Devotional Message

My devotional message, "Beautiful Words" has been posted to the North Jersey Christian Writers Group (NJCWG) blog. It was presented at the opening of the October, 2015, meeting. To read it, click on: http://njcwg.blogspot.com.

Feeding His Sheep

Photo Credit: Omayra Lopez Caruso

SHEEP’S DEN

Omayra texted me a photo she took

of Antonio, now eight—

He was on his knees, feeding a lamb

out of his hand

My home is full of sheep—

It could even be called a sheep’s den

Sometimes my grandchildren

roam from room to room

trying to count them

but they never come close

to counting them all

Sometimes the little ones draw pictures

for me of sheep grazing or of lions and lambs

which I gladly display on the refrigerator door

There’s an assortment

of whimsical woolies on the windowsill

above the kitchen sink

and various sheep are featured

on coffee mugs in the cupboard

A comical lamb sits on top of the water cooler

Plush sleepy sheep lie on all the beds

novelties dangle from doorknobs

lamps and windows

There are finely carved olive wood sheep

on the china cabinet in the living room

not to mention cozy lamb sweaters

and socks in bureau drawers

lamb pins and pendants

stashed in my jewelry box

Lambs, lambs everywhere

lambs to make us smile

lambs to remind us

we’re here to feed

the hungry sheep

Feeding His sheep—

is what I do

by sharing a verse, a poem

a little money, a meal

all for the love of my Shepherd

Feeding His sheep—

just as my grandson, Antonio

is lovingly learning to do

Maude Carolan Pych

Pilgrims at the Sea of Galilee

Photo Credit: dailymail.co.uk

ON THE SHORE OF THE GALILEE

Israel Pilgrimage—2006

A translucent rose glow

stretches across

the heavens

like a wash

of watercolor

as the sun sets

We are standing

on the rocky shore

silhouetted against

the placid Sea

of Galilee

A dog barks

in the distance

We hear a few

chattering crows

and the lilting chirps

of a songbird

otherwise—

          silence

We are pilgrims, listening

to the meditations

of our hearts

Maude Carolan Pych

Worship with Tambourines and Dance!

The worship dance written about in this poem took place several years ago at Beth Israel Worship Center, when it was located in Garfield, NJ. The late Frank Schiavo was a member of the congregation who was afflicted with cerebral palsy and was confined to a wheelchair. Frankie spent hours each day in intercessory prayer.

Photo Credit: estore.worshipwarriors.net

FRANKIE’S DANCE

In memory of Frank Schiavo, Jr.

In a circle

in the corner

of the sanctuary

the dancers

lifted arms and faces,

bowed reverently, rose,

offering gifts 
of praise to God.

Tintinnabulating timbrels

and tambourines,

their satin ribbons streaming,

swirled with shirts and skirts,

a kaleidoscopic rainbow.

Ineffable ecstasy

shone in countenances,

sparkled in dark, dancing eyes.

Parked at a row end

in the congregation,

Frankie sat

strapped securely

in his wheelchair,

worshipping,

his spirit whirling

in the dance.

Joy softened his face

into enthralled expressions

as praise

flowed fluently

from upturned lips.

Suddenly,

perceiving the desire

written in his radiance,

a young man whisked

his wheelchair

into the dance.

Circling, circling,

spinning, spinning,

wheeling worshipfully,

spiritually spiraling

upward, Heavenward,

an Elijah in a chariot

driven by horses,

their manes ablaze,

Frankie danced

his holy dance

before the Ever-Living God.

Maude Carolan

The above poem was originally published in "Sensations" magazine. Frankie was so pleased that this poem was published. He had a framed copy of the poem hanging over his bed until the Lord called him home.

The Love of God...

Photo Credit: faithgateway.com

THE GOSPEL, BEFORE MY EYES

Israel Pilgrimage—1986

It happened so fast

so naturally

in Jerusalem's Cardo

while I was

in Israel

on pilgrimage

that I didn’t grasp

the profound significance

until afterward—

Double doors opened

A tall bearded man

wearing a yarmulke

entered at a leisurely pace

Moments later

the doors were pushed again

by a sobbing boy

no more than five or six

He ran in, wailing:

Abba…Abba!

Abba… Abba!

The father turned around

and swooped his child

into his arms

In an instant

the boy's tears

turned

to laughter

Maude Carolan