Poetry

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As a little girl, just playing,
I moved the doll furniture around.
In the play section of my father's attic,
with just concentration, no sound.

In the middle of my play
something odd and suspicious
moved in the far,
ambiguously draped distance.

So I yelled out boldly
"Jesus is the way."
That's all I knew
just a song I could pray.

The attic flipped into a
field of just soil.
Then a flower pot flew
at my head to destroy.

To crash into
the center of my face
As it came near
there was nothing I could say.

But the word JESUS!
came from deep within.
And smashed that
empty pot sent by Satan.

I looked to the side
and there was a old Italian man.
He was planting some seeds,
in his garden so full and so grand.

He was singing and dancing
as he planted those seeds
Continuing the song
that I had started to sing.

His joy was infectious
His joy did not stop.
And I skipped joyfulling towards him
as we sang that old song.

Honey Stone

A dream I had last fall.


Matthew 13

John 14

Psalm 5:11

Psalm 45:7

Romans 15:13


A week after the dream, we had a teaching about how to keep the seed planted - it was about meditating on the word. I told my ministry group and my pastor thought it was about Matthew 13.

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