Soups in the City by Socks and Gloves

The Socks and Gloves homeless outreach group is starting to gather food, warm clothing and sleeping bags for their Soups in the City outreach next month. Check it out here.

Little One

In the hard spot of a stony path
After a season that seemed so fraught with wrath
A little sunshine did become
A light unto this little one

Most thought nothing could grow in this place
Where hard knocks of life hit right on the the face
And yet with doses of morning sun
Growth came to this little one

At first with fear she beheld the grandeur
Of little flowers peeking up to pander
For a gaze at the beauty that had become
A fruit from in this little one

Her fear of pruning did soon subside
In time flowers spread across the hillside
To show the village that however much undone
Jesus had refilled this little one

Where once there were doubt and rejection near
His love had set her in the clear
Still stony were the rocks among
The flowers of this little one

Yet despite the stones along the way
Or the dreams of life cast to the fray
Perseverance had with fruit become
The sweetness o'er this little one

Though small, still lovely with fragrance rich
The doubt and greed had all been pitched
More humble had the heart become of this precious little one

She'd learned the gentle tone and tamber
Of listening to His voice - not clamor
Her cares and fears had to Him been flung
And He now cares for this little one

The place at first so hard and stony
Had turned into a sanctimony
Where He kept her heart and dashed her fear
And left her grinning ear to ear.

He who knew her had and did now own
Her heart as place to call His home
Much calmer now she had become
A protected child - His Little One

Seeds of Life

It seems so dark - a lot like death
I work so hard I can't catch my breath

Does it make a difference, does anyone care
Is all this energy getting me anywhere

The night seems long, the future bleak
My "potential greatness" seems to have peaked

Now my shell gets tattered & cracked here and there
I am forcibly humbled; but, no one seems to care

Covered with dirt & wet from the rain
"Get over yourself" seems the constant refrain

Mushy & pudgy, bloated and bent
I'm trying, but, Gosh! Is this a life well spent?

Now ideals abandoned , practical I become
Somewhat less attractive, but remembering where I'm from

Now the mush pours out - my insides - like water
But with my insides out, I become the fodder
For new life to spring up for all to see
For that's who I am truly called to be...

Remember, I'm a seed; so when my life's well spent
My life's long since to another been lent

So my key aim in helping others become
The best version of themselves is far from dumb

For as this seed dies & starts to decompose
A new plant springs up for others to behold

The Kite

Wind blown and frayed

My heart is dismayed

After years waiting for flight

My Heart is the kite



The kite string so tangled

In the wind my heart dangles

Just knotted and stuck

All my goals run a muck



Dangles, flaps, spins and twists

I'm made for the air and know what I miss

The glory of freedom to sail high above

But this kite does not fly on the wings of true love



Isolated instead I grow winsome and dusty

Where my supports once were supple

They're now growing crusty



I've grown brittle, and fickle, my heart is forelorn

In all of my waiting my heart fills with scorn



Though made for the air, I fail to see

how my lovelorn lament changes who I can be


Without knowing or trying I push others away

So wrapped up in hurt and a sense of dismay



All kites need a runner to take to the air

But to run this old kite none would dare

It's knotted, tangled, brittle and old

This kite won't catch air, but it's never told



So wondering, "Why?" & "How?" and mostly just, "When?"

This measly kite looks for love again

It's dowels are cracked, bent, & showing general wear

It's silk is sun scorched and starting to tear



It once was so supple with colors so bold

Now it's a mess looking tattered and old



So long has it waited for enough of a wind

That it could not see how these choices would end

In a crumpled heap of kite dismay

Too tangled to flap in the wind any day