His Pen in My Hand: January 2015

1.12.2015

Set Free

The tomb stood cold and silent,
Sealed by a heavy stone.
He, whom death held as captive,
Lay perished and alone.
The crowed of mourners gathered,
Each with his flowing tears;
Oh, how they'd sought the Master,
Beseeching with their prayers
That He would come deliver
Their brother from death's grip.
Yet, in their grief they watched him
From them slowly slip.
When all was said and done
And hope's last ray was gone,
The Savior was not finished--
His work had just begun.
A word he could have spoken
To roll the stone away,
Instead, He spoke to them
A word they could obey.
Then piercing through the darkness
And melting death's cold chain,
The Savior brought a dead man
To life in Him again.
He that was dead, now living
Came forth to walk in light.
Yet, though from death he'd been freed,
Still grave's clothes bound him tight.
The Savior didn't promise
Those clothes would soon wear off,
Nor did He blush and offer
To cover up that cloth.
Turning to His disciples,
The ones who followed Him,
The ones He'd taught and nurtured,
Who had been cleansed from sin--
To these He gave instruction
To 'loose, and let him go,'
To help remove the hinderance
That kept the new as old.
None but the Master could
From death's hard clutches save,
But their's it was to help one
Walk in the life Christ gave.

Another grave once guarded
Its victim fast and sure,
The cold stone placed upon it
Was sealed and quite secure.
But cruel death lost its sting,
The grave its victory,

As God Almighty, The I Am
Broke forth triumphantly!
He needed no one else
To roll away the stone,
Unbinding His Own grave's clothes,
he placed them all alone.
The very Lord and Savior
Who brought life to the dead,
He IS the resurrection,
Yet He it was Who bled.
The life He gives to others
Was that which He laid down,
Then in His glorious power
He rose with victory's crown!
He rolled away His Own stone
And other's He could part,
Yet it is us He's bidding
To touch a hardened heart,
To gently move the stone
That's covering the hole
Of sorrow, shame, and darkness,
Where death has taken hold.
Then he can pierce the gloom
With His eternal life
And bring a soul from darkness
Into his glorious light.
Yet, though from death they're free,
We, as the Lord's disciples,
Are called upon to loose
The garments that still stifle,
Helping to remove things
That hinder Christian growth,
Unwinding lies and teaching them
How to walk in Truth.
And all would be in vain
If he Who gave them life
Had not unrolled His Own stone,
Laid His grave's clothes aside.

The Rod of Love

I first would say it doth depend
Upon the foolish heart,
Whether correction he'll receive,
Or from the law depart.
If in humility he will
Accept chastising stroke,
Great freedom he will gain, and thus
Obedience provoke.
The rod that will but lose success
And harm instead of build

Is that which comes from angry hand;

To this, one will not yield.

Though grave and sober is the time

One takes a punishment,

If love and care cannot be felt,

He'll run and not repent.

It's not how hard, how many strokes,

Or if his tears you see,

But clear instruction, calm reproof,

And firm consistency.

As here I speak about the rod,

There's one thing I must say,

That anywhere the rod may be

The staff must also stay.

The staff of gentle guidance and

Retrieving from a fall,

The sweet assurance that I'm loved

And will be my life all.

If you're a child learning how

To walk obediently,

Embrace correction and reproof

And walk submissively.

And to the guardians of young souls,

I urge you to take care

That, above all, you teach them by

Your life of godly fear.

For vain will be the rod by which

You raise your little ones,

If in your life there are battles that

By God have not been won.

O rod and staff, they comfort me

And help me not to stray,

But more than all it is the life

That shows me Jesus' way!

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2014

Hospitali-Tea

A simple act of culture,
Kind hospitality,
It makes one's guest quite welcome--
This little cup of tea.
Whether your visit's brief,
Or for a time prolonged,

If chai you'd not been offered,
You've just as well been wronged.
Though not uncommon is
This spicy cup of warmth,
It sweetly signifies
A gracious, open hearth.
The cup of chai is small,
It gives you but a taste,
But when you're with a friend,
You never drink in haste.
Our Father has bestowed

Each one with 'cups of tea'--

A smile, touch of kindness,

A thoughtful word or deed.

The moments we have to share

May be but very brief,

Or they may linger long

And give the faint relief.

Don't hoard the cup of warmth

In anger, pride, or greed,

But give to all who come

Sweet 'hospitali-tea'.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2014

Follow the Fence

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled,
The rain torrential poured;
In stormy violence near the road
A dangerous whirlwind roared.
Two men were gazing at the sight
Not very far away,
When fascination turned to fright--
The storm had come their way!
Assessing their predicament
They tried to quickly flee,
But blinding was the storm's torrent --

The road they could not see.

'What CAN you see?!' One man cried out.

'The fence! The fence I spy!'

'Then follow that!' Came urgent shout,

'Or we are bound to die.'

The storm is raging all around,

Great dangers are ahead.

Sometimes we cannot see the ground

Or see the road we tread.

But God has placed a boundary

To keep us in His way,

When in the storm we're floundering

He urgently will say,

'Follow the fence! Follow the fence

I've placed beside your road.

This boundary will lead you hence

And safely you will go.

I've given you authorities --

A father, mother too,

A pastor and a family

To help to see you through.

Do not despise their counsel wise,

But honor what they say,

For though, sometimes, you'll know not why

'Twill help you not to stray.

The raging storm will sweep along --

The lost have no defense;

But you will be led safely home

By following the fence.'

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2014

Be Still and Know

Written around the time I had surgery early last year. I had been in the most excruciating pain I had ever felt and could not sit or walk:

If I could move about

As others do with ease,

Myself I would forget,

To meet my family's needs.

I'd rise up bright and early

To make the morning meal,

And sweet would be my joy

When pleasure others feel.

I'd tidy up our home,

Would cheerfully do the chores,

The dishes I would wash,

Or even wash the floors.

I'd pick up little toys

And things that lay around,

I'd put them in their place

To keep them safe and sound.

I'd sit and have a chat

Or take a little walk,

And songs would fill my heart,

Of His praise i would talk.

Great joy I'd find in serving,

Instead of being served,

But, Lord, I'm stuck confined;

Must something more be learned?

See all the things I could

Be doing now for You?

This list did not exhaust

All that there is to do.

Is not there more to life

Than feeling handicapped?

I'd rather give a drink

Instead of for one ask.

"Oh, My precious child,"

My Father said to me,

"It's not a waste of time;

This is My plan for thee.

For so long you've been busy

Running to and fro',

And now you're finally able

To just be still and know

That I, the Lord your God,

Will meet your every need,

I'll comfort and uphold you

Even when you are weak.

I long to just commune

With you, My precious child,

So share with Me your heart

And rest in Me a while."

Strength From the Light

There was a castle on a hill

In which a king abode,

And near his high domain there lay

A crystal lake below.

The winter's chill was in the air,

The ground was hard and cold --

Do listen quietly as now

I tell a tale of old.

One day the king took notice of

That crystal lake so still,

And made this proclamation for

All those who had the will:

"One thousand rupees I will give

To him who takes my dare

To stand within that icy lake

All night without a fear."

No one would volunteer for such

Despite the charm of prize,

Except for one who boldly thought

To give the dare a try.

As sunset faded from the sky,

The people warm at home,

That one brave man stepped in the lake

To pass the night alone.

All night he stood without a flinch

As night grew darker still,

And he was there until, at last,

The sun rose o'er the hill.

When morning came, the king went out

To see how he did fare,

And to his great surprise he saw

The man still standing there!

"How did you last?" The king inquired,

"Why did you not depart?"

"O king, there was but this one thing

That cheered my fainting heart;

When cold and darkness threatened me

I looked upon the hill

And saw the glowing lamplight in

Your polished windowsill.

I fixed my eyes upon that light,

Though with a shivering hand;

So long as it was in my sight

I had the strength to stand."

Oh, soul who's in the cold, dark night,

Withstanding deathly chill,

Fix your eyes steadfastly on

The Light upon the hill.

And when, at last, the morning breaks

Eternal, bright and fair,

Our King will give reward to those

Who faithfully stood there.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2014

Done?

My life as I have known it

Is taking a new turn;

One chapter is concluding,

A new one I will learn.

The fenced path I've been treading

Is falling fast behind,

The path I now am entering

Is not quite so outlined.

Thru former days I've listened

To what's been taught to me,

And now it's time to practice

What I've been blessed to see.

Though vague is the horizon,

The Son is shining bright,

And thru the clouds He'll lead me

If I keep Him in my sight.

My learning is not over --

I've only just begun;

The sky is but the limit

Of knowledge to be won.

As I have gained good knowledge

Thru education's desk,

The school of life is shifting

To a greater learning quest.

But, if my only goal

In all my greater learning

Is just to be esteemed,

What prize am I then earning?

Of this I am reminded,

While knowledge I desire,

That to whom much is given

Much more shall be required.

The Lord has placed before me

Some goals for which to strive:

The first, to bring Him glory;

And then to rebuild lives.

To bring my Savior glory,

I must His Word obey

With heart and soul and spirit,

In ALL I do and say.

And to the world around me

I must reflect the Lord,

And live a life that draws them

And points them to His Word.

Our Country's quickly falling

From what it once has been,

The values once held dearly

Are fain replaced by sin.

Great is the Foe's destruction

In homes across the land --

Disintegrating families

Uncertain of God's plan.

Lives are lost and dying

Untouched by Jesus' love,

They've tasted not His goodness

And graciousness thereof.

I'm called to be a lighthouse

In this dark night at sea,

A beacon warning others

Of dangers hard to see.

A shelter, strong and stable,

That's anchored to the Rock.

A warm haven of refuge,

From harsh storm winds a block.

A place the lost and weary

May come and find relief,

A light bewaring others of

The jagged rocky reef.

I'm not asked to fulfill

This calling all alone,

But with my family --

Christ shining in our home.

Time is quickly passing,

Still much have I to learn

For the wisdom from Above

My heart doth strongly yearn.

I'm cherishing the lessons

That have been taught to me,

While boldly pressing forward

to be what I should be.

No, I am not done learning;

I've only just begun,

And I'll continue learning

Until My race is run.

"Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do… reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."

~ Philippians 3:13, 14

A Stable Wall or A Fickle Door?

"I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, that ye stir not up nor awake my love, until he please. ...What shall we do for our sister in the day when she shall be spoken for? If she be a wall, we will build upon her a palace of silver: and if she be a door, we will enclose her with boards of cedar."

Song of Solomon 8:4,8(b)-9

I charge you, O daughters

Who dream in the breeze,

That ye stir not nor awake

My love till he please.

And what shall I say more?

But this I inquire--

Do ponder thy path well,

Keep guard thy desire.

Art thou like a wall

That's stable and sure?

Or is thy heart open

To aught like a door?

A wall is quite anchored

To the foundation,

In strength it upholds

The King's habitation.

It offers security,

Protection and shade,

And reveals the skill

With which it was made.

This wall wavers not

In winds that may blow,

To those lustful whims

It firmly says 'no'.

It guards those inside

From foreign intrusion,

And never gives harm

By foolish protrusion.

The weary may lean

Upon this stable wall

Without fear it gives way

Into which they might fall.

The wall is the beauty

Of the house it upholds,

The mighty rejoice when

It's strength they behold.

What is to be done

Unto such a wall?

Shall not we display

The King's banners thereon?

I charge you, O daughters

Who dream in the breeze,

That ye stir not nor awake

My love till he please.

But what of the door

That's open to aught--

Is it firm and stable?

I tell you it's not!

It swings in and out

With every new wind--

Wisdom slips out while

Mischief rushes in.

It cares not to support

The weary and worn,

But opens up wide to

Each whim that is born.

It cannot decide

The way it will go--

It's affections are fickle,

It swings to and fro'.

It causes to stumble

Those passing nearby;

At first it is closed,

Then open it flies.

The King's silver palace

Cannot be upheld

By pivoting doors

So fickle to tell.

What ought to be done

Unto such a door?

A wall built around

Will enclose it secure.

For boundaries must be

About the free heart

That cannot control

Its own self apart.

Art thou like a wall

That's steady and sure?

Or is thine heart open

To aught like a door?

I charge you, O daughters

Who dream in the breeze,

That ye stir not nor awake

My love till he please.

The Measure

"But unto every one of us is given grace according to the measure

of the gift Christ. Till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of

the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the

measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ."

Ephesians 4:7&13

Perhaps a child

Would use a measure

To show his friend

The height of his stature.

The young damsel, perchance,

Might measure her width

To see whether she be

The perfect fit.

Some cooks, no doubt,

Do measure the food

The see that it comes

To the fulness it should.

The carpenter true,

Of knowledge and skill,

Doth measure his craft;

Perfection to tell.

Divers are their methods,

But common to all,

They strive for perfection,

They aim for a goal.

A new year approaches

And with it will come

Our new resolutions,

"This year I will run."

We'll reach for new heights

(While watching our weight),

If we can make it through New Year's--

And keep a "clean slate". :)

In whatever we do

For this we must strive;

That our lives would match up

To the measure of Christ.

For all on this earth

That may bring us pleasure

Falls short of the Treasure

That's far beyond measure.

Silver Deep

As pilgrims passing through this life

Of rugged, harsh terrain,

Of darkened valleys, rocky cliffs,

Or gentle meadows plain,

Oft’ times our path may lead us through

The swelling tide of sea,

Where violent storms may threaten,

And death we fane perceive.

Our faithful Master, sovereign King,

Will gently guide us through.
Holding to His mighty hand,

We’ll find His Word is true.

Then, sometimes in the journey here

We find this joy unique,

For, in the winter’s chill, we come

Unto a silver deep.

No doubt the current swift remains

And cold the tide may be,

Yet, solid is the surface of

This glassy, silver sea.

Our feet may firmly stand thereon

With not a sinking fear,

For, though the chilling cold surrounds,

The waves we do not feel.

Such is the little trials of life

We fear we’ll parish in,

But when we come up to the brink,

They’re not so hard to win.

For, though it’s deep and very wide,

The crossing is but bliss

When we, by faith, begin to walk

Upon the firm surface.

But, lest we don the shoes of pride

And think we know it all,

We still must hold the Master’s hand,

Else on the ice we’ll fall.

The Beaded Necklace

One day a gift I did receive

Bestowed from my Father Above.

‘Twas a beautiful necklace on a thread of gold,

A token of His love.

I looked in awe at the row of beads—

How they sparkled in the light.

So pretty were they, so richly unique,

No two exactly alike.

Before I took them from the box

I looked out at the world

And realized that so many folks

Each wore a jewel of gold,

Just like those sold at the shop

For a bag of one’s good works.

But cheap were they, though so costly,

For they came with many quirks.

The chains thereof were very short,

They tarnished rather fast,

The sparkles soon wore off, but yet

No one could give his back.

Depending on how rich the bag

Of one’s good works he paid

Determined just how long would last

His short, false golden chain.

I looked into my own small bag,

Then at those “golden” chains—

How beautiful they seemed to be,

Yet with temporary gain.

As if He knew my very thoughts,

My Father said to me,

“The necklaces are quite different

But called the same, you see.

“Such is their name—The Prime of Life—

Those that you see get old.

But this one that I’ve given you

Is made of purest gold.

The sparkling chains those folks do wear

Are only very short;

Their prime in life is all too swift

And then it is no more.

The sparkles cease, the gold doth fade

As youthful charm grows old,

Then all they have is memories

Of golden jewels to hold.”

And then my Father lifted out

The necklace from its place.

The jeweled beads shown brighter

As joy lit up my face.

The chain, quite elegant, was long

Although, it too, had end.

The beads—how beautiful they were!

What color they did lend!

“Dear child,” my Father spoke to me,

“This necklace I have bought.

Its price exceeds all other gold;

By My hands it is wrought.

Though with an end, your chain is long,

As your prime in life shall be.

For, though your time on Earth will end,

Your prime is eternity!

The many different colored beads—

Each with its unique shape—

Are the many different moments that

You live for the Gospel’s sake.

Oh, dear one, your prime in life

Is not confined to youth;

But of pure gold, with rarest jewels

So long as you live for truth.”

The Boy Who Kept Tradition

*Dedicated to my dear little brother, Daniel, who, through the providence of God, added quite a bit of humor to our family’s birth tradition. I can honestly say we did NOT plan it! :) *

Once upon a happy time,

In the year Two thousand, twelve,

A father and a mother kind

Had children counting twelve.

Four were boys who cheered their home,

Of the girls there were eight.

The girls were born in Oklahoma,

The boys, four different states.

One day the glad news was announced,

A babe was on the way!

Oh, how the children cheered and bounced,

Another one to play!

A boy or girl, what would it be?

They knew that if they stayed

In Oklahoma another girl ‘twould be,

But a boy if out of state.

They couldn’t have a boy in Washington,

Nor California, too.

Not Mississippi—that’s already been done,

Oklahoma would not do.

Excitement grew as time drew near

For the baby to be born.

They thought a girl might soon appear

If nothing changed the norm.

But, lo! They took a trip outside

The Oklahoma state.

At Grandpa’s house they did abide

In Arkansas estate.

What grand and happy time had they

While there in Arkansas.

But all to soon they had to say,

“Goodbye, we love you all!”

Yet, gone not far, they turned around,

Returned to Grandpa’s home.

In not too long they joyfully found

A baby boy their own!

How thrilled they were to welcome him,

A tiny gift from God.

The boy, no doubt, had kept tradition

And claimed his own state sod.

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1.12.2015