"At Grandma's Knee"

I was named after my paternal grandmother, Maude Ann Walsh. Grandmother lived right next door to us in what was then West Paterson, now Woodland Park, NJ. She often told me stories about Jesus and in the early 1950's, when I was very young, she made a scrapbook for me out of cardboard. Grandma decorated it with pictures of flowers snipped from a Burpee Seed catalog and pictures of cats, dogs, farm animals and dancing children that she found in various magazines of the day. Most importantly, inside the scrapbook was "The Life of Our Lord" written by Charles Dickens for his children. The story was printed with inconsistencies in spelling and punctuation that appeared in the original manuscript, which Dickens had not intended to publish. It appeared, as a series, in a local newspaper, probably the Paterson "Morning Call". I say that because I recall that was the newspaper that was delivered daily to her home.

The poem that follows appears in honor of my grandmother.

Maude Ann Walsh
paternal grandmother of Maude Carolan Pych

AT GRANDMA’S KNEE

In memory of my grandmother, Maude Ann Walsh

For all my grandchildren

When I was a child, sitting at my grandma’s knee

she told me about Jesus, Who gave His life for me.

She made for me a scrapbook all about the Lord,

to show me countless reasons why He should be adored.

I still have that scrapbook. I keep it with my treasures.

Looking through it time to time is among my pleasures.

She told of His birth at Christmas; Easter, it was the Cross;

told of the sins He saved us from, when His life was lost.

She made it clear she loved Him; I learned to love Him, too,

and I grew up to follow Him, all my whole life through.

Now I have grandchildren, who sit upon my knee;

I get to tell them of the things that mean the most to me.

I read them poems and sing to them…Oh! we laugh and play;

I hug and kiss and pray with them in my special way.

Of course I tell of Jesus and why I love Him so,

and oh I hope they’ll love Him, too, as they grow and grow.

Maude Carolan Pych

"This Old Bible"

Photo Credit: etsy.com

THIS OLD BIBLE

It’s not one of those expensive

gold edged, leather bound volumes.

Its margins are filled

with scrawled notations

gleaned from personal revelations

and years of teaching

under Jonathan and Wayne.

There are yellow highlights,

asterisks, exclamation points, arrows,

underlines, sometimes double underlines,

sometimes double underlines in red ink.

There are little line drawings, dates,

Hebrew, Greek and Aramaic

transliterations, translations,

prayers copied on blank pages in front,

prayer cards tucked in its pages,

bookmarks, tracts,

a few notes and letters.

Its pages have lost their brightness

from handling and caressing,

they’ve absorbed tears,

illuminated joys.

There are jagged pen slips

from dozing,

many index labels have fallen off.

Its spine has been repaired

again and again.

It doesn’t look like anybody’s treasure.

When I pass on,

there might be a little money,

property, some poems.

There might be a few pieces

of inexpensive jewelry.

You’ll rummage through

the way we did when Grandpa died,

when lots of things were thrown in dumpsters,

lots of things were divided up and given away.

You may be tempted to toss this book,

but, no, no, I know you’ll know

this old battered Bible

is the most valuable possession

I’ll leave behind.

Maude Carolan              

In Memory of Phillip McCoppin

Our very dear friend, Phillip Ace McCoppin, went to be with the Lord on Wednesday, April 8th. Bob & I spent many wonderful times in the company of Phil and his beloved wife, Susan. We will miss him greatly and wish to extend our deepest condolences to his family, especially Susan and their children Aaron & Ashley. Our mind's eye can see our friend safe in the loving arms of Jesus, enjoying the very beginning of eternal life in Glory.

The following poem is one in a series written following the passing of my previous husband, Leo F. Carolan. It appears in my chapbook, "The Widow's Song".

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

THROUGH A GLASS CLEARLY

Leo, so often

I wonder about you

in the wonderment of Heaven

your dwelling place

where you no longer see

through a glass darkly, as I do

I, who remain upon the earth

Everything is clear to you now

No mysteries, no questions

…only astonishing

revelations…

Revelations   b  e  y  o  n  d

my imagination

Trusting you to God

is accepting

unanswered questions

I accept, O God

still…I wonder

and ponder

squint and peer

through a shadowy pane, curious

about Your secret splendors

I yearn to spray blue Windex

yearn to scrub away the film

yearn to gaze

through a glass clearly

into the sparkly Heavens

to see you, Leo, glorious

and free

but, I'll wait, O God

I'll trust You

I'll accept

unanswered questions

till I, too

dwell glorious

in Heaven

Maude Carolan

Sometimes I Wish...

Photo Credit: gracestories.wordpress.com

SOMETIMES I WISH…

How can I tell

how can I show

how grateful I am

that You are my Savior?

Sometimes I wish

it were possible to

leave the roast in the oven

the suds in the sink

and follow my heart’s cry

to the land of the Bible

to climb Calvary’s hill

in beautiful Zion

Oh! I’d fall to my knees

at the foot of The Cross

and wrap my arms tightly

‘round its stained wooden base

and press my trembling cheek

against the old splintered grain

and thank You for Love

so wide and so deep

beyond what I can fathom

then I’d kiss it and weep

kiss it and weep

and whisper, I love You

from the depths of my being

for I’m eternally grateful

My Savior, My Lord

Maude Carolan Pych

Mary Magdalene at the Empty Tomb

Photo Credit: bloorlansdownechristianfellowship.wordpress.com

IT’S NO WONDER

It’s no wonder

Mary of Magdala

traveled with Rabboni

and the twelve

and helped

support His mission

She was a woman on fire

with love and gratitude

a woman freed

of seven snarling demons

It’s no wonder

despite trepidation

she watched at a distance

as they nailed her Great One

to a wretched cross

cupping her ears, wailing

at each resonating hammerfall

No wonder

she drew near

as He hung

in the agony of dying

for being there

was better

than not being there

Mary, bereft

looked upon her Rabboni

as they took Him

from the beams

laid His powerless Body

in the tomb

and rolled a great round stone

across the entrance

separating Him from her

before the sun went down

that Good and terrible Friday

and it’s no wonder

she was back at dawn

the morning after Sabbath

with other ministering women

carrying spices

heedless of whom

would roll the stone away

But the tomb was open

and the women trembled

as an angel astounded them

with talk of rising

Bewildered

Mary ran to the apostles

but it’s no wonder

she returned

to grieve near the tomb,

wanting to be

where last He was

A stranger, the gardener?

inquired of her weeping

"Sir," she implored

"if you have carried Him away

tell me where you have put Him

and I will get Him"

"Mary…"

"Rabboni!"

Astonished, she reflexively

reached for Him…

"Do not cling to Me"

He told her

"for I have not yet ascended

to My Father"

Oh, it’s no wonder

it was she He entrusted

to bring the news

to the brethren

No wonder

she ran, stumbling over rocks

and potsherd

dashing through brush

and brambles

raising tufts of dust

eager to exclaim

breathless with jubilation

"I have seen

the Lord!"

Maude Carolan

The Pieta

Photo Credit: jasonjenicke.com

THE PIETA

After the earthquake

the peals of thunder

the flashes of lightening across the sky

After the curious crowds dispersed

Mary sat in ominous dimness

upon a mound of earth

at the base of The Cross

holding the body

of her Son

She cradled Him

in the hollow of her lap

close to her bosom

as she had

when he was

her baby boy

Mary removed

thorns of mockery

that encircled His forehead

and tossed it to the side

Straining to see in the shadows

she carefully picked

fragments of thorn needles

still stuck in His lifeless flesh

although they couldn’t hurt Him

any longer

With her fingertips

she tenderly closed the lids

over His dark, vacant eyes

and smoothed

the disheveled, matted hair

…then she kissed Him

O my beautiful Son…

Tears flowed

down her face onto His cheeks

mingling with dried blood

With the edge of her garment

she wiped some blood away

John came

and rested his hand

upon her trembling shoulder

He was now her son

She was now his mother

Mysteries

too deep to comprehend

swirled in her mind

like the flap and flutter

of wings and overshadowing

Son of the Most High

and David’s throne

like pregnant Elizabeth’s joy

when the baby leapt in her womb

and the Baptizer himself, when grown

proclaiming his younger cousin

“The Lamb of God, Who

takes away the sin of the world”

and Simeon’s prophesy

that Jesus would be

a Light of revelation

to the Gentiles and the glory

of the people of Israel

Where is the Light?

Where is the glory?

Where is the throne?

Overwhelmed by sorrow

so intense it stabbed her

deep, deep in her inner parts

Mary cried out in anguish

and rent her robe

Was this what old Simeon meant

long ago in the Temple

when he held Jesus in his arms

and said a sword would pierce

my very soul?

O my Son, my beautiful Son…

I cannot fathom the ways of God, but

I do know this cannot be the end

Maude Carolan Pych

The Passover Lamb

THE PASSOVER LAMB

Abba went into the sheepfold to choose a spotless lamb,

as Moses gave instructions that he got from the I Am.

Our lamb, indeed, was spotless, so I named him Wooly Bright;

we brought him inside to live with us, morning, noon and night.

I ran my fingers through his coat and fed him from my hand,

I put fresh water in his trough; he’s the best lamb in the land!

Today he’ll be our sacrifice. Moses said this must be done.

He must die that I may live, for I’m a firstborn son.

We’ve been oppressed by slavery; Pharaoh will not let us go,

but God’s mighty arm will save us. We’ll watch His power flow.

Moses told us, take lamb’s blood, and brush it on the lintel

then we will be protected; it almost sounds too simple.

Tonight we will leave Egypt and journey far from home,

but I’ll remember Wooly Bright wherever I may roam.

Someday the world will see in this, God’s salvation plan;

God’s Son will be the sacrifice, the great Passover Lamb!

For as God will use blood of lambs to set my people free,

the precious Blood of Jesus will save sinners…you and me.

Maude Carolan Pych