My Maker And I


The trees lent their shade, offering protection from the heat of the sun. At the edge of the water I stood seeing my surroundings. So many had stood here before me. Did they ever see its true beauty I wondered; the harmony of life supported by this water stream? Dragonflies zoomed about, occasionally dipping low to touch the water’s surface. Butterflies were all about, some seemed to dance with one another in a love story all their own. Looking into the water’s reflection I pondered the love story being written about myself and the Maker of all creation.


Into the arena once more
My challenger seems bigger than me
I have been here before
The liar who is my enemy

Stands before me shouting lies
Pointing in my direction
He’s suggesting I compromise
I look at my reflection

My face it shines
My heart it sings
I raise my arms up in victory

Theater Of Dreams

The night comes too quickly. My body feels the need to rest. My mind wants to soar. I lay still to answer both needs. Shortly I am back in the theater of dreams. With each new movie I pay attention to the message. Some are for storage, others are to be discarded. I reawaken with understanding. A new knowledge received, but still I wait. Now is not time. Soon though, very soon.


Putah Creek

Standing in the moonlit night I looked at the water, thinking back to another place and time. It was many months and many miles from the bridge where I stood. A tiny stream the size of a water hose had been draining into a bigger stream. I wondered how many tiny streams had to come together to make this larger body of water, all flowing in the same direction.

In the quiet I could hear fish splashing below me. Life harmonized in all its gentle voices. It was good to be here. The summer air was refreshing and I couldn’t hear any traffic noises. I thought about what a contrast life could be. Sometimes you stand on city sidewalks flooded with crowds, sometimes you stand on country bridges alone. In every setting there is something to be enjoyed if you look for it.


Amnesty…a general pardon for offenses, an act of forgiveness for past offenses, a forgetting or overlooking of any past offense.

The greatest message ever given has been released upon all the earth. Anything we’ve ever done to deserve death has been pardoned. His name…Jesus!

The Hunters

The hunters were twisted in their hearts and minds. In their hands were home made weapons, like potato guns. The hunters had made for themselves elevated positions over the field. Down below were hundreds upon hundreds of people; men, women and children whose faces wore expressions of confusion, pain and anger.

There was a sign of exit across the field blinking “freedom” which the people didn’t seem to see. Instead they kept going around in circles as the hunters barked orders and mocked them. The hunters began shooting their weapons. A web like netting would come out of the ends of these barrels. As it struck a person, they would fall to the ground and be pinned down inside the netting.

The hunters shouted aloud to boast of the numbers being gathered. From their elevations they raised their hands in victory; ignoring the cries of those who lay under the webbed netting, asking to be set free.


Pro 25:26  A righteous man who falters before the wicked Is like a murky spring and a polluted well.

Will we stand by what we know is truth or be swayed with the winds of our culture? The narrow road we walk has little to do with the way of the world. It’s the way we walk with others who also claim to know truth but are compromised. Compromise is an agreement reached by adjustment of conflicting or opposing claims. Truth mustn’t be compromised, not even to fill the pews on a Sunday morning.

White Butterfly

The white butterfly would come and go. As the breeze blew, the butterfly steered along on its stream. There was no set pattern for flight. Freedom of motion made the butterfly look to the world too random. The butterfly knew what the world could not and flew rightly.

Joh 3:8  The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear the sound of it, but cannot tell where it comes from and where it goes. So is everyone who is born of the Spirit.

The White Stone

The rock was white and smooth, feeling good in her hand. She’d had it for about a week. Several times she’d put it in a small bowl on her desk. It was where she kept the special things that mattered; tokens of a new life. Before leaving the house, she found herself slipping it into her pocket. Later in conversations, she’d secret it into her palm, pondering at its meaning.

Rev 2:17 “He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes I will give some of the hidden manna to eat. And I will give him a white stone, and on the stone a new name written which no one knows except him who receives it.”