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Lost and Found
You spend your whole life looking through lost and found.
Trying to find that missing piece that defines yourself.
Then you meet someone, you lose yourself inside that person's heart.
They in return get lost inside you and you learn who they are.
Slowly you realize you each hold the others missing pieces.
You find yourself in a crowd and something happens.
Two of you are laughing out loud, no one else finds it funny.
To you they are not there, each others voices is all you hear.
Lost and found no more it all becomes clear.
She is you and you are she, nothing is what it appears.
You rediscover the world through your new set of eyes.
Things you have always seen suddenly become a surprise.
Scared and skeptical, realizing you now share the same heart.
Everything you've ever done you want to do again.
Because you know it won't be the same.
Together you will have to see it again.
Set out on your journey and never feel alone again.
May the word goodbye be erased from your language?
And may you never feel lost again.
Copyright ©2009
Intoxication
I am intoxicated with you.
I feel so high just when I am near you.
There is no substance on earth that could compare.
None that could make me feel this way.
I am addicted to you.
I feel that if I am forced to be without you, I will die.
You are like water to me.
A necessary substance needed for life.
You are a blanket for my heart.
You are a friend to my soul.
You are the intoxication of my life.
You are my life.
Copyright ©2009
Soldiers Have Heroes, Too
His wife tells his children that daddy is fine.
His mom prays to God to keep him safe and return him to her side.
His dad keeps the flag waving, rain or shine.
The Church keeps a prayer list with his name inside.
It is his buddy who always has his back.
It is the angel that keeps them on track.
It is any American who believes in what they do.
Now you see, soldiers have heroes, too.
Copyright ©2009
My Wife
I am
in the dark
My eyes, they hurt from squinting
I cannot find my way alone
You spoke to me without saying a word
Healed my deepest wounds with a touch
I cannot imagine that I lived without you
You are like water to me
A substance necessary for life
I thirst for you
You are my world
A friend, lover, and guide
A candle in the dark
My biggest fan, and my most honest critic
Heaven sent
When I look into your eyes, I see into heaven
You are a window for my soul
You are my life
I will forever love you
My wife
Copyright ©2009
Carol Guinn
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"The Tie That Binds"
One
June after school was out for the summer, my grandmother,
known to me as Nanny, packed me up in her metallic aqua
marine Valiant and headed for God’s country, North Carolina,
to visit her family. As we headed out of Norfolk, Virginia
toward North Carolina, I left all that was familiar behind,
eager to explore this new country. Our first stop was Aunt
Sue’s. She lived just outside of Weldon. As we pulled off
the two lane highway down the country road leading up to
Aunt Sue’s farm, an orange haze appeared which came from the
dust kicked up by our car. Through the orange haze, I could
make out Aunt Sue’s little white house amongst the strips of
green she and Uncle Rob had planted. There were two trees
strategically placed, protecting the house from the summer’s
heat. One in front. One in back. As we pulled up, Aunt
Sue came out to greet us. She had pure white hair as soft
as cotton along with my Nanny’s bright blue eyes. And, when
she embraced me for a kiss, I was enveloped in her
roundness. With her small head, short legs and energy, she
was a whirling dervish once she got in motion.
As the
only daughter among two children, I had never had to share a
bedroom. However, that was to change. It was there on Aunt
Sue’s farm that I experienced for the first time falling
asleep on a bare wooden floor covered in layers of tattered
handmade quilts with a gang of my cousins. As we talked
ourselves to sleep, I felt like I belonged there. I was
becoming a part of their life while they were becoming a
part of mine. Early in the mornings, we would hear the
screen door slam as Uncle Rob headed out to the fields
before the heat of the day. He slammed the door on purpose
to wake us up, but we snuggled back down on our quilted
floor and drank in the coolness of the summer morning while
it lasted. As the smell of bacon frying drifted up our
noses, we would wake up. On the farm, I quickly learned
everyone had a job to do. Mine was helping to set the table
and stealing tastes from the stove. Uncle Rob would return
from the fields and we would all sit down to breakfast. As
I shared in the repetition of the breakfast ritual, I
continued to become a part of their lives and they mine.
After
breakfast, came morning chores. The opportunity to see my
father working around our house was a rarity. It was a
family job that Dad would call an electrician to change a
light bulb. He was not handy. So when I had the
opportunity to follow my Uncle Rob around, I was like a
puppy watching with admiration and excitement as he
performed his morning chores. As we approached the pen, the
pigs came squealing with delight, having smelled the arrival
of their meal. After Uncle Rob poured the slop into the
slimy wooden trough, the only audible sounds were that of
wet grunts, as the pigs devoured their meal. Next, we would
stop at the chick barn and scatter corn on the ground. The
chickens would appear clucking and bobbing their heads, as
they approached their meal.
Just
before midday after “helping” Uncle Rob with his chores, I
would run off to the fields and help the women pick fresh
butterbeans for our midday meal, feeling a part of life’s
rhythm. The table set, the food prepared, the blessing
said, our ritual begins. After our meal, the heat of the
day was upon us and I would take a nap. Upon waking, Aunt
Sue and Nanny would prepare my bath for me. I remember
bathing outside in a huge metal tub not caring who saw my
nakedness, and languishing in the cool water on those hot
sultry summer days. In the evenings, we would gather around
in Aunt Sue’s small living room and eat our bowls of
Kellogg’s corn flakes for dinner. Aunt Sue would tell me
the story about Nanny sneaking out of her window and down a
tree at the age of sixteen to meet a boy. While Nanny would
tell me the story about their mother, known as Granmammie,
keeping a baby pig in her blouse and letting it run around
in circles around her waist. Immersed in their memories, I
deepen my bond.
Our
next stop was the town of Roanoke Rapids. We visited with
my Uncle June, Nanny’s brother, and Aunt Mary, his wife, who
sounded like a sheep when she spoke. We arrived in time for
the midday meal which was quickly becoming my favorite
ritual. Aunt Mary had prepared for us her famous fried
chicken which she served with homemade mashed potatoes and
gravy. This is where I discovered a new eating utensil.
Aunt Mary’s milk biscuits. They were used to sop up the
gravy and anything else remaining on your plate.
When
Uncle June smiled, which he did often with me, he reminded
me of Howdy Doody. Uncle June always had time for my
questions and to show me new things. It was Uncle June, not
my father, who taught me how to fish with a knotty cane pole
and a red and white bobber in a little creek about a half
mile from his house. My father’s idea of roughing it was
staying in a Holiday Inn with air-conditioning which did not
include handling worms. In the evenings, Nanny, Uncle June
and Aunt May would gather on the front porch to share how
their families were ‘getting’ along while I scampered off to
the corner store with a nickel in my pocket to buy as much
candy as my pockets could hold. Upon my return, I would
hear the sharp squeak of the green metal rockers and the
dull splat of chewing tobacco hitting the old Maxwell House
coffee cans they used as spittoons. As I went upstairs for
bed, they would each give me a kiss good night, leaving on
my face the sweet smell of tobacco. As I was being lulled
to sleep by the drone of the floor fan, the smell of bleach
would drift up my nose from the cool crisp sheets while a
cook breeze came over the bed. I was in God’s Country.
Now I
know why Nanny called North Carolina “God’s Country.” I
could see Him in the two sets of hands reflected in the
creek while Uncle June was showing me how to fish. I could
smell Him in the sweet scent of tobacco on my face after
being kissed. I could feel Him in the soft embrace of my
Aunt Sue’s arms, and I could hear Him in my Nanny’s voice as
she spoke lovingly about how I was ‘getting’ along. I was never
the same after my summer in North Carolina. I came away
with a deeper understanding of family. Family is not only
being loved but sharing the special moments, chores, rituals
which bind us to each other for life. Family is the tie
that binds. |
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Frank Foster
Book Signing at Polk Museum of Art
Tommy Franks
"The Will of God"
If you would
like to know more about his writing, please
contact him at
tfranks7@tampabay.rr.com.
You will find his other books on Amazon.com.
Martha Linder
C.S.
Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and the Quest for Joy
by Martha Linder
from, A Faith and Culture Devotional: Daily Readings in Art,
Science and Life
Courtesy of Zondervan 2008
Kullberg and Arrington, editors
It was at a faculty meeting in Oxford on May 11,
1926, that Clives Staples Lewis and John Ronald Reuel Tolkien spoke
for the first time, little realizing that they would form one of the
greatest literary friendships of the 20th century.
Although Tolkien had been born in South Africa, and Lewis in
Northern Ireland, their backgrounds were similar: they had both lost
their mothers in childhood, been wounded in bitter battles in France
in World War I, and were currently professors of English Literature
at Oxford. More importantly, Tolkien and Lewis both had childhoods
dominated by their imaginations. It was their love of “northernness,”
however, that sparked the flame of excitement, inducing Tolkien to
invite Lewis to “Coalbiters,” a society Tolkien had founded, where
members read Icelandic sagas and myths in their original languages.
Lewis’ love of what he called “northernness” had
begun as a child. Reading Longfellow’s Saga of King Olaf, he
was caught up into an “indescribable intensity of heart-breaking
longing” and a desire for something that he could only call “joy.”
He sought to recapture that sensation in northern myths, beautiful
music, and the splendors of nature — but joy had proved elusive.
An atheist at the time of their meeting, Lewis
accepted Tolkien’s invitation with gusto, never dreaming where their
association would eventually lead.
As these two men grew to know one another, Tolkien
asked Lewis if he would listen to and critique a major myth he was
writing, Silmarillion. They began meeting weekly, and were
soon joined by Lewis’ brother, “Warnie,” and kindred spirits such
as Hugo Dyson, Robert Havard, Charles Williams, and Owen Barfield.
Gathering at Lewis’ rooms at Magdalen College or at the “Eagle and
Child” pub, they dubbed themselves “The Inklings.” They brought
their manuscripts to read to each other, encouraging each other
onward, and read together the works of literary lights such as
Dorothy Sayers and George MacDonald. Readings would end in great,
spirited conversation and uproarious laughter.
Much later on, Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia
and Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings were first heard at
gatherings of “The Inklings.” In fact, Tolkien quite frankly stated
that were it not for Lewis’ encouragement, he would never have
completed writing the Rings trilogy.
As “The Inklings” forged deep bonds of friendship,
Lewis began to realize that these were “good” men but, alas,
Christians. This was perplexing to Lewis. How could these brilliant
scholars believe in a myth? Appreciate myth? Yes. Revel in myth?
Yes. Compose myth? Yes. But to believe in a real but
supernatural God, Who came to earth to forgive sins and reconcile
man to Himself? Incomprehensible. He preferred the worldviews of
George Bernard Shaw, Bertrand Russell, and their ilk.
It was Tolkien, however, a lifelong Roman Catholic,
who finally put the pieces together for Lewis. On September 19,
1931, after dinner together, Lewis, Tolkien, and Dyson walked and
talked in the college gardens until four o’clock in the morning. As
Lewis wrote to his boyhood friend, Arthur Greeves,
“Now what Dyson
and Tolkien showed me was this: that if I met the idea of sacrifice
in a Pagan story I didn’t mind it all … I like (liked) it very much
and was mysteriously moved by it… Now the story of Christ is simply
a true myth, a myth working on us in the same way as the others but
with this tremendous difference that it really happened,
remembering that it is God’s myth, whereas, the others are men’s
myths.”
That night Lewis, “gave in, admitted that God was
God, and knelt and prayed.” His belief and love of Christ was to
follow and possess him with lasting and no longer elusive Joy.
Later, Lewis tells us in the preface to his
perennial bestseller, Mere Christianity, “Ever since I became
a Christian I have thought that the best, perhaps the only, service
I could do for my unbelieving neighbors was to explain and defend
the belief that has been common to nearly all Christians at all
times.” This book and those which followed were an outpouring of his
brilliant mind, blending imagination and logic, and continue to
capture readers today. As a result, Lewis is considered the greatest
and most often-quoted Christian writer of the 20th
century. Lewis and Tolkien would be surprised by joy to know that
multiple millions of their books have been read, products of a
God-forged friendship.
Did Lewis marry? Not until he was an old bachelor of
58. Curiously, her name was Joy. But that’s another story.
For reflection
and discussion:
Lewis and Tolkien
stood strong against the “culture of death” in their own times. They
fought for the race of men and women and did not let the devil steal
their joy, despite the horrors each experienced in the trenches of
World War I and in the ivory towers of modernity and
postmodernism. They bore much of God’s image in their humanity:
love and scholarship, conscience and courage, art and imagination.
....Has your
life been touched by the writings of these two friends, whether in
books, films, mythology, or conversations about faith? How so?
....What
specifically touches you in some way, as you think of Narnia
or the Rings?
....What have
you always wanted to create? Thank God for small beginnings, and a
few creative friends.
John Norman
"My Savior"
As I wake up to a brand new
day,
it seems like things keep coming my way.
Trouble after trouble is all I can see,
Lord, what is it you want
from me?
The answer that comes from way up high,
is nothing
but a simple reply,
"You need to know me as your Savior and guide,
I'll always be there
at your side.
I want you to serve me through good times and bad,
to call my on my
name when happy or sad.
I want nothing to take place in your heart,
whatever you do, I want
to take part.
I promise to let nothing cause you to doubt,
believe in me and all
things will work out."
Copyright @2009
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