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