Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Friday, June 14, 2013

Manger Wetter

Reaching my age in life has one definite advantage – the seasons of the past seem richer to me with every passing year.  Relationships intertwine.  Stories of how and when you knew someone sometimes span several decades.  And friends can even become family and then back to friends.

Such are my memories of Steve and Dan.  Steve is no longer with us, and Dan is the president of a college and an accomplished author.  Still, I remember them and their friendship from all those years ago.  Their friendship started before Dan and his wife Kathy became my mentors, before the Intervarsity Christian Fellowship meetings Dan led, before the long talks and the relationship advice, before Dan married my husband and me.

Back then Steve was a graduate student in Creative Writing at the University of Dallas where I became an undergrad.  I would see him go in and out of Dan and Kathy’s apartment at the end of my hallway (they were the dorm parents).  Steve had an unmistakable profile and a shock of red hair.  Those were the years before Steve became my brother-in-law; and long before he became a fireman, then a husband and father, then a pastor.

One simple poem brought all that back to me yesterday.  Steve was a poet (among his many other accomplishments) and the kind of poet whose words and phrases jabbed into my psyche like thorns amidst a meadow of wildflowers.  They were both good and sharp, both beautiful and piercing.  Unforgettable.

My former mentor Dan has published a book, and the title of his first chapter is a tribute to his friend, and my former brother-in-law, Steve.  The poem is “Manger Wetter.”  After reading it I went in search of the one picture I have of Steve and Dan together – in Boston in 1981.  I will never forget you, Steve, and neither will all those whose lives you have touched.  And Dan – Kudos.

Manger Wetter*
by Steve Mahan

Wrinkled, Crinkled
Red-skinned Squirmer
Famished Squealer,
Manger Wetter.
Gabriel salutes you!
Michael bows!
We here in Bethlehem
Bed you with cows.
We here in Bethlehem
Bed you with cows.

*Russ, Dan, Flesh-and-Blood Jesus, Second Edition: Learning to Be Fully Human from the Son of Man, Cascade Books, Eugene, Oregon, 2013. (from a chapter entitled Manger Wetter: Coming to Terms with Our Neediness)

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Mother

Do you miss your mother?  Did she bandage your cuts, wipe your tears, tell you stories, and kiss you goodnight?  Did she bring you cups of tea, teach you how to cook, or--most important of all--teach you how to find saving faith in Jesus Christ?  If she has gone on ahead to her eternal home, and you can't kiss her and thank her this Mother's Day, here is a poem of tribute -- and of Hope.

Write and tell me if it touches you.  It was written by my great grandmother Mary Cox (1843-1931), in memory of her mother, Sarah Jane Earhart (1817-1870).

Mother

Friends may depart and foes arise,
Christ’s love is just the same;
He never, never will forsake,
Those who are trusting in His name.

Oh! What a blessed hope is ours,
What meditation sweet,
To know that we will meet again, Mother
When life’s journey is complete.

Our thoughts are turning backward,
To childhood’s winsome years,
When we always ran to Mother,
With all our joys and fears.

We would go to her when tired,
To get the needed rest;
We would go to her when wounded,
To get a fond caress.

And when we were sick or troubled,
We would go to her for aid;
And though it would be dark around,
We never felt afraid.

As backward on the wings of time,
We fly to her embrace;
We see her face all bright to shine,
Of tears there is no trace.



Written in love by
Mary W. Cox
1843-1931