First Princess

Tomorrow, November 1, is my daughter's birthday. Thinking of the day she was born makes me miss her more than ever.
I am fond of saying that of all of the things I've done wrong, Jennifer is one thing that I got right. Some may ask, "Do you think that your daughter is perfect?" The short answer? "Yes."
I wrote the following poem just a few months before Eliana was born. I'd been thinking about how much I doted on Rachel and Jordan and called them my princesses, and it occured to me that with all of the attention I was giving the girls I might be neglecting Jennifer, my first princess. The following poem was written for her. (Happy birthday baby girl.)

First Princess

Once my only princess, all lace and pretty curls

I had no way of knowing then, you’d have three little girls

The games we played, the memories made, are now with grandkids done

But not to worry princess, for you were my first one

Without you, there’d be no songs of crows out in the yard

No Cinderella slippers, no children’s handmade cards

A fairy tale is just a book, but children make it live

And because you were my princess, I have all these things to give

I love to watch your children play, but it’s really you I see

I thought that I was teaching you, but you were teaching me

Your little girls love Papa now, but I was first your dad

And I know how to treat a princess, because of the one I had

Little boys are wonderful, and in this world they have their place

But little girls are special, for they teach a man’s heart grace

There’s nothing like a princess, to make a dad feel like a king

And I can grow old happy now, for I’ve had everything

I’ve had music in my soul, and I’ve had singing in my heart

I’ve had little hands to hold, I’ve driven monsters from the dark

I now have two more little girls, and soon, another one

They’ll all be Papa’s princess, because you were my first one.



Friend of Sinners

 Pastor Raymond Bishop once said of Jesus, "They called Him the friend of sinners...and I'm so glad He is."
That quote has stayed with me down through the years, and was the inspiration for the following poem:

Friend of Sinners

(Matthew 11:19)



Not everybody called Him Lord, and some still don’t today.

Not everyone saw any more than a baby on the hay.

Born among the losers and a stranger to the winners,

They looked at their Messiah and they called Him “friend of sinners.”

What kind of king could He have been? He wore no royal crown.

Breaking bread with publicans, He sought the common ground.

What kind of God would warm His hands over common people’s cinders?

Religion labeled Him a fraud and called Him “friend of sinners.”

He came two thousand years ago to seek that which was lost

And since then untold multitudes have knelt at Calvary’s cross.

Some have served Him all their lives while some are just beginners,

And I for one thank God He came to be the “friend of sinners.”



The Myth of Time

I wrote the following poem back in '08. When I looked it up to post it today, I was surprised
to see that it was three years old. Well, the slipping away of time is what the poem is about. Pause a moment and think about it.

The Myth of Time



Time is a myth we believe when we’re young

We believe that its all in our hands

We fancy ourselves having plenty of time

To pursue all our dreams and our plans

Time is a myth that young parents believe

They think they have plenty of days

Too busy to play with the children right now

Concentrating on getting them raised

Time is a myth we believe as we labor

Retirement is so far away

Too busy to notice the sun going down

And ability slipping away

Time is a myth old folks don’t believe

They know that they have it no more

The only time left is to look away back

And it’s gone like the tide from the shore