Susan Noyes Anderson » Life Lessons Poetry

Divine Nature

admin — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 00:05:48 +0000

Proof of divinity is all around.

God's handiwork transcends His mystery.

We hear His voice in every sacred sound:

the trill of birds, the pounding of the sea.

His whisper reaches us in sunrise stillness,

when all the earth awakens from her sleep.

Betimes He warns us with an eagle's shrillness,

or speaks to us in rumblings, soft and deep.

We see His radiance in sunset glory;

His Light enlivens moon and stars and sun.

Each shining lake that shimmers tells His story.

Each mountaintop proclaims Him as the One.

We feel His tender touch in gentle breezes

that muss our hair or cool a rosy cheek.

His every gift to us is balm that eases,

to know Him is the sustenance we seek.

And yet the proud heart is not counted wise.

Only the humble and the reverent see.

Look for Him in a newborn baby's eyes,

then find Him, in your own divinity.

Climbing My Family Tree

admin — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 22:07:08 +0000

Climbing My Family Tree

When life is less than kind to me,

I climb right up my family tree.

Stout branches turn to arms of grace

and lift me to a lofty place.

As brightness shines through every leaf,

my sunlit soul finds sweet relief.

Their foliage enfolds my heart

and shelters every sacred part.

Embraced, protected, raised by love,

I like the view from up above.

And oh, how clearly I can see,

high in the nest of my family tree.

My greatest joy comes from my family.

Because of them, I plant my roots deep.

And that makes me strong.

The Story Seed

admin — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 21:58:36 +0000

I planted a little story seed,

just placed it deeply in the ground

and, fertilizing carefully,

spread all the dirt and mulch around.

My eager hands caressed the soil,

as earth returned my soft embrace.

A tender reed peeked through one morn.

I blessed the sun, knew water's grace.

Resolved to tend my seedling well,

I watched it with a loving eye.

The weeds I saw were quickly pulled;

my heart was happy to comply.

Fruition came in leaves and buds;

a flower raised her lovely head.

The story seed had done its work,

but it had grown a poem instead.

Come as a Child

admin — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 17:49:21 +0000

O, that the meekness of a child might somehow be my own!

My heart would never turn from Thee to find my way alone.

If I could hear as children hear, believe as children do…

then I would always feel Thee near, reminding me what's true.

But I am often filled with pride, and though I may not boast,

sometimes I fail to look up, even when I need Thee most.

Perhaps I think that I am strong and capable and wise.

I hope that I am all of these, but not in my own eyes.

The world would have me credit every good I do to me,

yet every virtue I can claim is but a gift from Thee,

and every skill that I employ is given by Thy hand.

Why must a truth so simple be so hard to understand?

O, that the meekness of a child might somehow fill my soul,

then would I let Thy goodness enter in and make me whole.

"Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child,

the same is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 18:4).

(Artwork by Greg Olsen)

Finding Brillig

admin — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 20:47:50 +0000

AKA Rocking the Jabberwock

We all step through the looking glass,

but each one takes a different ride.

Some fall head-first like Alice did,

while others choose a measured stride.

Who trusts enough to nibble life

will grow or shrink accordingly.

Who waits and watches from afar,

will likely find herself at sea.

Beware the Jabberwock, indeed,

but neither yield nor disappear.

Just glance back through the looking glass

and wave and whisper, "I'm still here!"

∞§∞

"Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop."

–The King, Alice In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll

A Child’s View of 9/11

admin — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 21:46:52 +0000

9/11: A Child’s View

Mother, may I ask why God allows such awful things?

Surely His hand could stay the devastation terror brings.

He made the mighty waters and the vast, eternal skies;

no living creature falls to earth unseen before His eyes.

His hand has power to heal and bless and save, then why the pain?

How could a Lord who loves His children let this evil reign?

If God can save us all, why did 3,000 die in vain?

***

All men are free to choose, and choose they must for good or ill,

yet consequence leaves ripples that extend beyond our will.

God’s power to save is limitless, in heaven and on earth;

through Him, each living thing fulfills the measure of its birth.

The victory Christ won for us transcends this world of tears

and raises us beyond the reach of present foes and fears.

Trust Him, my child; all things will be restored when Christ appears.

Musings on Faith

admin — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 16:35:46 +0000

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for,

the evidence of things not seen.

Hebrews 11:1

∞§∞

Faith is a simple, splendid thing:

the substance of things that are not seen,

the evidence that hope is real,

the choice to trust in what we feel.

When truth is hidden from our sight,

when day becomes as black as night,

when all seems lost, look up and find

that God inspires the human mind.

For we are His who said Be still,

who calmed the tempest by His will.

His love extends to you and me,

and all is just as it should be.

{God lights the eye that cannot see.}

∞§∞

That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God,

receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.

Doctrine & Covenants 50:24

Disapproval

admin — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 06:10:10 +0000

The old regard the new

with disapproving view,

resentful of the day

ebullience slips away.

A dreadful thing, it seems

to let go of one’s dreams.

A pity too, for age

is just a stage.

The Ballad of St. Joan: A Cautionary Tale

admin — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 16:15:23 +0000

Joan didn’t want to sing next week.

What happened to free choice?

She didn’t need a chance to grow;

she had a perfect voice.

“So hold the guilt trip, please,” thought she,

“and just leave me alone…

The church might want to share it, but

this talent is my own.”

She loved to sing. She really did,

but only now and then.

She sang for Easter, and when

Christmas came, she’d sing again.

It wasn’t like they paid her;

she did all this stuff for free,

and sometimes that accompanist

would miss a note…or three.

Joan’s talent was a cut above,

the kind that lifts and lingers.

She clung to it so tightly that

it slipped right through her fingers.

On Trees…and Me

admin — Wed, 15 Jun 2011 19:43:17 +0000

My very best friend is a tree.

He lifts me up and sets me free.

In his strong arms, the sun draws nigh;

his leafy patterns paint the sky.

My dark blue skies turn brighter then,

And my poor heart grows green again.

The wonder of it heals my soul;

and I rise up and find me whole.