Christ Alive

Christ Alive

Once skeptic on this Easter Day,

And, filled with doubt and raised that way,

I wanted faith and that belief,

Be blessed by God; have grace; relief.

The Scripture paints the empty tomb,

Disciples awed in Upper Room,

And, Christ alive no longer dead,

Still found some hope in things he said.

But, I was led away from Him,

The past is past and grows quite dim,

Trust in yourself, what man can do,

And, help your neighbor see it through.

Now, in that way I muddled on,

The day begins, the day is gone,

Once challenged though to read The Book,

Trust for yourself, and have a look.

The Word complete; not chopped and diced,

Found Son of God our Jesus Christ,

These doubtful men were just like me,

But, this was new, now all must see.

The Good News witnessed now was penned,

Eternal truth through centuries wend,

Have faith in Christ; repent of sin,

God’s grace alone salvation win.

Now, this was news, on bended knee,

I pledged my faith in only Thee,

My Jesus Christ may I fulfill,

Find strength in you to do Your will.

The Holy Spirit came to me,

Now, Easter Day is reverie,

With full assurance I now laud,

All praise the living Son of God!

Happy Easter!

Peter Lowell Paulson

April 12, 2020

The Old Mule

The Old Mule

At the edge of the town in a field so pristine,
There appeared a young mule no one ever had seen,
The town folk agreed just abandoned was he,
Over time they adopted this mascot to be.

For he’d wander around; every farm; every home,
And, everyone liked him where ever he’d roam,
One day an old farmer whose oxen were ill,
Used the mule at the plow and his field he did till.

Another would use him to remove a great stump-
Of a tree so enormous; got him over the hump,
In the forest so dense where terrain was quite bad,
The mule hauled the litter of one injured lad.

Not a cart or a wagon was unseen to this mule,
And, the kids thought him bright without gracing a school,
Now, gentle in spirit and even as tide,
Every youth in the town on the mule they did ride.

When it was his turn, now the old mule died,
Some old folks got teary, and some of them cried,
The blacksmith he fashioned a statue of him,
That captured his youth in all vigor and vim.

It stands in the courtyard in the center of town,
Some visitors sneer, shake their heads while they frown,
But, the town folk recount every story in style,
As it gains second looks with bright eyes and a smile.

Every person who knew him, this adopted old friend,
They loved his grand spirit from the start to its end,
And, the mule’s life had moral; it’s simple but true,
Just give unto others what was given to you.

Peter Lowell Paulson
April 7, 2020