Tunnel of Falling Leaves

The golden leaves of the Beech tree
Swirl and dance on the wind
Overhead canopies of branches
A tunnel shouting, "It's time to mend"!
There are so many leaves falling
They sparkle upon us like crystal snow,
Without the burden of the wet and cold,
They are fuel and evidence of all you know.

The crimson of the Japanese Maple
Whisper of Christ's blood shed,
Do you no longer remember
The day when your soul to Him fled?
The red-stained wounds still visible
Upon His precious feet and hands,
Spin in color around you now,
Beneath them now you stand.

The deeper evergreen of pine needles,
Shaken free in fall's cooling breeze,
Meant to last through winter's chill,
Fall now with grace and ease.
It's time to end all this bitterness,
Time those broken ties to mend,
Before winter claims it's own time,
When temporary finds it's end.

The burnt orange of the White Oak Tree,
Interacts with you, leaves and Earth,
They sing out, "The Spring will come"!
When nature again will give birth.
Right now though fall fully arrives
Echoed through the dance of the leaves,
Beginning preparation for winter's nap
For Nature and her seasons still believe.

---dfav
10/23/2020

Undeserved Praise

May13

God,
Shouldn’t it be easier, telling You how I feel?
I’m not, I’m rattling round inside myself,
Like empty husks of dried up corn.
Unfinished pages and spilled ink, bottles cast aside, partly born?

Or paint brushes stiffened, by crusty neglect,
Smeared blobs, faint lines, never-to-be seen?
How, God, did I get to here, homebound, bedbound?
Some great “what if” experiment, still hanging around?

Lord, what can I show You, that doctors say I’m dying?
Sometimes, I howl and tear at the unfairness in silence.
I know Yes, I will die, worse people think me admirable or brave,
I’m not, Abba God, I’m the most terrified, of the undone, I hide in my cave.

Truth is, if novel characters die before stories are told,
If book covers are filled with blank pages,
The world’s mirror said I couldn’t not Your Word’s.
So the fault lies strictly on me, then doesn’t it?
I can’t be brave not choosing the Lord.
There’s no nobility if I fail at home,
Because I couldn’t cut the worlds cord—

What praise do I deserve?
But that of man?

Amen. dfav 5/13/16
—Donna

Something to Say

Apr4

Every writer,
Every poet,
Every crafter of words—
Has something to say.
A history to reveal,
A story to tell,
A God called author—
Has a mission to fulfill.
Nobody told Max Lucado,
Nobody told Harper Lee,
Nobody told others with the grit to do it—
You can only craft by rules.
Writing for Jesus?
Writing for cash or fame?
Writing because the words bust out of you—
You’ve got to know why your writing.
Then write,
Then keep on,
Then don’t stop telling your story—
Plenty of folks will tell you.
You should,
You could, I would,
The way to plug into the formula—
Too few write because the words are a fire.
Every writer,
Every poet,
Every crafter of words—
Has something to say.
Go say it.
That is your job.
The rest can be learned if needed—
Your voice however, is all your own.
dfav 4/3/16
—Donna

Pearl from the Cottage-by-the-Sea, #1, 1/11/16

Jan11

Spend Your Words Wisely

Jan6

Words.
God spoke and the nothingness became heavens and earth.
God spoke and the earth became land and sea.
Vegetation grew, fruit developed, all spoken into being.
Spoken.
Words.
For six days God layered His creation into a wonderful, complex existence.
Culminating with the creation of man from whom He fashioned woman.
Spoken.
Words.
Pointing man to fellowship with Him.
Words.
Well planned.
Our words, poem, book, song, devotion, essay, speech prayed over,
Point people to God in us, not us as being god’s ourselves.
Prayed about.
Planned.
Spoken, written, powerful, words.
Do not,
Spend them unwisely.
dfav 1/6/16
—Donna

The Gospel via the Arts

Nov9

See the Dancer,
Upon the stage?
She is Ruth,
Waiting for Boaz,
Their story live,
From Bible page.

Hear the music,
Rainbow bursts,
Against the sky.
He’s the Musician,
Bringing notes,
To color first.

Watch the writer,
Fingers fly,
Characters live,
Inside her head,
Redemption sought,
For sins gone bye.

Observe the artist,
On the beach,
To capture the Divine.
Two sets of footprints,
In the sand,
God within reach.

Listen well,
The Poet’s lines,
Explain salvation,
How one believes,
Without altering,
Truth thru time.

Pay close attention,
Preacher’s sermon,
Heed his words,
God’s provision,
Gospel shared,
Disciple learnin’.

Pay heed to actors,
Screen or stage,
Who share stories,
In theatrical ways,
And all who work,
To bring life to page.

Different methods,
More different still,
What reaches one,
Doesn’t another,
Let Truth be told,
It has God’s seal.
dfav 11/08/15
—Donna

Prayer for When the Words Stop

Oct29

God, grant me You.
When the words don’t come,
And the mind is jumbled,
When every idea has merit,
But no idea follows through,
God, grant me You.

Lord, fill me with love.
When letters just tumble,
Pages are Teflon coated,
Sentences lead no where,
Plots are but an empty glove,
Lord, fill me with love.

God, renew my calling.
Reaffirm Your gift in me,
Remind me You are the reader,
Push me to write the race,
Read Your word, meditating,
God, renew my calling.

Lord, reignite in me Your fire.
For life deals us blows,
Relationships help and hinder,
Fellow writers can be cold,
Dreams seem to expire,
Lord, reignite in me Your fire.

God, hold me ultra steady.
Is this idea one from You?
Does this plot bring You glory?
Will these characters point to You?
These pages flow at Your ready?
God, hold me ultra steady.

Lord, release in me Your creativity.
Fill me with Your thoughts,
Align me in sound theology,
Overflow me with sweet Scripture,
Fuel in me Your divine curiosity,
Lord, release in me Your creativity.

Father, will You do so now?
For the words have stopped,
The page is so empty,
The characterization fell,
The plot trapped me somehow,
Father, will You do so now?
dfav 10/29/15
—Donna

Creative Arts Share the Gospel

Aug19

Thinking I’m homesick for Heaven,
A place I’ve never even seen,
I try very hard to visualize,
Bring some sort of image before my eyes.
Yet, it’s hard for me to lay things out,
To picture streets of gold,
In my mind it disappears in a wisp.

Then my spirit comes alive.
With a reminder and a criticism,
If I’m so homesick for Heaven,
Shouldn’t I be sharing God in the life I’m given?
Telling others of Jesus on the cross?
Of His resurrection that can,
From sin set us free?

Time keeps tick-tocking us along,
And we gifted in the creative arts,
Shouldn’t we be sharing the old, old story,
Of God and His work in our history?
For we can give images,
Through our gifts and tools,
To point others to the Christ.

Let’s do the work for which we are called.
God wouldn’t bless us with these talents,
If He didn’t want us to understand,
The creative spirit He holds in His hand.
What a joy to share God’s love!
Celebrate what He creates,
When we allow Him to move through us.
d.f.a.v. 8/18/15
—Donna

Cottage-by-the-Sea #21 7/28/15

Jul30

Abba Father:
When the sun went down last night,
I watched the brilliant interplay of lights,
Reflected on the seas glassness,
I cannot watch without joy, grief and sadness.
There’s a link between You and artists,
We understand how the urge begins to start this.
You are the greatest of all God’s Creations,
Through different mediums You answer our questions,
And maybe are able to speak to those not Your’s,
By working through us to make our art ours.
Such, I think is the fate of our lives,
Tied to color, shapes and shadows,
Attached to light, shades and what does and doesn’t go.
For a bit Lord, I feel connected to You,
By something we both do.
–d.f.a.v. 7/29/15
—Donna

When it Matters

May29

God is here.
Whether your view,
—Is void of color,
—Is black and white,
—gray upon gray,
It doesn’t matter.
God is here.

God sees us,
Whether we’ve become,
—broken boundaries,
—flowering weeds,
—rotting fences
It doesn’t matter.
God sees us.

God hears us,
Whether our voices,
—are hoarse,
—are broken,
—are whispers,
It doesn’t matter.
God hears us.

God is no deserter.
Whether we are,
—He stays ready,
—He stands tall,
—He remembers you,
It only matters,
If you ever became His.
d.f.a.v. 5/29/15
—Donna

fvbf

Christian poetry & essays about one woman's faith walk.

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