One Lone Flower

 I walked along life’s dusty road
On dry and rocky sod,
 The heat of desert scorched my brow
As step-by-step I trod.

It was not my desired lot
To follow down this path—
A sullen, lonely, barren vale—
To find what e’re it hath.

My heart called to the mountaintops
Where life and joy abode,
T’was there where laughter filled my mouth;
Rich blessings He bestowed.

He said He’d take me to the heights
If I but followed Him,
Yet, here I stood quite far from where
He’d promised to me then.

Away from every climbing steep
And going further down,
My tears descended like the path
That seemed to run aground.

“This is not right!” I protested,
“I don’t deserve this vale!
I want the golden heights, sublime,
Not desert!” I bewailed.

 Then, in the corner of my eye
I caught a glimpse of gold,
A tiny spark of hope and love,
That held a joy untold.

T’was but a little flower standing
Strong, though all alone,
It seemed to sing the sweetest tune
Of faith serenely shown.

I listened, captive by its voice
That echoed in my heart;
What words of yielded, loyalty
No other could impart!

Then, rising from my seat of gloom,
I lifted up my gaze
And looked unto the hills, from whence
My Help shown bright, ablaze.

In trusting, yielded tenderness
My heart but overflowed
With that same sweetness as displayed
Through what a flower owed.

“Behold me, now, dear Lord,” I prayed,
“Thy humble handmaiden,
Though, here my lot is but to pass
Through this land, so barren,

“I sweetly trust Thy will for me,
E’en though it dreary seems,
For You have promised, You will do,
And this is best for me.

“So, take me now, Thy little flower,
 And may Thy grace I employ,
Sparkle Thy love and peace through me;
I am ‘Acceptance-with-Joy’.”
Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2015


Has the Football Been Forgotten?

Two eager teams prepared themselves 
To face their opposition;
Much practice had been exercised
With hope of great position.

The long awaited day had dawned
For which they had made ready,
The days for timid weakness, past;
Their focus, now, was steady.

Within their lockers they refreshed
Their minds of all the moves,
Recalling every trick and skill--
This was no time to lose.

All along the sidelines gathered
Crowds of anxious men--
Concessions filled with cheer and mirth--
To see which team would win.

So long had been the eager wait,
So great the preparation,
And, now, at last, the time had come
To reward anticipation.

But, just before the whistle blew,
The best turned almost rotten;
Amidst the hustle of preparing,
The football had been forgotten!

What, in itself, seemed just to be
A minor part of play,
Was vital to the very game--
The essence of the day.

So cumbered we may quickly be
Preparing for "someday",
We practice hard and learn the skills
To master every way.

Then when the greatest moment comes--
The object of ambition--
We find that somewhere in the way
We lost the heart of our mission.

Without the preparation
No goal would be achieved,
And without practice in the skills
The trophy's not received.

Yet, important as the goal may be,
And how vital to prepare,
If we neglect the little things,
We'll never conquer there.

"Someday" may come, but until then
We must embrace the present
And live each moment to the hilt,
For here it is we're sent.

Anticipate the future, yet
Take heed to what's today,
Prepare for what may someday be,
Yet don't forget The Way.

All goals may be so great aspired,
But, if His Word is lost,
No matter what may be your skill,
The battle will be lost.

Amidst your earnest preparation,
Do ask yourself quite often,
"Have I embraced the Source of life,
Or has the 'football' been forgotten?"

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2015