For All Parents

Edgar A. Guest

“I'll lend you for a little time,
A child of mine,” he said.
“you to love there as he lives,
And mourn when he is dead.

“It may be six or seven years,
Or twenty-two or -three.
But will you, 'til I call him back,
Take care of him for me?

“He'll bring his charms to gladden you,
And shall his stay be brief.
You'll have his lovely memories,
As solace for your grief.

“I cannot promise he will stay,
Since all from earth return.
But there are lessons taught down there,
I want this child to learn.

“I've searched the wide world over,
In my search for teachers true.
And from the throngs that crowd life's lanes,
I have selected you.

“Now will you give him all your love,
Nor think the labor vain.
Nor hate me when I come to call,
To take him back again?

“I fancied that I heard them say,
‘Dear Lord, thy will be done.
For all the joy thy child shall bring,
The risk of grief we'll run.

“‘We'll shelter him with tenderness,
We'll love him while we may.
And for the happiness we've known,
Will ever grateful stay.

“‘But shall the angels call for him,
Much sooner than we planned.
We'll brave the bitter grief that comes,
And try to understand.’”

God in Nature

Bluesilk9

Where we live, on the Eastern shore of Maryland, the gentle waters run in and out like fingers slimming at the tips. They curl into the smaller creeks and coves like tender palms.

The Canadian geese know this place, as do the white swans and the ducks who ride an inch above the waves of Chesapeake Bay as they skim their way into harbor in the autumn. By the thousands they come home for the winter. The swans move toward the shores in a stately glide, their tall heads proud and unafraid.

They lower their long necks deep into the water, where their strong beaks dig through the river bottoms for food. And there is, between the arrogant swans and the prolific geese, an indifference, almost a disdain.

Once or twice each year, snow and sleet move into the area. When this happens, if the river is at its narrowest, or the creek shallow there is a freeze which hardens the water to ice.

It was on such a morning near Osford, Maryland, that a friend of mine set the breakfast table beside the huge window, which overlooked the Tred Avon River. Across the river, beyond the dock, the snow laced the rim of the shore in white. For a moment she stood quietly, looking at what the night storm had painted.

Sudden she leaned forward and peered close to the frosted window.

“It really is!” she cried out loud. “There is a goose out there!”

She reached to the bookcase and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Into their sights came the figure of a large Canadian goose, very still, its wings folded tight to its sides, its feet frozen to the ice.

Then from the dark skies, she saw a line of swans. They moved in their own singular formation, graceful, intrepid, and free. They crossed from the west of the broad creek high above the house, moving steadily to the east.

As my friend watched, the leader swung to the right, then the white string of birds became a white circle. It floated from the top of the sky downward.

At last, as easy as feathers coming to earth, the circle landed on the ice.

My friend was on her feet now, with one unbelieving hand against her mouth.

As the swans surrounded the frozen goose, she feared what life he still had might be pecked out by those great swan bills.

Instead, amazingly instead, those bills began to work on the ice. The long necks were lifted and curved down, again and again; it went on for a long time. At last, the goose was rimmed by a narrow margin of ice instead of the entire creek. The swans rose again, following the leader, and hovered in that circle, awaiting the results of their labors.

The goose's head lifted. Its body pulled. Then the goose was free and standing on the ice. He was moving his big, webbed feet slowly. And the swans stood in the air watching. Then, as if he had cried “I cannot fly!”, four of the swans came down around him. Their powerful beaks scraped the goose's wings from top to bottom, scuttled under its wings and rose up its body, chipping off and melting the ice held in its feathers.

Slowly, as if testing, the goose spread its wings as far as they would go, brought them together, accordion-like, and spread again.

When at last the wings reached their fullest, the four swans took off and joined the hovering group. They resumed their eastward journey, in perfect formation, to their secret destination.

Behind them, rising with incredible speed and joy, the goose moved into the sky. He followed them, flapping double time, until he caught up, until he joined the last end of the line, like a small child at the end of a crack-the-whip of older boys.

My friend watched them until they disappeared over the tips of the farthest trees. Only then, in the dusk which was suddenly deep, did she realize that tears were running down her cheeks and had been for how long she did not know.

The Nest

Sadhu Sundar Singh

Once, as I traveled through the Himalayas, there was a great forest fire. Everyone was frantically trying to fight the fire, but I noticed a group of men standing and looking up into a tree that was about to go up in flames. When I asked them what they were looking at, they pointed up at a nest full of young birds. Above it, the mother bird was circling wildly in the air and calling out warnings to her young ones. There was nothing she or we could do, and soon the flames started climbing up the branches.

As the nest caught fire, we were all amazed to see how the mother bird reacted. Instead of flying away from the flames, she flew down and settled on the nest, covering her little ones with her wings. The next moment, she and her nestlings were burned to ashes. None of us could believe our eyes. I turned to those standing by and said: “We have witnessed a truly marvelous thing. God created that bird with such love and devotion, that she gave her life trying to protect her young. If her small heart was so full of love, how unfathomable must be the love of her Creator. That is the love that brought him down from heaven to become man. That is the love that made him suffer a painful death for our sake.”

Forgive Me When I Whine

Author Unknown

Today, upon a bus,
I saw a girl with golden hair.
and wished I was as fair.

When suddenly she rose to leave,
I saw her hobble down the aisle.
She had one leg and wore a crutch.
But as she passed, she passed a smile.

Oh, God, forgive me when I whine.
I have 2 legs, the world is mine.

I stopped to buy some candy.
The lad who sold it had such charm.
I talked with him, he seemed so glad.
If I were late, it'd do no harm.

And as I left, he said to me,
“I thank you, you've been so kind.
It's nice to talk with folks like you.
You see,” he said, “I'm blind.”

Oh, God, forgive me when I whine.
I have 2 eyes, the world is mine.

Later while walking down the street,
I saw a child with eyes of blue.
He stood and watched the others play.
He did not know what to do.

I stopped a moment and then I said,
“Why don't you join the others, dear?”
He looked ahead without a word.
And then I knew, he couldn't hear.

Oh, God, forgive me when I whine.
I have 2 ears, the world is mine.

With feet to take me where I'd go.
With eyes to see the sunset's glow.
With ears to hear what I'd know.
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine.
I've been blessed indeed, the world is mine.

Be With Me

©2005 Marian Jones

Be with me, God, when I'm happy
And all of my skies are blue;
Don't let me take life for granted
But for ever be thankful to You.

Be with me, God, when I'm sad
And my heart is filled with pain;
Help me to always remember
I'll walk in the sunshine again.

Be with me, God, when I wander
Away from the path I should tread;
Gently guide me home once more,
Only You knows what lies ahead.

Be with me, God, for all of the years
Safe in your loving care.
I'll not let my faith ever waver
For I know You will always be there.

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