Saturday With the Grandkids

Saturday With the Grandkids

Grandma’s sleeping upstairs near the grandkids where they sleep,

Grandpa’s sleeping downstairs near the front door if they creep,

Now, I just heard the older call to Grandma from his bed,

And, I awake, ascend to him to check on him instead.

He knows the house, and yet he held the covers to his chin,

The room was dimly lit from closet light quite deep within,

I told him if you want to use the bathroom or to rise,

Then come downstairs, let Grandma sleep; a Saturday surprise!

He told me, “No, I want to stay”, with his now droopy lids,

I knew his sister, snoozing still, were very sleepy kids,

I told him, “I’ll find Grandma now and give her big kiss”,

He grinned from ear to ear to hear then turned toward sleep filled bliss!

Peter Lowell Paulson

February 10, 2018

Molly and John

Molly and John

Now Father Daughter; groom and bride,

Upon the wedding dance they glide,

For Mom and Dad their babe’s new life,

In first new dance for husband; wife.

For Dad it’s every memory,

In wedding dress and finery,

His princess found her loving sir,

Who you well know will care for her.

The gathered friends and family,

All share the joy and reverie,

And, known in present and beyond,

Is blessed by God in marriage bond.

Peter Lowell Paulson

February 2, 2018

Wedding of Molly Breheny and John Ellis

I’m Free

I’m Free

When I do good I feel good, but when I am bad I don’t,

But, does our God who made all “me” control all this; He won’t,

He calls to me, he draws me in; his plan is always good,

He has all pow’r, but sets me free to choose Him as I should.

Peter Lowell Paulson

January 31, 2018

The Problem of Evil or God's Response to Evil

The Problem of Evil or God's Response to Evil

Philosophers of evil laud,
In heaven; earth there is no God,
The fawn in forest fire dies,
The little child beaten cries.

In every life evil we meet,
The pain and suffering replete,
Believers struggle as we go,
In wondering what God must know.

It’s rare howe’er to think of good,
To balance evil as we should,
The placid wave on every beach,
Each breath of air within our reach.

Our fingers move to make the bread,
Each muscle moves to turn our head,
To see with eyes and widen grin,
To cross a finish line and win.

If every cell that multiplies,
Were counted for each one that dies,
And, every heartbeat in our chest,
Must matter fore it takes its rest.

Yes, evil’s here; a force indeed,
And, we must note each dour deed,
Yet, faith in God is where I’m free,
In Christ there’s final victory!

So if I fall so low I laud,
It’s ne’er beneath the hands of God!

Peter Lowell Paulson
January 27, 2018

Written while reading, “The Problem of Evil” [copyright 2017] the book authored by my philosophy professor of Suffering, Tragedy, and Christian Faith, Dr. Michael L. Peterson - Asbury Theological Seminary

Reflections of Love

Reflections of Love

Traveling with my lady fair,

Down the road to nowhere,

Somewhere,

Anywhere,

Wintry landscapes,

Sunny skies,

I hear her soul in breathless sighs,

I love you,

I  love you,

Walking with my lady fair,

In early days a country road,

Autumn trees,

Holding hands,

A touch that thrilled me,

Chilled me to my very core,

I adore you,

I adore you,

Sitting with my lady fair,

Reading your book,

I look,

Sunlit necklace,

Golden hair,

A pretty face and more,

I am drawn to who you are,

You know the whole of me,

And, you love me,

You love me,

What more could a man desire,

I love you,

I adore you,

And, in life,

It’s you I desire most,

It’s you I love,

And, you alone!

Peter Lowell Paulson

January 17, 2018

What to Do

What to Do

Ever think what you will do when first you ope’ your eyes,

You’ve laid in bed too far; too long and thought of bye-and-byes,

And, now your feet must hit the floor and throw off evening mask,

You head into the darkened house, and ponder your first task.

Last night the daily chores were done; the house is spic-and-span,

The dishes; laundry put away; your spouse the vacuum ran,

One looks around at this and that; there’s nothing much to do,

You stop and stare at this and that; you haven’t single clue.

You cannot watch the T.V. now; the noise will wake the wife,

That half read book you’ve read before seems dull and lacks much life,

Until the sun comes pouring out and streams throughout your home,

The best that I can think to do is sit and write a poem!

Peter Lowell Paulson

January 10, 2018