"Hope springs eternal,"
You've often heard it said--
But hope only endures
When it is fed by a source
Greater than itself.
Hope is intangible:
It cannot be grasped,
Hidden, or kept--
It can only be felt
And exercised
By waiting
Just a little while longer.
Hope is elusive:
One might pursue it,
But cannot gain--
For hope is born
As strength from weakness,
As dawn from night,
From the womb of God.
Jesus loved the world so much,
He was willing to leave highest heaven;
To come to live in a physical body,
To know what it is to hurt, to hunger, to fear,
To sorrow, to suffer, and to bleed.
He loved the whole world so much,
He was willing to be staked to a post,
Tormented,
To suffer for sins that were not his--
To die slowly, shamefully, horribly.
Jesus took me as his servant,
And made me a little bit like him;
He gave me a mission,
A heavenly call,
And sent me out to love the world.
But I was too small
To love the world so much--
So He let me love it
A little bit at a time.
The theologian checks out
An armload of books
And sits and thinks in his chair;
He makes his report,
That in his estimation
God, if He is,
Doesn't care.
A minister rises up early each day
to spend time in earnest prayer--
There he finds God,
But weeps when he thinks
That man, on the whole,
Doesn't care.
Propaganda is just a way
Of telling the good
And forgetting the bad
(Or maybe the other way around).
One man's propaganda
Is another man's memories.
There are some things, true,
Will ne'er take place,
But other things which must:
The stone, when dropped,
Falls to the ground;
Man lives from dust to dust.
There are actions, too,
Should always be done,
While others never should:
Man, so selfish,
Must learn to shun the wrong,
And choose the good.
I can see it all now,
At the black end of things,
When all of life's moments
Are through,
And men stand in line--
'Tis endless, it seems--
The line to the great Father's throne;
And the weeping is great
At the time of accusing,
When the truths of men's hearts
Are made known.
I can hear it all now,
As He asks, one by one,
"Jesus was there--
Where were you?"
I stood on the brink
Of life
And realized
'Twas death I'd lived
Apart from God
From birth till then.
I saw my dreams
As waste and want--
Of hours, years
Self-seeking,
Now wishing so
To live anew.
My life I give
Christ Jesus
Atoning Lamb
For sinners slain
Choosing daily now
Life to live
in Him.
*(Minimalism is an attempt to reduce something to
its simplest,
most concise form, omitting any superfluous details.)
Morality is the strangest thing,
Man qualifies it so:
So quick to sin, yet quicker still
The "hypocrite" to show.
Man picks and chooses what he wants,
Denies the fact of sin--
Eclectic creature, turned from God,
Reaps judgment in the end.
He's shocked when whoring reaps disease
And crime a bitter pill;
Obscure "society" gets the blame--
but sin's an act of will.
"But God wants me to be happy,"
Is his optimistic claim:
Then when selfish searching goes awry,
'Tis God receives the blame.
People used to be called hypocrites
Because they didn't live
By the things they claimed
To believe.
Now you will be called a hypocrite
Because you live for a purpose
Higher than yourself--
They just cannot accept the idea
That there are things more important
To you
Than pleasure and gain.
A righteous man's presence
Offends the sinner:
It forces him to see,
In the light of truth,
The state of his own heart.
Let me extend this simple wish:
That all your birthdays may be bright;
That, as you follow in Christ's way,
You'll walk always in the light
Of His grace and mercy and love;
And may He ever perfect you
Into the very essence of womanhood,
That He'll be first in all you do.
But should life go awry,
And all your hopes and dreams lie shattered,
May you be assured--remind yourself--
That it's relationships that matter:
Yours to Christ, and His to you,
Your heart to man outflowing--
Your sustenance shall be His peace,
The Christ within you, growing.
Now forge on, girl, along life's way;
Step by step, step lively!
Walk on, upward, toward that Light
Which shineth e'er more brightly;
Have no fear, and heed no care:
No harm will dare befall thee
Until that day He calls you There--
That best, that brightest Birthday.
As I sit at my office desk
I often wonder why,
That I have suffered much
And others [are] getting by.
But then the Bible tells us
What the transgressors' life is,
So I must pay for mine,
And he will pay for his.
But in spite of all the trials
And in the face of every frown,
The Bible again tells us,
After we're tried there's a crown.
--Thomas J. Kinard (1889-1971)
I do not crave all sheltered ways
For those I love, nor guarded days,
Nor paths all carpeted with blooms,
Nor winds all sweetened with perfumes,
Nor every needful, wishful thing,
Processed and finished ere fate bring
It to their hands. I want them to
Have to learn how to plan and do.
Let not their days be snug and warm
Always. Let wind and rain and storm
Beat on them, tear at them, and rend
Until they have to fight to fend
Disaster from them. Let them doubt,
Be turned and twisted round about;
Let them clutch, frightened in the night.
Then, after that, smooth paths, and light.
For life has never quite rung true,
Except when we have battled through
Adversity. I love them, too--
Oh, God, bring my loved ones to know
The world's brave heart, that they may find
The happiness in being kind;
These are the things I am thinking of,
Am praying for, for those I love.
--T.J.K.
Sometimes when I'm alone
I see a shadow rise;
A shock of our old dead love
Comes before my idle eyes.
I live again those hours of joy,
When life held golden days,
But at the end of the dream
Comes the bitter parting of ways.
All too soon the shadow fades,
I am alone as before,
And with a heart of longing
I vow to dream no more.
--T.J.K.
Go to Thomas & Ceycle Kinard page
© 1996-2002 Paul A. Hughes
Last updated October 2002. For more information, comments, or suggestions, write westloop@yahoo.com or pneuma@aggienetwork.com