A tree for the Ages

A Tree for the Ages

by Steve Loggins

11/28/09

Trees are cut all the day for every kind of reason,

To build a home, to make a fire, to celebrate the season.

 

Trees are a gift from God to us, they help renew the earth,

From falling leaf that compost makes, to acorns giving birth

To mighty oaks that reach the sky for nesting eagles’ homes,

And sheltering holes for bird and beast and insects’ honeycombs.

 

A tree may grow straight and tall, or crooked, dwarfed and small,

It may be hard or soft inside, yet saw and axe will make it fall.

 

We use its wood for many things, both beautiful and base,

For noble things like bridges built, yet sometimes things disgrace

 

An arrow may fly to kill a man, or bring home winter’s meat

The wood may burn to light the way, or fill a house with heat

 

A conflagration may result where all we own’s consumed,

Then a tree is felled and milled to build on more and bigger rooms.

The tree is prized for what it is and what to us it brings,

Its fruit can feed us, its roots can heal us or snuff out living things.

Of all the gifts the tree has borne to us who owe it so

The best is The Gift of sacrifice that the Son of God bestowed

On Calvary’s brow, a tree once stood, with crimson stain and thorn,

A testament of grace from God, brought by His only Son.

With outstretched arms and iron nails, a tree felt his Maker die

And if a tree could only weep, I’m sure this tree would cry.

Not knowing that God’s plan for man and all of flawed creation

Would be delivered by His blood, this tree’s sad decoration.

It is a tree for the ages, it stands outside of time,

No one can praise its beauty for its purpose is Divine

I’m sure the tree of life that roots in waters from God’s throne

Has kinship to this tree of death where Jesus died alone.

For you and me, and all who come to take of Calvary’s gift

This tree of knowledge of His grace, no longer set adrift

A rugged cross, amazing grace, such songs we sing today

Because a tree once held our God who took all our sins away.

Winter's Coming

Winter’s Coming

Once the leaves begin to change, and the seasons start to wind,

Awareness that the world has turned embarks upon our mind.

The days grow short, and a chill ensues, a little at a time,

With a vigor for us to opt to see... or ignore the signs

That winter’s coming – all too soon, for some of us - we sigh

Longing for those summer days, filled with happy times.

Winter can be a bitter place, with nothing left to find

Or a time and place of love for all things God has intertwined.

It is our choice to hate or love the wintry Days of life,

But icy days can offer, too, some memories with spice,

It is our choice to linger in, or run outside to play,

In Winter’s wonder land of joy in bleak and snowy days

The seasons of our life turn 'round each and every year

The years roll on and soon we find that winter's growing near

In life’s grand plan for every man, in sorrow and in cheer,

We make a choice to love our life, or hate the times we fear.

Embrace your life in summer’s day, the fall, and winter too

Love every season of every year, as a gift from God to you

Without the spring, no flowers bud, the world becoming new,

But winter’s cold helps make it work for all things, God’s review.

Winter’s coming – it’s a fact – for all folks young and old,

Some live the day, some try to stay in summer days of gold,

But this one thing is clear to us – His blessings are foretold,

No matter what the season brings – in winter’s days of cold –

Or breezy days of autumn’s might – He’s always Nature’s Lord.

Temptation's Song

Temptation’s Song

by Steve Loggins

11/9/09

Faintly comes the notes of song across the turgid sea,

strains so sweet we long to hear, to know their source, to see

what could make such vibrant sounds, with craving desire to me,

I want to know!  To hear it more, in its sensuality.

Jib the sail! Put out the oars! Give way to the wind and run

as fast as we can to the root of our lust, for the freedom to have fun,

Despite the cost, we press quickly on, our labors left undone,

The Siren’s song is all that counts, the world now counts as none.

No thought to wife, or sleeping babe, who rest in harbors far,

the song is sung that drive men mad, that forge out prison bars

from man’s own appetite for more, those things that lead to scars

for friend, and family, and self; a man will chase a star.

The consequence is never viewed the way it always ends,

upon the rocks our ship is dashed, no hope to make amends

for mistaken chords of screeching noise that lure us to descend

From safety’s heights to depths of woe, no place that we intend.

Yet on we go, the tempter’s song seems sweet and rare and dear,

we chase a phantom love of self, the song is what we fear,

we think that we will never have it all, our lives will be severe,

without the song to follow, to chase, to give us cheer.

It is but lies, the tempter’s song, he promises the moon,

but always pays his debt to those who listen, all to soon,

with imitations of the real, with a bandy silly tune

instead of symphonies outpoured by masters opportuned.

Resist the urge to listen to the song that leads away

from that we know is better, the path that leads to Day,

To light and hope and life and love, a love that always stays,

No shipwrecked souls are found here. He saves them all who pray.

Galilee

Introduction:  I wrote this poem originally in early 1977 right after I came back from Israel. I was thinking about the beauty of the Sea of Galilee - I actually only wrote 4 stanzas at that time and set it to music (pitiful, really pitiful) - I pulled the dusty words from my all too feeble memory banks and added two more quatrains and now it is a poem I wanted to share!  I also tweaked a few lines in the original first stanza.

Storms on Galilee

by Steve Loggins

stanzas 1,2,5,6 written in February of 1977

stanzas 3 & 4 written 10/25/2009

The morning mist hangs low upon the sea of Galilee,
The rising sun will scatter it away,
Reflected glory of the sun plays out upon the waters
of the lake that looks and acts like its a sea.


The beauty of this site both blessed and cursed by God’s own breath
is stunning in its simple serenity,
It is difficult to comprehend the suddeness of stormy wrath
that grips this jewel in raging foamy fury.


The storms that come to Galilee roll down from mountain heights,
in moments seas once glassy still are churned
To waves that threaten man and beast who brave the stormy night
To sail where God alone would dare return.


Men hardened to the threat that Galilee can quickly make
are rowing on the lake for its His will,
The storm descends and makes the waters boil and undulate
while He alone is sleeping in the keel.


The Master stilled the storm with just a spoken word or two,
while fear-filled followers watched with awe-struck eyes,
His sleep-filled eyes grew cold with disappointment for to know
their faith in Him was little, or a lie.


We all can learn a lesson from the sea of Galilee,
To let the master calm our stormy soul
and though we doubt His awesome might, He still is in control
of our destiny, our troubled hearts made whole.

On Death and Dying

On Death and Dying

by Steve Loggins

10/12/09

There are many ways to die, some harsh, some full of pain,

like lemmings to the sea we run, toward death from life mundane,

It need not be, for death has died, and life now reigns supreme

Through Christ the son, the only one, whose death to life redeems.

The pain of death is left to us who live the temporal dream.

Facing death in certainty with the courage some have shown,

living last moments with dignity, a testimony we all should own,

But some do not, for death is harsh, and full of pain, and loss

for those who do not know the Lord - or understand His cross

They trade their life for death and realize not the cost.

For in losing life we gain it, and gain it for all time,

Instead of eighty years or so, our life becomes divine,

and Eternity is ours to have, in a freedom of His grace,

to live life as it should be lived, death is now replaced

with love and joy and peace within, sin has been erased.

Death is not harsh, nor full of pain, save for those who stay,

who cannot know the joy of life as lived in an eternal day,

We mourn for us, for we are here, in time and space and dust,

Corruptible flesh in a corruptible place, a place of death and rust,

and certainty of this one fact, Death will one day come for us.

And when God’s child comes to the day when he must say goodbye

to all those left to live the dream in this world wherein we cry,

We do so with the faith of one who knows the Father and His Son,

and knowing this, we have this hope, and surety that we have won,

and not just us, but all we love who have trusted in what God has done.

Death has no sting or triumph over God-spawned new creation

The old is gone, the new is born, through death to life a realization

of what is True, and what should be, of what we have always craved

a life with God as the center of us, a life without a grave

and... a land called Heaven....the home for all He saved.

(this poem dedicated to Shirley Reid, my secretary,

who knows no longer the pain of living... only the joy of it!)

Ghosts

Ghosts

By Steve Loggins

October 3, 2009

Ghosts of things we once held dear may visit any time,

Memories of joy and fear come calling, stay to dine

Reminding us of what we lost or wanted, never had

Making chill a warmer day, turning glad to sad.

Ghosts can scare us without cause, and never meaning to,

Or rise in nights of hellish haunts, with screams, and chains, and “boo”

A ghost is but a lingering shade of something gone away,

Yet never leaves completely, the past returns today.

Sometimes the ghost is faintly known with nothing but a whisper,

At other times they howl and weep, disturbing our night’s slumber

Or shadow us from day to day, reminding us of them

A poltergeist of harm to life, a focus on the “then”

Some want the ghosts, preferring them to living friends and kin,

A trap ensues for nothing good can ever come of him

Who cannot be alive again, in this sphere, only grim

A shadow of the real world, a spider’s web of “when”.

We must say goodbye to all our ghosts, who loiter in the way

Of living life and loving it, of walking in the day

Some ghosts are good to recognize, and wave to as they pass

But make none into houseguests, or prisoners held fast

For soon they are the jailers, and prisoners are we

With ghostly chains and bonds that forge from our own memory

The only Ghost we need to ask to stay with us always

Has a name called Holy, He frees us, no delays.

The Ghost of God is different from all that we have known

He’s ever present, living, true, a power He has shown

The breath of God, the source of life, the spirit of the One,

The inner dwelling life of God the Father and the Son

This Ghost is kind, and wants for us, the best things life can bring

He always points to goodness, to doing the right thing,

He guides, He leads, He formulates, the way of redeemed living

To God alone our praises bring, Thanks to His Ghost, we can sing!

Hide-And-Go-Seek

Hide-and-Go-Seek
By Steve Loggins
9/8/09


Five, ten, fifteen, twenty; on The Seeker’s count goes,
Where the hider runs to hide, only the hider knows.

A children’s game, yet one we play as adults every day,
Hiding from The Seeker in business, leisure, play….

Twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty; the time to hide grows short
With desperate look around us, we search for some support.

For when The Seeker finishes, His count and turns around,
If we’re exposed to His chasing touch as Seeker, then we’re bound.

Forty–five, Fifty, Fifty-five, Sixty; the numbers climb so fast,
While we look for a hiding place, a place we think will last.

But there’s no place in this whole world where hiders can conceal
Their presence from The Seeker, His turning will reveal.

Sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five, eighty; the game’s as good as on
For The Seeker’s gaze is always true, He knows where we have gone.

And in truth, He is already seeking to save the lost and hid,
He is climbing the vales and mountains where straying sheep have slid.

Eighty-five, ninety, ninety-five, A Hundred! The count is now complete
He turns around but never says “Ollie’,Ollie’, All set free”

For The Seeker knows the rules, and no one can run to “base”
Without His touch, and becoming “It” – a child who wears His face.

Who in turn becomes a seeker too, of sorts, yet not the same,

For The Seeker alone, He never hides, He’s the master of the game.