Welcome, Summer...

Here's a poem about my favorite spot at the Jersey Shore...

Photo credit: oceangrove-nj.com

OCEAN GROVE

Ocean Grove—

This tiny Christian community

comes to life in the summertime

Methodist. Camp Meeting.

Boxy tent houses

with colorful flower gardens

American flags and banners

surround The Great Auditorium

with its lighted Cross

facing the ocean

It’s just a mile square

Quiet. Subtle.

Not in-your-face-religion

although

church bell chimes

do break the quietude now and then

with a gentle reminder

and there’s a pavilion

on the boardwalk

where Gospel events take place

Folks can walk-in or walk by

and there’s a tabernacle

for morning worship

and solid Bible teaching

but it’s optional

Personally, the spiritual amenities

are what draw me

to this particular place

at the Jersey shore

What’s surprising

is that many vacationers come

not for the Bible Hour

not for the concerts

not to hear great preachers

from all over the world

not to worship in the great old edifice

with its magnificent pipe organ

not to sing hymns of antiquity

in fact, they come

not for the Gospel, at all

but for peace and quiet

for one square mile

of no hawking of tee shirts

and games of chance

roller coasters, carrousels

freak shows and body piercing

in fact, there’s nothing for sale

on the boardwalk

and no alcohol for sale

in the grove

No, they come

for a sandy beach

and ocean spray

quaint Victorians, B & Bs

curiosity shops on Main

and shady sidewalk dining

oh! and ice cream at Nagle’s or Day’s

and they know they can rely upon

good old fashioned

Ocean Grove wholesomeness

and Christian acceptance

even if they’re not necessarily

seeking the Christ of Christianity

…and to my way of thinking

miss out on the Best

this precious little gem

has to offer

Maude Carolan Pych

A Poem About My Dad...

My husband and I were at Beth Israel Worship Center, this morning. Our pastor, Jonathan Cahn's Father's Day message was about Dad's, of course, and about God, who invites us to call Him, Abba, which means Daddy. How blessed we are to be encouraged to have so intimate, so loving, so trusting a relationship with our Heavenly Father, that He wants His children to call Him, Daddy...Abba.

Happy Father's Day!

Image credit: pinterest.com

THINKING ABOUT MY DAD

In memory of Frank H. Walsh ~ 1912-1985

I went to see The King’s Speech

the other night

This started me thinking about my father

who became a stutterer

as a result of nervousness derived

from his childhood battle

with crippling poliomyelitis

With child eyes

I never saw him crippled

though he walked with a pronounced limp

one leg being shorter than the other

He wore a heavy soled shoe

reinforced with steel with a metal brace

attached that extended up to his knee

I didn’t think of him as a stutterer either

though he had great difficulty

saying what he wanted to say

stammering over, over and over

trying to get the words to spring

from his tangled tongue

To me, he was just Dad

…ordinary Dad

Looking back now, I think of him

as extraordinary and tenacious

a “can-do” kind of father

…even an overcomer

Handicaps never seemed

to handicapped him

never kept him from doing

anything he set his mind to—

He wasn’t a builder, but

he built the house we grew up in

and a bungalow next door for Grandma

did all the plumbing, electrical work

installed the drywall, spackled, painted

built porches, set the sidewalks

climbed a ladder to the roof

He built a patio with an outdoor fireplace

and a cement wading pool, too

He erected a coop for chickens

which he raised from fertilized eggs

He slaughtered them

mom cleaned and we ate them

for Sunday dinner

He also plowed the backyard

and planted a big vegetable garden

You name it, he did it

and usually did it well

He sang “Heart of My Heart” and

“You Can Have Her, I Don’t Want Her,

She’s Too Fat for Me”

without any stammer at all

danced to a rollicking “Beer Barrel” polka

with his heavy shoe thumping the floor

and I’m told he even pedaled

his bike once, all the way up Skyline Drive

Dad took us on vacations every summer

usually tent camping at Bear Mountain

or the Adirondacks or Truro at Cape Cod

setting up camp and cots mostly himself

He built outboard motor boats,

Water Lily and Water Lily II

and a blue egg-shaped camper trailer

which he hitched to the back of our car

He brewed root beer

bottled it and we drank it

even though it was flat and fizz-less

and he brewed beer beer

I can still remember the smell

of it fermenting in a huge crock

in our spare room

To say he was remarkable

seems an understatement—

I only hope some of the stuff he was made of

has worked its way into the bones and marrow

into the blood and sinews

into the gray that matters

into our Walsh family genes

Maude Carolan Pych

Love Enough to Pray...

"...The effective prayer of a righteous man

can accomplish much."

James 5:16B NASB

Photo credit: thefederalist.com

WILL I LOVE ENOUGH TO PRAY?

Someone told me you’ve been ailing,

that the medication’s failing

to bring the healing that you seek.

You are scared and you’ve been crying,

you’re afraid that you are dying

and the faith you have is so weak.

I can tell you I sympathize,

even attempt to be quite wise,

cajole you and go on my way,

but the question of the hour

is will I turn my heel and cower

or will I love enough to pray?

A young man has just been sharing

that his wife is overbearing

and he can’t take it anymore.

He said he met a gal somewhere

and they are having an affair,

tossing his vows right out the door!

I may advise him to be strong,

say infidelity is wrong,

bring in a counselor today;

but the question that I ponder

is will I just weep and wonder,

or will I love enough to pray?

A close friend has been criticized

by a neighbor she despises.

Getting even is what she yearns.

She says she hates her in heart,

of forgiveness she’ll have no part.

Oh, how her words of anger burn!

I can attempt to intervene,

may even be the go-between,

tell them there is a better way.

I might speak of sin and leaven,

bellow, "Seventy times seven!"

but will I love enough to pray?

When a situation’s stormy,

I can seek Thee or ignore Thee,

use worldly wisdom come what may...

Though advice may have some merit,

I must look up, not to blur it;

mindful, there is a higher way.

Some will look at me quite oddly,

still, I must try something Godly…

I'll do it…love enough to pray!

Maude Carolan

Photo credit: livingthelife.com

Jubilee of the Reunification of Israel

A Modern Day Miracle...

Photo credit: breakingisraelnews.com

THE REUNIFICATION OF ISRAEL…JUBILEE!

I can almost hear the shofar’s wail

cutting through cries and cheers

that miraculous morning, fifty years ago

as the paratroopers

breached the Lion’s Gate

and Colonel Motta Gur exclaimed—

The Temple Mount is in our hands!

The Temple Mount is in our hands!

It was then Rabbi Goren prayed the Shehecheyanu[1]

He lifted the ram’s horn to his quivering lips

and blew

The sound resonated at the Western Wall

a sound, profoundly unforgettable

like the mighty voice of God

At that moment

the Jewish nation

by God’s orchestration

found itself victorious

in the face of astonishing odds

and the divided city became reunified

It was June 7, 1967—

Day Three of the Six Day War

when greatly outnumbered, the Jews

defeated the combined forces

of Egypt, Syria, and Jordan

Israelis soon flocked to pray at the Wall

for the first time in more than 2000 years

Christian holy sites were opened to Christians

and Muslim sites to Muslims

Now is the Jubilee! Hallelujah!

There is jubilation

in the streets of Yerushalayim[2]

and paeans of praise

rising up, up, up, like incense

before the throne of God

Maude Carolan Pych

---

[1] The Shehecheyanu blessing is a common Jewish prayer of thanks, said to celebrate special occasions.

[2] Yerushalayim is Hebrew for Jerusalem.