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Hands: A Guest Post Poem

My 15-year-old daughter, Morgan, is quite an incredible writer. I have posted essays of hers before (see this one from when she was 10, and this one from when she was 13). Once again, I share her work with you.

As I lie here in the new year, I reflect on my past, and as I do so, my eyes slowly fall to my hands.

baby hand

Morgan’s baby hand with Momma’s.

These hands, that have done so much. These hands that have helped build houses, and destroy them. These hands that have held both monstrous and precious things. These hands that have written poems and painted masterpieces (at least in my mind). These hands that have drawn stick figures of best friends in a park.

These hands have done so much. They have wiped away tears, caused comfort and hurt. They are both yin and yang as they fold together for prayer. The things they have done, the monuments they have touched.

You wouldn’t think it at first glance, but they are the most experienced part of our bodies. They have realized things that our brains did not record. They have felt things that our feet could not reach. They have done things that the rest of our body could never deem possible.

sand hand

Morgan’s hand, 4th grade

These hands that have broken objects, and fixed them. These hands that can carry a gun in one hand and a child in another. These hands that are so complex, they require more bones than the rest of our body. These hands that so often go unnoticed, yet hold the most fascinating stories. These hands that have seen sorrows, hardships, joys, and triumphs.

Hands that have helped me climb mountains and explore caverns. Hands that have helped me beat a punching bag and hold a small kitten. These hands that hold so many memories and trials.

These hands are God’s. He holds them as you lift them for praise. He holds them as you raise fists in the air, as you ask Him why? He holds them as you cry. He holds them as you laugh. Because like your hands, He is always there by your side no matter what it is you are going through.

linus

Morgan’s hands hold a sleeping Linus.

Because like your hands, He is with you through hardships and successes. Because like your hands, He will help you build what needs to be built in your life, and tear down the walls that you had so foolishly built.

God holds the whole world, but He also holds your hands. He places his hands on your face as you melt into His presence. Take a look at your hands, and wonder what stories they hold, and how God has been with you, every step of the way.

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Seasons of the Soul: A Guest Poem

Again, my 18-year-old son, Nathan, has composed a poem that I wanted to share with you here. Enjoy!

Seasons of the Soul

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It’s Summer in my soul.

My smile reflects the vibrant sun that always seems to shine,
My heart is light just like the days, and everything is fine.
The warmth I feel in summer is a constant source of peace,
And I hope this optimistic Me will never start to cease.
Even in the dark of night my hope just can’t be quelled,
Firefly thoughts dance through my head, their light won’t be dispelled.

But nothing lasts forever, this truth we cannot bend,
This Season of the Soul will pass, for all things must surely end.

It’s Autumn in my soul.

A chilly wind sweeps through my mind and leaves: a reddish hue,
All my dreams begin to Fall, as dreams so often do.
No vibrant smile shines from my face, no happy thoughts glow bright,
The setting of the sun preceeds some dark and endless night.
Crimson trees bathed in blood from hopes too soon destroyed,
My spirit sinks lower as the dark takes over and fear is now employed.

No, nothing lasts forever, this truth we cannot bend,
This Season of the Soul will pass, for all things must surely end.

It’s Winter in my soul.

The darkness that surrounds me is as frigid as my heart,
The blizzard raging within me wants to tear my soul apart.
Buried under the weight of all my fears that pile like snow,
I’m trapped, my body’s numb, and now there’s nowhere left to go.
There’s a barren winter wasteland where the sun no longer shines,
And though my soul looks like it, there’s still hope for better times.

Nothing lasts forever, this truth we cannot bend,
This Season of the Soul will pass, for all things must surely end.

It’s Springtime in my soul.

From this barren wasteland Springs life that blooms anew,
The tender light of daybreak mingles with the morning dew.
Fresh thoughts of hope grow like flowers in my mind,
There’s life again inside my soul! I’ll never look behind!
For even in the coldest winter when everything seems lost,
Never stop hoping that things will get better, no matter what the cost.

Because nothing lasts forever, this truth we cannot bend,
These Seasons of the Soul will pass, for all things must surely end.

image from 123RF.com

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Nathan Reeves is a senior at Colonial High School in Orlando, Fla., graduating on May 22nd. In the fall he will be attending the University of Central Florida’s Burnett Honors College, majoring in Interdisciplinary Studies with an Environmental Science track. Nathan hopes to be a park ranger in one of America’s beautiful National Parks after he graduates from college. Though he claims to not like to write, he has a poetic gift that makes his writer mama proud. He is an enthusiastic collector of swords and knives.

Guest Post: Demons

Sometimes my 18-year-old son, Nathan, surprises me. He balks at traditional education and procrastinates writing for his classes. Then he shows me poetic masterpieces that absolutely blow my mind. The first one that captured me was composed several years ago for a class project. It was about Yellowstone National Park. It’s still one of the best things I’ve read. I’m keeping it forever. Maybe someday I’ll share it here.

He handed me the following yesterday and gave me permission to share it with you. Enjoy.

shadowy figure

Midnight comes and midnight goes

He tries to go to sleep but his eyes won’t close

His mind is in turmoil as he tosses and he turns,

He longs for some release but the nightmare returns

No peace can he find in the comfort of his bed

For no comfort can drown out the war zone in his head

He tries to cry out but his mouth won’t open

Desperately he searches for something to put his hope in

He’s drowning in the tears that are streaming from his open eyes

Screaming as his demons escape and start to terrorize

He knows that alone he is too weak to defeat this

Too weak to beat the demons with nothing but his clenched fists

So with pulsating veins and eyes turned upwards

He tries to find the strength to formulate enough words

To call upon the only one who is strong enough to save him

The one whose power is enough to cause the mountains of fear to cave in

And in the suffocating darkness he gasps and he wheezes

His dry throat only able to choke out one word: Jesus!

Now it’s the demons who scream and run away to hide

And he’s filled with such warmth and peace inside

Cause the one who conquered death is there to guard his rest

And the weight of all his fear is no longer on his chest

Now midnight comes and midnight goes

But his mind is finally at peace… and his tired eyes close.

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Nathan Reeves is a senior at Colonial High School in Orlando, Fla., where he is a student in the Cambridge Program. In the fall he will be attending the University of Central Florida, Burnett Honors College.