Gratitude

*This is the last poem Rit sent me. 

 

Life is not always easy:

But I thank God for the mountains I must climb

And the power He gave me to scale them;

the frightening dangers I had to face

and the strength he provided to overcome them.

Life is not easy:

I thank the Lord for adversities in life

That forced me to use gifts that He gave me;

For the road blocks in my path ahead

Which caused me to use my mind to avoid or remove them

If we had no droughts, would we fully appreciate the rain?

Do not floods cause us to drop to our knees; then appreciate the sun?

Warming Spring that melts ice and snow elates us,

As the dawn dispels gloomy night and births, a new day.

The wise God knew that to appreciate Heaven,

We must journey through earth’s “Yeahs” and “ Nays”

Life isn’t easy.

But thank God for the trip.

© Roland W. Anderson

Trust.

Why must we march your way or my way, and not stride  arm in arm?

Why must I doubt you and you doubt me, believing we  wish to harm?

Should history’s hateful biases continue to block a safe tomorrow’s way?

Should doubts of each other’s purposes destroy our best hopes for today?

Perhaps it was not my words nor yours that set a new stage for peace.

Perhaps it was not my avarice nor yours that may cause a war to cease.

Perhaps great God grew weary of us and decided to step in: to intervene,

And opened the door in brand new ways that nations have never seen.

 Perhaps it is not each other we should  trust, but  to place our faith in Him

Hoping He has a brand new peaceful plan that He knows He will begin.

This I know: I’ll not trust men nor bombs nor guns to produce hope and joy

I’ll not believe that it will be a brain child of some country’s glib envoy

Our country’s trust for centuries has been to trust in faithful God above.

Perhaps the time has come to turn back the clock and again try His love.

© Roland W. Anderson

Truth

What is truth?

A naked fact: stark and cold?

Or should it be clothed

By all the emotion

To which it gives birth?

A fact recalls memories

That warm or freeze,

Weary or excite.

So,

What is truth?

Not just hard frigid fact

But a vibrant, pregnant fugue.

© Roland W. Anderson, 2005

I need you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Watching and reading the daily news filled with stories of deep divisions between people and countries, I have asked myself—Will we ever be able to overcome the chasms that divide us? After giving this a great deal of thought, I believe at least part of the answer lies in the simple recognition that we need each other.

I need you, neighbors in China, India, Japan, Ghana, Kenya, Brazil, Mexico, France, Israel, Spain, Syria, Palestine, Australia—and every other country.  I grew up, was educated and have lived my 92 years in the United States of America.  I am proud of its history, accomplishments and its people.  At the same time, we know so little about your particular language, economy, culture and history. I long to learn more about you because I believe you have much to contribute to the family of nations that would enrich us all, and I covet that enrichment for America.  I also believe there is much about our life in the United States that you would appreciate if you knew about it.  I am eager to share and to have you share with me.  I need you.

I need you, Mr. Republican.  I’ve been a Democrat ever since Franklin Roosevelt won me over.  I’m “dyed in the wool,” so to speak.  I am convinced that my religious faith requires that I care about the poor and listen to the ordinary person more than I listen to the rich and important.  I believe Democrats stand for that.   I am equally convinced that your faith has led you to your Republican ideas and view of life.  I’ve been so focused on Democratic ways of thinking that I need to pause and learn from Republicans.  So let us open our minds and hearts to each other.  I need you.

I need you, Ms. Roman Catholic, Mr. Lutheran, Mrs. Pentecostal . . . and Christians of all stripes.  I was reared in a Presbyterian home, graduated from a Presbyterian college and seminary—I’m a Calvinist through and through.  As a youth, I was taught that you are wrong and that my beliefs are right.  As an adult, I want to learn what God has revealed to you.  I am certain that your experience can increase the breadth of my faith, and maybe I have something to contribute to yours.  We will never know this while we are apart.  So let’s get together.  I need you.

I need you, believers who are Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Animist . . . and of all faiths.

I suspect you feel the same need for God’s love as do I.  We have so much to learn from each other’s religious beliefs and to learn about each other.  We are starving ourselves when we should be feasting on our knowledge of one another and our mutual efforts to be faithful to God.  Let’s share the sameness and differences—but let’s share.  I need you.

I need you Ms. Atheist, Mrs. Agnostic, Mr. “Disbeliever.”  We have treated each other with suspicion and disdain for too long.  If I discover why you doubt or deny the existence of God, it may make me reexamine my faith.  If you discover why I believe in God, you might reexamine yours.  In either case, it will open our minds to each other and give us a new appreciation for how others view things.  I need you.

My need for knowledge requires that I search for truth—not only as I have learned it, but from others as they have learned it.  I talk a lot because I am eager to share the rich experience of my years.  However, I also listen a lot because I want to feed on the rich experiences of the lives of others.  So I need you!

It sounds idealistic to believe that we will be able to listen to each other when wars continue to divide our world and when the two political parties in the United States build a wall down the aisle of Congress even as my own Presbyterian denomination wages bitter debates over social issues.

Has there ever been a more urgent time than now to put aside our differences in order to gain the benefits available to us from one another’s religious, philosophical and political viewpoints!  I need you.  We need each other!

© Roland W. Anderson

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand why states bordering the Gulf of Mexico

who direly need help after being battered by hurricane rains and wind

elect legislators who fight a strong central government needed to aid it

And the revenues to support it.

I don’t understand why those  suffering from drought

Who need federal funds to assist them

Want to weaken Washington and lower taxes

I don’t understand why our citizens won’t realize

That it is our wars that have caused the huge deficit,

Not our programs to help the needy and secure each citizen.

I don’t understand that Americans blessed with financial success

Do not empathize with those who are not so blessed,

And provide revenues for programs that lift those less fortunate.

Shouldn’t  we support fellow citizens in trouble?

Don’t we need a strong government, functioning for ALL of us?

I love my family and work hard to support it.

I love my country and am willing to work hard to support it

I don’t understand why those who have all the blessings

This nation has to offer

Are so  unwilling to support a larger government for our larger population

And pay their fair share.

I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND.

© Roland W. Anderson

My Son Ron

Father and son.

Dedicated to my son, Ron 1945-2012

When I saw him first

he was in the arms of a pretty nurse.

He stared at me, frowned, and blinked.

 He gazed at her, smiled, and winked.

That’s my son, Ron.

He knew Diana was quite a dish,

 to wed her was his ardent wish,

He chased;  then she gave in.

  He just had to woo and win.

That’s my son, Ron.

They soon were a family of four:

 Chad, Erica, then five more

Grandsons and they all adore

My son, Ron.

Ron loved his family, and all of you,

and he was loved by all its true.

He loved to live his love to give,

That’s my son, Ron.

He was eager to learn

But anxious to earn.

To climb into the blue

And work with a crew

Who loved my son, Ron.

He was an avid baseball fan

Until football season began

Then he had backs to praise or blame

He knew each player’s rate and name

That’s my son, Ron

He was 67 years old

 but 17 years bold

Worked out in a gym

To keep his stomach slim

And my son, Ron

wished to visit every land

So he took Diana by the hand

And they  packed and set forth

To East, West, South and North.

That’s my son, Ron

Only I  recall him at the breast,

Crawling and walking. I liked best

When he said “Daddy” first.

I thought my heart would burst.

So now it’s memory time

Of hikes and hills to  climb,

Sea in which to swim or fish,

Trying to fulfill each wish

Of my son, Ron

Six years ago I got real smart

And to recover from years apart

We moved north to be with  him

And found our love had not grown dim.

and my son Ron

Filled the void when my Ruth past

With acts of  devoted love that last.

We found that  on most things we agree:

On our love of mountains and the sea;

Of people, politics and  mostly, family.

My son, Ron

Was most  happy belonging to a crew

So he went to Panama with friends he knew

He liked to swim in pool or ocean

One night to illustrate his devotion,

He swam too far. A riptide swept him deep

Now until  eternity’s surprise, he is asleep.

And God above is giving  Gracious love

To my son, Ron

He was a man of muscle with a tender touch

He yearned to forgive and give much,

To sacrifice him self to fulfill other’s need,

But liked  to workout, work, play and read.

I’m proud of his life: he  loved, he cared

I’m grateful  for these years we’ve shared.

He  loved to learn,

And learned to love.

That’s my son,  Ron.

I thought I was smart.

I thought I was smart to continue to smoke

When all evidence said the danger was not a joke.

Now my COPD causes me to cough and hack

‘Til I have hernias and my lungs are black.

Was I smart? Or a fool?

I thought we were smart to use fossil fuel for flame,

Paid no attention to scientists’ warnings and claim.

Now global warning is eroding our lovely existence

Andwe can’t unite man to cause a resistance.

Was I smart? Or a fool?

I thought I was smart to buy, treasure, and own a gun,

And watched NRA convince and buy off everyone,

Including the public, the Congress, and even the Court.

How else would we be such a murderous bloodthirsty sort.

Was I smart? Or a fool?

I believe in the people of this great land,

And the time has come for us to demand

Change, for the good of our country and heirs,

Tell the destroyers: This is our country: not theirs.

Am I smart? Or a fool?

© Roland W. Anderson

Doing the Dream

 

It is a wonderful exercise to sit back and dream.

Dreams have few obstacles to dam the stream

Of new ideas and plans that are bold.

I do not mean to criticize, find fault,  nor scold

But dreams can be like a stagnate puddle

If they do not leave the comforting  cuddle.

Great dreams must take on flesh and bone,

Make the blood flow and the muscles groan.

Great dreams call for action: daring and brave,

Climbing new steeps, building a high wave

That sweeps to the future that wise men crave.

A future that won’t be won by dreams that relax

But with hearts dedicated to put dreams to acts.

Let’s not go back to the source of history’s stream,

But move onward to do the dreamer’s dream.

© Roland W. Anderson

Breath

When I was the pastor of an interracial Church,  in Washington, D.C.

I annually taught a confirmation class whose members were received

At a service held on Maunday Thursday Evening.

In the early 70’s in a class of 30 there was a twelve year old,  Jimmie Johnson,

And a seventy year old, Mary Stewart.

  Both of them were black and I am white.

Mary’s grandson grudgingly accompanied her to that service.

He was antagonized with her choice to join that church.

It was Presbyterian and I was white.

Five minutes before the hour to begin the service

An usher burst into my office, and cried:

“Call 911,  Mrs. Stewart is having a heart attack.”

I phoned 911 and scurried into the sanctuary.

Mrs. Stewart was stretched out on a pew and Joe Walker,

Our white scoutmaster was  leaning over her

Giving her mouth to mouth resuscitation.

Soon  paramedics arrived and rushed to her

They gently drew Joe away and tried to revive her,

But Mrs. Stewart was dead.

Her grandson leaped to his feet, turned to the congregation and said,

“I will never forget that my grandmom’s last breath was a white man’s.”

Breaking the following sober silence, came a strong, small voice

Jimmie said, “Sir, there is no white man’s breath or black man’s breath,

Every breath comes from God.”

That was the greatest sermon given that evening.

It is unforgettable.

In fact at 94, I am suddenly realizing the import of that sermon.

I have COPD,  and every breath is difficult and precious.

I praise God with every breath I take,

And will until I breathe no more.

Dear reader, how is your breathing today,

and your faith?”

© Roland W. Anderson

The Golden Years

The Golden Years?

When teeth, hair, and hearing aids fall out?

When you wince because of painful gout?

When your looks and charm have lost their clout?

The Golden Years?

When your bones wobble and your joints creak?

When your dentures bite into your cheek?

When your voice quivers and is really weak?

The Golden Years?

When buns and belly begin to sag?

When you need redcaps  to tote your bag?

When no one laughs at your worn out gag?

The Golden Years?

When doctor and dentist bills explode?

When yogurt replaces pie ala mode?

When you can’t recall area or zip code?

The Golden Years?

Sure!

Grandchildren seem anxious to lovingly please.

You retire or waken at your own ease,

You have time to sail the seven seas.

 The Golden Years?

With hosts of friends from years that have passed?

With experiences that are rich and vast?

With a weather’d faith that is bound to last?

The Golden Years?

With a fabric of memories that life has spun?

With relics from trips and prizes won?

With photos recalling family fun?

The Golden Years?

Great treasures that dawn with blessings anew,

Warm hearts with kind words like morning dew,

And smiles that turn grey skies to blue?

The Golden Years?

When the past throws light on the path ahead,

And you see future joy in the words God’s said,

And you take comfort from the life you’ve led?

Yes.

They are  golden years.

© Roland W. Anderson