moms
This place…
From ceiling color
to spider web
from every crack or scratch
on every floor
From every wall where pictures hang
Every window
Every door
She knows this place…
These people
From parents who begat her
Held her, marveled at her birth
and loved her ever more deeply
through the years
To husband, lover
friend companion
To each child born
Sought and welcomed
Loved in turn forever
From topmost hair
to their toes
She knows them
becomes the home
and she will know it better
begin to mold, to shape, to color
as only she can do
Wherever she is
her people know
shelter and love
are under her wings
Yes, change will come
to people and places
but the God born woman
shows us Him
moves us closer
ever closer, to see
He knows
as she knows
these people, these places…
Lin 03/08
Memories
to remind us again and again
of special people
and special times
My office walls are graced
with many I remember
and some I contemplate
A group of twenty
hard working souls
who chose our president
becoming friends along the way
A sign in India
about a well
and links to Champaign Rotary
A senator, Paul and me
seated in Springfield chambers
The senator now gone
Paul healed of cancer
soon to visit France
and my father’s battleground
American Indian brave
seeking God
atop some western hill
Another chief
white haired now
teaching a group of boys
smiling down
eyes bright and eager
surrounded by smaller shots
birth to crawling
oh how incredibly precious
On my desk
a special pair
a doctor and his wife
lifelong teachers
of all that’s good
all that’s worthy
faith, a firm foundation
a little bit of Jesus
for us to see, to study
and try to grow like them,
like Him, their Savior
Here I spend
a lot of time
putting numbers in places
But above it all
family and friends
lift me up
to special heavenly spaces
Selah Lin 03/08
Mom/Els
a bed with crisp white sheets
the patient lies quietly, eyes closed
simply breathing
Someone holds her hand
warmth passes between them
The hand that has touched
since our life began
now squeezes ours
“I’m here”, the message sings
Our hand caresses her brow
smooths the gray hairs back
the moments pass so quickly
yet, time seems to slow to a stop
“Mom”, we say again and again.
“I love you, mom.”
Is all we can say.
Our hearts get stuck
high in our throats.
A nurse comes in
to offer help
whatever can be done
to aid in comfort
for mom and us
“Blessed art those”
comes to mind,
for those who try to help.
go past with blurring speed?
We’d like a few more good ones
We’d like to spend more time
together
anywhere
just being together
But life is slipping slowly
away as we can see
We know
mom is passing
nothing can be done
So we hold her hand
and stroke her brow
and speak of special times
hoping, praying
she can hear
and somehow
our voice will help
as she slips to heaven’s door
Selah, Lin 1/08
Jan’s Garden
of differing shapes and sizes
colors and textures,
to become paintings and murals
that speak to us all
Room settings at Jan’s
found out of doors
speak imaginations
worked into being
While God created flowers
Jan puts them together
in most pleasing ways
to ‘talk’ to us with pleasure
to color our days
She challenges limits
and pushes still farther
to sculpt from the prairie
a garden so grand
it’s tops in the land!
now Garden Walk’s done
savor and study
the favor she’s won!
The dreams became real
and now move about
in memories and photos
of the thousand who came
who saw
who exclaimed:
“Wow!” “Beautiful”
over and over again
May the gentle rains
give you ease from your watering
May the summer sun
ease up to moderate
and may you enjoy for a long time
your day in your garden
Garden Walk, 2005
Best to you, Lin 06/05
Remembering…
often it seems, as an older family member passes
a new one is born
I’ve been touched by death along the way
Grandpa Warfel, on a hospital bed
my sister and I had been brought
so his final wishes could be spoken
In my mind’s eye, still
at age 13 then,
I picture clearly I laid my head on his chest
as he spoke what he wanted to say
I could feel his heart beating
and knew he hadn’t long
Grandma, then grandpa Hinton
were next to go, although
they always seemed far away
I didn’t see them much
and wasn’t close at all to them
So I remember their funerals
but both in a surreal kind of way
Then came Grandma Warfel, 96
passing in her sleep one night
Having visited with childhood friends the day before
laughing, remembering, she slipped away
Her simple wisdom remains in me
in so many different expressions
Then came Papaw, my step dad,
so much like my biological father, I’m told.
Neat guy! So bright! Great vocabulary!
Fun! We worked together learning farming
until illness pulled him away, slowly declining
Parkinson’s. A tough one.
I sat with him through the night
pneumonia challenging each breath
stopped, but his heart kept beating!
I quickly stepped across the hall
where my exhausted mom was sleeping
and we stood by his side
as a nurse listened to his heart
two long minutes, and it stopped.
I stepped out into the hallway
and looked out a window south
to watch the sun rising, beautifully…
and once again in the middle of the night
My sister and I were at her side, holding her hand
systems had been failing
and she spoke no more
but I talked with her of happy times
until her last breath came
and she moved from this earthly body
to the heaven she was certain
Grandma Perry was next to go
again our family was there
injured in an accident
we spoke to her of special times
and then she stopped breathing
released from pain, and suffering
Death came quickly to her.
With all these passings
I was aware
at funerals, were small children
and expectant mothers
The seasons of life laid clearly out
the generations represented
Life is precious
and days are counted into years
we, not knowing, must do our best
to act justly
love mercy,
and to walk humbly with your God*
Lin, 9/2011 *Micah 6:8
Shovel Ready
are varied and many
Sculpted by hands
shiny from use
Favorite tools
have a special place
for those who use them often
Some are passed down
through generations
gaining in honor steadily
Oh, the memories
that go along with them!
Priceless, the tools become
as they wear
the marks of thousands of usings
A two pound hammer
a little sledge
is one I often use
Grandpa Clementz used it
to budge some stubborn bolts
My step dad used it too
I got it without a handle
and promptly added that
then used it heavily one summer
in tearing down old buildings
Sunup found me pounding, prying
knocking down
the hired man’s house and barn
No longer used, the buildings stood
so the lumber was recycled
The hammer is a favorite
so handy as it always was
pounding stubborn things
to fix the old or make the new
to scoop the grain we grow
A shiny handle with the marks:
“A W” distinguish it from others
My grandpa spent his lifetime
scooping grain, feeding cattle
Oats and wheat, corn and soybeans
were moved from trucks to bins
scooped out again and into feed
for hungry critters growing
This scoop was special
new tools were very rare
but this one was aluminum
thus lighter weight by half
than steel shovels, the standard fare
My mind’s eye still sees him scooping
a steady rhythm going
I’d join him with my kid’s size shovel,
admiring that polished silver
A half century passing
grandpa’s shovel is ready
to move a pile of grain again
Now it’s my rhythm swinging
the sound’s the same
as the shovel digs in
then grain slides off ker chink
Hours pass, and chore is done
one more time
an empty bin is waiting
I’ll not take the shovel with me
to comfort me in a casket
it will need another’s hands
to keep it shiny, used for work
whether grain or snow
it will only be ‘just right’
when it will be swinging
doing what it’s intended to do
it’s shovel ready!
Lin, 8/2011