Walking Along a Pond with Jesus

The following poem was written in the late 1980's when I was going through a difficult time in my life. Sometimes I took long walks with Jesus along The Loop at Skylands Manor State Park in Ringwood, NJ. His loving presence was sweet and comforting as well as healing. I'd love to hear from you about how His presence comforted you in troubled times. Comments are always welcome.

Photo Credit: rossignolexcavating.com

THE LOOP

I walk The Loop at Skylands, with Jesus Christ, my Friend,

telling how it is with me and what remains to mend,

confess to Him my failures and share sweet victories too,

knowing my Lord, so well aware, knows me through and through.

I tell what I rejoice in, of those I hope He’ll heal,

those who need salvation and about the ones who feel

life’s not what they expected, or that it is not fair...

I give the burdens to my Friend; leave them in His care.

At peace with my Companion, we stroll around a bend;

I tell Him I love Him with a love that will not end;

He tells me that He loves me, I’m precious in His sight...

I know my Jesus means it, which is my heart’s delight.

Sunrays filter through the oaks and warm me as we walk

past the shady Turtle Pond, where we resume our talk.

I praise Him for creation, the flowers and the trees,

fauna scampering here and there, the butterflies, the bees...

I thank Him for the sunshine, the pond and for the frogs,

turtles sunning on the rocks and chipmunks in the logs.

Then, finally I get quiet and only hear my steps

and nature sounds around me; I reach into the depths

of my very inner being and listen to His voice

speak gently to my spirit; I feel my soul rejoice!

His still small voice continues along the wooded path;

encouragement He offers, sweet mercies, never wrath.

When our stroll’s completed, my spirit feels refreshed

from wondrous time together, our union tightly meshed.

What a blessing my Holy God, cares enough to spend

precious time walking Skylands Loop, talking with His friend!

Maude Carolan

Pentecost~Shevout~Rebirth

We celebrated Shevout and Pentecost at today's service at Beth Israel/The Jerusalem Center, in Wayne, NJ. This holiday is very special to me because I was Born Again and filled with the Spirit at Pentecost, 1979, and my life was changed in the most amazing and wonderful way ever since. Here's a poem about it...

Photo Credit: Diomass..org

THE UPPER ROOM

In remembrance of Pentecost 1979—

The Upper Room Charismatic Prayer Group 

at the Parish Center,

St. Catherine of Bologna RC Church, Ringwood, NJ—

Father Matthew Gaskin, pastor

Here I am, Lord

at the podium in The Upper Room

reading my poems again

The Upper Room—

room of my second birth

where thirty-five years ago

after questioning Your existence

and the meaning of life

the truth of the Gospel became real to me—

Yes, it was here, in this very place

that Father Matthew delivered the prayer

for those of us who desired to be Born Again

and filled with the Holy Spirit—

a birth both spiritual and virginal

from the Seed of God alone

a prayer that changed our lives

completely and forevermore

There was no primal cry at our rebirth

but exultant cries of “Hallelujah!”

and Pentecostal utterances

No amniotic fluid

but streams of Living Water

and Second Chapter of Acts tongues of fire

that we couldn’t see with our eyes

but knew in the realm of the Spirit

were blazing above our heads

In a wonderful and mysterious way

that night and this room was reflective

of another Pentecost; another upper room

another descent of the Spirit—

somewhere in Jerusalem, 2000 years ago

We became new creations that night

like those believers of old—

burning with Light

that has not grown dim

Maude Carolan Pych

It's Iris Season!

Springtime in New Jersey is absolutely lovely. As I drive around, I admire the colorful azaleas, lilacs and irises blooming in gardens along the way. The following poem was written several years ago following a delightful visit to the Presby Memorial Iris Garden in Montclair. It was published in "The Pillar Monthly" magazine. I'm including a few photographs taken during one of my visits to the garden.

THE IRIS GARDEN

I delightedly strolled

along an iris rainbow

one effulgent Sunday in May

while would-be VanGoghs

painted under sunbrellas.

God could’ve made irises gray,

but He’s as lavish with color

as He is with love.

Maude Carolan

A Tribute to My Beautiful Mother

The following poem is in loving memory of my beautiful mother, Frances Longo Walsh, who passed away in 1966 at the age of 51. The poem was published several years ago in the "Paterson Literary Review."

Frances Longo Walsh

MOTHER

In loving memory of Frances Longo Walsh (1915-1966)

I recall the way

my mother’s whole body jiggled when she laughed,

her sweet, shy smile,

that she understood Italian, but never spoke it,

the utter simplicity of her desires...

never asking for or receiving much

and not once complaining.

She had all she wanted, a home and family.

I remember the helpmeet working side by side

with our father, clearing the land

and building our stucco home.

My mind’s eye sees her plucking

chicken feathers in the backyard,

walking uphill home from the bus stop,

huffing, puffing;

scratching her itching back

against the bedroom door frame;

camping, just to please us children,

though it was more work than fun for her.

Recall, as if it were yesterday,

the flowery apron over her housedress

with its chain of safety pins

and her elastic band bracelets,

and Mother, standing at the stove, stirring

the bubbling red sauce in the big enamel pot.

Little Mommy, four-foot-ten and overweight—

She served herself the skimpiest portions,

never ate dessert, but occasionally gave in

to one indulgence: a crusty Italian bastone

from Minardi’s, sliced and spread with creamy butter.

Hindsight reveals her quick on her feet

in the yard goods department at Quackenbush’s,

where customers remembered her

for smiles as quick as her feet.

When she arrived home, she changed her clothes

and aired out one of her two work dresses

on the clothesline off the back porch.

In retrospect, I see her

rolling her dark hair back into two neat curls

above her forehead,

applying red lipstick to her upper lip,

bringing both lips together to transfer color

to the lower, then, blotting.

Never attended high school, but

she could add columns of numbers

rapidly, in her head.

She’d read the newspaper nightly,

and complete the crossword puzzle.

My memory flashes to her relaxing evenings

in our parlor, in the old tufted chair,

watching Alfred Hitchcock or Lucy or

Barbara Stanwick in, “The Big Valley”.

She never missed the easy crooning of Perry Como.

He was her favorite. (He’d been a barber, like her father.)

I remember it pleased our father

that she always waited up for him

till he arrived home after working

the night shift at Wright’s.

Yes, I still see clearly, her dear kerchiefed head,

which Gramma remarked, made her look

like a peasant in a babushka.

Remember trying to convince her to hike her hemlines,

wear “Kiss Me Pink” lipstick, update her hair style,

learn to drive.

Flashback to hear her inviting my date

to come in for a cup of tea at our kitchen table

when he brought me home.

Vividly, I recollect the day

she was curled up tight on the couch.

She didn’t want me to call the ambulance,

though her hernia was strangling,

didn’t want to spoil plans we had with our friends.

I disobeyed. The doctors operated just in time,

before gangrene set in.

My mind’s eye still sees tears in her eyes

when she came to my wedding

without my father.

And I remember her joy

to learn both daughters were pregnant, however,

she died before her grandchildren were born.

Maude Carolan

Happy Mother's Day to all mothers, everywhere! God bless you all!!!

My Love Poem to Yeshua

YESHUA^[1]

Yeshua

Yes You are

The Blessed Offspring

Of I Am

Yeshua

Yes You are

The Paschal

Lamb

Yeshua

Our Atonement

Flowed down

Crossed

Wooden beams

Ebbing Life

Became

Our Great Salvation

Yes it did

Suffering Servant

Lion of Judah

Sar ha Shalom^[2]

Yeshua

Yes You are

Ha Mashiach^[3]

Yes!

You Are.

By Maude Carolan

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[1] Hebrew for Jesus

[2] Hebrew for Prince of Peace

[3] Hebrew for The Messiah