Category Archives: Poetry

Celebrate What Is!

When I go for walks in the winter, I’m impressed with little flowers like this one: Buxbaum’s Speedwell. Now THAT’S a flower name for you! Its very name conveys a positive spirit.

In a Dallas Seminary Romans course we were in chapter 8, and Dr. Grassmick said to the class of about 20 seminarians, “Raise your hand if you are led by the Spirit of God.” Only three had the temerity to raise their hands. Three out of 20 SEMINARIANS, men (it would be men and women now) who were spending their lives studying God’s word and preparing to lead others in the spiritual life. Were the 17 who did not raise their hands REALLY not led by the Spirit of God? Were they simply humble? Or were they — what I suspect, and am trying to process — failing to recognize and celebrate the ways in which the Spirit was indeed leading them? Even in the dead of winter, buds begin to form. One can lament the cold, or one can notice and celebrate the signs of life. I want to CELEBRATE WHAT IS. Yes, I’m still a sinner. The glass IS sometimes four-fifths empty. But THANK GOD, the glass IS one-fifth full!

Buxbaum’s Speedwell. Now THAT’S a flower name for you!

Earth Trumpets

I won’t blame the speaker I had just heard for this musing. While we may not understand those who hurt, we can at least listen. That was his point. But there’s a point beyond his point. As is the case with most of my current poems, the key to my meaning is in the parenthesis. Much that we experience now is incomprehensible. Physical and emotional pain is allowed by God, even in the lives of His own. Why? For now, the answer is not given — there is silence. But one day, we’ll learn how His glory is heralded even by the seemingly negative things He currently allows.

I won’t blame the speaker I had just heard for this musing: While we may not understand those who hurt, we can at least listen.

When Angels Appear

From interaction about this poem on Facebook:

Darol Klawetter: Ha! Set the scene for me: did you almost collide with her as you walked? If she is an angel, she must still be trying to earn her wings.

Brad Hepp: I was walking down this very path, texting a friend in Ethiopia. Engrossed in the text, and with my floppy hat shielding my eyes, I never saw her coming toward me. Suddenly I heard, “You’re going to run into the elephant!” I looked up, and there she was, standing 8 feet away, immediately to my left. I said, “I rarely do this; please don’t rebuke me.” She replied, “I’m just kidding you, but I am worried about the elephant in front of you.” The way I responded, you’d think I have no sense of humor, and am easily offended (sadly, a little true). When I walked the next day, I was more conscious of all I encountered as God’s fellow image bearers.

The Sycamore Ball

When we moved to the States in 1970, I asked my folks to look for a house with good climbing trees. The one they found was surrounded by tall sycamores. I’d spend many hours surveying the countryside from my perch high in their strong branches. Now, as a parent of two teens, I marvel how my parents let me climb so high.

When we moved to the States in 1970, I asked my folks to look for a house with good climbing trees. The one they found was surrounded by tall sycamores. I’d spend many hours surveying the countryside from my perch high in their strong branches. Now, as a parent of two teens, I marvel how my parents let me climb so high.

Low on the Horizon

I finally know what cloud formation it was that inspired this poem 30 years ago. Having grown up in the highlands of Mexico, I was accustomed to the look of clouds spilling over a mountain range. The SHELF CLOUD formation can mimic that look even in the flat lands of Texas. Knowing this does not diminish the longing I have for the real thing, be it here and now or there and ever. (The background photo was a free-to-use download from Pixabay; wish I could take credit for it!).