What Brings You Joy?

What Brings You Joy? - A Poem

At a recent meeting, the speaker asked each of us to each answer the provocative and unexpected question: "What brings you joy?" Knowing the group was a fairly liberal mix, I found myself tongue-tied, afraid my heart-felt reply about God and faith might be perceived as just another "right-wing conservative Christian tea-bagger extremist." That IS the kind of response Christians often elicit on discussion boards and in the media these days, no matter how innocuous our statements. Here is what was going on in my head.

Read my poem at: What Brings You Joy? - Associated Content from Yahoo! 

More Christian poetry:

 

The Purpose of the Valley

The purpose of the valley
Cannot be glimpsed below,
But only on the mountain's height
God's plan we'll fully know.

Though rocky be the pathway,
Agility is born,
And perseverance paves the way
To climb the Matterhorn.

Endurance is the product
Of walking through the mire,
It's preparation for the climb
Our souls need to acquire.

The valley is not punishment,
It's just a training ground,
It's simply basic training,
A path to higher ground.

For once we reach the mountain height
The view will be so clear,
The difficulties that we faced
Will tend to disappear.

We'll gain a new perspective,
What once caused us deep pain
Was used as tiny stepping stones
To everything we gain.

Heavenly Intercession

I am your Intercessor,
I have My Father's ear,
And constantly I plead for you,
In love I persevere.

I see the paths you travel,
The roadblocks in your way,
My purposes will be fulfilled,
For your success I pray.

My prayers are ALWAYS answered,
For you I intercede,
So, child, keep your eyes on Me
And follow where I lead.

You put such stock in others' prayers
But fail to understand,
That I'm the author of your faith,
I sit at God's right hand.

I fashioned you in pure delight,
Created you unique,
Who better, then, can plead for you,
Your good I always seek.

So, child, don't be fearful,
Just fix your eyes on Me,
Abundant life I have for you,
This is My guarantee.

It's I who have the power,
So trust Me and obey,
For I know how to care for you,
And for you always pray.

There is No God

I shared this in February, but Lynn's poem has inspired me to share it again!

There is No God

"There is no God," he claimed, and all creation disagreed.
Thunder shouted His name, wind whispered of His every deed.
But he could only hear the void between ears left and right.
He couldn't read what the stars wrote; he saw only the night.

"Perhaps God has removed Himself," he said as God stood near.
The stones cried out to greet Him, but the man refused to hear.
The hills sang while the trees danced, worshipping in green array.
God opened wide His arms; the man closed his eyes, turned away.

"Perhaps God died eons ago," he smirked as angels sighed.
"Perhaps the whole myth ended on the day that Jesus died."
The birds ignored him as they raised their songs of praises high;
The flowers waved, the grasses bowed, the Living God passed by.

Psalm 14:1-3 The fool says in his heart, "There is no God."

Saint Patrick the Shepherd

A Poem for St. Patrick's Day

St. Patrick as a young man
Was captured and carried away.
He became a slave in Ireland,
Where he's loved until this day.

Patrick tended his sheep flock,
Where he heard the voice of God,
And he became a shepherd,
To those born on Irish sod.

He used the Irish shamrock
To teach the Trinity.
He showed the Celtic Church
The path to Eternity.

So wear your green with honor
And remember this great man --
A saint who learned as a captive
To seek God and follow his plan.

st. patrick, saint patrick

THE HORNETS of HELL

The hornets of hell swarm from their nest
Overwhelming all the victims they can.
To sting as many souls as possible
In their destruction of the glory of man.

They murder, rob, rape and plunder
While provoking the meek to submit.
They lie, deceive and mislead
And depend on the world to forget.

Eager to enhance their numbers
They are the cheerleaders of disgrace.
Their agendas of sin must be stopped
For the betterment of each race.

Endless is God’s test of time
To measure man’s spiritual worth
Unwholesome deeds tempt us all
Festering in the repugnance of earth.

The hornets of hell are on the hunt
In all directions by day or night.
The Armor of God shields man’s soul
And gives us our resolve to fight.

The champions of heaven in rapture await
To see who will stumble and fall.
They watch us struggle, in our world of woe
As they pray we will heed, God’s call.

Fools declare we must hide from view
And leave the hornets of hell alone
But when we ignore the liabilities of life
The failings of man become, our own.

Unemployed!

In college, I began to work
To earn paychecks where dollars lurk.
So, gainfully employed I was -
Sometimes with three jobs, just because!
Economies, both good and bad,
It mattered not -- a job I had.

However, now things aren't so great;
In circumstances that I hate,
I learn my life-long skills aren't prized --
In fact, I find I've been downsized!
Now middle-aged, I am annoyed
To face my future, unemployed.

I know my future's in God's hands,
But this is not what I had planned.
So, should this poem your thoughts inspire,
Please contact me! I am for hire!

More information about this poem at Unemployed - a Poem & Explanation

There is No God

"There is no God," he claimed, and all creation disagreed.
Thunder shouted His name, wind whispered of His every deed.
But he could only hear the void between ears left and right.
He couldn't read what the stars wrote; he saw only the night.

"Perhaps God has removed Himself," he said as God stood near.
The stones cried out to greet Him, but the man refused to hear.
The hills sang while the trees danced, worshipping in green array.
God opened wide His arms; the man closed his eyes, turned away.

"Perhaps God died eons ago," he smirked as angels sighed.
"Perhaps the whole myth ended on the day that Jesus died."
The birds ignored him as they raised their songs of praises high;
The flowers waved, the grasses bowed, the Living God passed by.

Psalm 14:1-3 The fool says in his heart, "There is no God."

Winter Is Just Ahead

The days are glorious this time of year
As yellows, oranges, and reds appear.
I love the brilliant colors all around,
But soon the leaves will fall upon the ground.

This time of year is beautiful, yet sad,
As I recall the many joys I've had.
The beauty of Spring and Summer is past,
Seems that Winter is just ahead at last.

When I think about the seasons of my life,
Knowing Winter’s ahead cuts like a knife.
That knowledge causes me to softly moan,
“How can the seasons have so quickly gone?”

Yes, I know it must be late Fall for me,
And no more Spring and Summer will I see.
All the child rearing is over and done,
As is my childhood, which was filled with fun.

But I choose to savor these fleeting days of Fall;
They have the potential to be the best of all.
Although the "Winter" of my life is just ahead,
Even in that season by God’s hand I'll be led.

Johnnie Ann Gaskill
November 7, 1999

Thanksgiving Acrostic

'T is the season -
H olidays are upon us
A s we gather together
N ow with our loved ones
K eeping family traditions
S avoring, turkey, dressing, ham...
G ive thanks to the One
I n whose name we gather
V ine from which all blessings grow
I t is good to be thankful
N ever forgetting
G od is great, God is good...

Previously published at
"Thanksgiving Acrostic"

Thanksgiving Acrostic

I have a Thanksgiving poem written in the acrostic form published at:

"Thanksgiving Acrostic"

I hope you will take a moment to read it and let me know what you think! I will print it here on Christian Poets Pen closer to Thanksgiving.

Since it is November, I would love to see more fall poems and Thanksgiving poems published here. Get busy writing!

Just Use Me

Father, I thank You for the gift You’ve given me
And for some of the results You’ve let me see.
I know that You use me Your blessings to bestow,
Though You have worked through me in ways I cannot know.
So, I’ll work on, always doing the best I can,
Guided moment by moment by Your divine hand,
And I’ll pray that a blessing I’ll always be,
In whatever way You choose to use me.

© July 29, 2002 by Johnnie Ann Burgess Gaskill. For permission to use, please contact her.