Part of Texas, This Season of My Life As I watch the west central Texas sun set on a cold, crisp afternoon, the meaning of the name of this particular place where I live now creeps into vision. Lake Ft. Phantom Hill, named after the cavalry fort just a couple of miles west and north of the lake upon which so far, I have spent this sad and lonesome winter. I feel like what I imagine one of the other soldiers who lived here might have felt, a member of their unit, one of their own, a kindred soul and fellow soldier indeed. Only one hundred and fifty or so years removed we are, a tick in the infinity of time. They too were missing their wives, children and homes they too looked skyward as I now do as the shadows creep, on a wind-blown night when clouds are dashed against the moon. Starlight flickers, conjures visions, summons those restless phantoms of days before. Before the eyes of my imagination these ghost do indeed return, those vapor forms of Indian, Spaniard, Texan, dragoon, rebel, outlaw; mixed and mingled shades now stalk my present. Faintly the shouts and din of battle I can still hear, lingering from those old winds, at times, when I walk this ground. The smell of horses and gunpowder hangs in this dust; an old musket ball, misshapen from impact and broken bit of arrow tip conjure the hushed moans of the wounded or perhaps the courageous aching silence of my dead comrades, my brothers in arms. Each step of my boots on this ground stirs the ashes of soldiers. It is said a portion of their spirit encamps here for all time. I can feel the euphoria of a warrior’s victory here, blended with the ancient thump of drum-beat and campaign, of bugle and shout, of sacrifice and duty’s loneliness, of unsung valor, of grief and sadness that rend tears now as it did then. My tears mingle with the dust within which the salt from their eyes surely remains, bonding our misery as surely as the feelings of desperation now bond our souls. Like all soldiers now I feel the comradeship forged from war’s hard wire. A price for the future they paid here on this ground. A price for my past I now remit to the same soil. I now in my turn, become the past. Here was the sharp, dangerous and deadly edge of the frontier for our country. Ft. Phantom now becomes the rough, unyielding and painful birthplace of my frontier. Ft. Phantom and my dead brothers now turn my head to the sunset horizon. Not the Texas sunset, but mine.