The brightest days and star-lit nights,
had coaxed her steady upward climb.
With thorns around her--safe at last;
Planted near a fruited vine.

Stronger, as the weeks went by;
Deeper, was her color red.
Soothed by rain drops heaven sent;
Strengthened by her earthly bed.

She noticed as each day went by
that larger, grew the daily throng
of voices passing now and then,
and chased away the bluebird's song.

"All the sick and crippled come
to see this man, whom they believe.
My peaceful world is not the same;
How I wish he'd make them leave."

"Does he look upon my life?
Can't he once just come to me,
and bring with him the bluebird's song,
and the honey-suckle bee?"

Then one lonely afternoon,
as she over heard him say;
"To my Father I must go,
but will return for you one day."

"I am the vine--you are the branch;
Bear fruit and remain in me.
Then ask me anything you wish,
and of my Father, it will be."

She looked about and felt alone;
Different was she, from the rest.
She was not the fruited vine,
nor in other colors, dressed.

Star light came, her head bent low;
A prayer she whispered as she wept.
Tears brought on by evening dew,
as old and faded, while she slept.

Again, that same familiar voice,
woke her from her slumber state.
Bringing Peter, James and John;
"Now keep a watch for me . . . .
                                     and wait."

Suddenly the wind had stirred,
and cleansed by every breeze she felt.
Finally this man had come,
and down beside her, he had knelt.

The other men fell fast asleep,
while angels came from all around.
Their heads bent low with him in prayer,
as his face fell to the ground.

"Oh my Father, take from me
this death, that leaves me broke in two.
Yet in your arms I'd rather be;
Forsake me not, what I go through."

Desperately she called to him---
"Jesus, can't you hear my plea!
Give to me, what I have lost,
in this garden of Gethsemane."

His legs were weak and shaking so,
but she was there to help him stand.
He grabbed her, then began to fall;
Broken by his heavy hand.

There she laid beside his head,
crying in her own despair---
"Jesus, now what good am I?
Your weight, too much for me to bear."

His tears and agony were such,
that drops of blood fell from his face.
He barely saw the rose that caught
the last drop, as he left that place.

She watched him slowly walk away,
and thought, 'He's left me here to die.'
She offered up her one last prayer,
as she watched the star-lit sky . . . .

"Oh my Father, take from me
this death, that leaves me broke in two.
Yet in your arms I'd rather be;
Forsake me not, what I go through."

Hours passed--the sky turned black,
when suddenly she heard him cry . . .
The same voice that she grew to love;
She too, in that same hour, died.

------------------------------

In a garden this same rose grows
beside a pathway, gold and new.
With joy, she hears the bluebirds sing,
and watched them as above, they flew.

Again a once familiar voice;
In royalty and glory, dressed.
And there he sat upon his throne . . .
"Oh Precious Rose, for you are blest."

"The only one that kept a watch
beside me when I cried and prayed.
And gave your life to help me stand,
'til broken, you and I had laid."

"Beautiful, you are to me,
and in my garden you will grow.
Near my throne I'll watch you bloom,
as past you crystal waters flow."

"Oh Precious Rose, I heard your prayers,
and what you ask of me, I give.
As all who call my name and trust,
with me forever--they will live."
 
 

Cheryl Taul
copyright February 1995

Lord,
I tried to love when you said I should love;
I showed only hatred instead.

Lord,
I tried to give when you said I should give;
But took off with the last crumb of bread.

And I tried to wait,
when you said I should wait;
Then I ran far ahead of Your Will.

I have exalted myself above all,
when you said to lie quiet and still.

I read in Your Word,
the precepts and laws;
The hundreds of different commands.
But give me just one;
Just one tiny one,
and I'll blow it as sure as I am.

Because of your mercy,
your grace and your care,
I pardoned myself anyway.
Ignoring those debts you command I should pay,
you've hit me with one just today . . . .

Lord,
I have forgiven;
You said that I should.
But my anger for him carries on.
I have let go, like you said to let go.
But my heart testifies that I'm wrong.

The day that you come back,
I hope I'm prepared;
You said in Your Word I should be.
By having Your Spirit that cleans from within,
I'll face you one day blamelessly.

Lord,
I have been changing
these past eighteen years,
through heartaches and loved ones I've lost.
I know, when I suffer--you've carried that pain,
and nailed it with you on the cross.

Lord,
stop your grieving;
I know that you are.
Your tears I feel each day I live.
And I thought you grieved for the hate dealt to me,
but you grieve for the hate that I give.

Lord,
help me to love,
the way that you love.
To deal with what pain comes my way.
In time I will learn to open my arms
the way that you did that last day.

Cheryl Taul
copyright October 1994