(Excerpt from our book, Tales From Heritage Farm)

Christmas is just ’round the corner,

Folks send news of good cheer;

Items marked down thirty percent,

Sales you must pay for all year.

Children’s hearts full of excitement,

Shoppers hunt for just the right toy.

Is this shopping fuss the answer

To contentment, peace and joy?

Truly unique Christmas giving

Came to earth when God sent us His Son,

Revealing His plan of salvation

Freely offered to everyone.

Believing Jesus’ redemption,

The price He paid for our sins,

His Word assures our adoption

Where fullness of life begins.

Christmas is just ’round the corner,

A time we all can afford.

Through His death and resurrection

We can know Jesus as Lord.

All Christmas gifts must be  purchased.

Jesus bought a present for you —

A new life just for the asking,

And a home in Heaven, too.

Joy is not wrapped up in  presents;

Doll, trinkets, high-tech, or clothes.

Find your fullment in Jesus.

Each need and desire He knows.

Turn your life over to Jesus.

He will not turn you away.

Give Him your heart’s true devotion.

Do not wait, do it today.

Yes, Christmas is ’round the corner.

It could be the best one yet.

When your life, too, turns the corner,

A choice you will not regret.

For Christmas giving see the Christmas greeting cards available in our catalog.

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. . .

The still of night shadows o’er me

Putting weary thoughts to rest.

Time it is for quiet, peaceful hours in our humble nest.

Z-Zing . . .

Out of somewhere comes a-singing;

A constant, high-pitched sound a-ringing.

A nasty, little cricket hides deep within my house.

Zing-Zing-Zing  . . .

                                                   Blessed sleep eludes me;

                                                  My annoyance is aroused.

                             Cricket still is singing from somewhere in my house.

Zing . . .

The cricket took a breather.

Ahh…restful quiet still may come.

I hope he forgot the lyrics of his summer nighttime song.

Z-Zing-Zing-Zing-Zing . . .

On a desperate mission,

I leave my slumb’ring spouse

Creeping and a-looking for that singing, lonesome louse.

Zing-Zing-Zing . . .

Hiding in my basement,

That six-legged teaser wins

Sitting there triumphantly underneath my freezer.

Zing-Zing . . .

I give up the battle.

I pillow my head; cricket stops!

Ha-ha, hurray, quiet!!… And then…the rooster crows.

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Darkness blankets dry earth under sultry, humid layers.

Sleep flees, ears listen intently for forecast’s fulfillment.

Hints of thunder tease the wakened sleeper, when at last

Distant sounds echo through the corridors of heaven.

Light flickers; darkness overtakes once more.

Strong flashes illuminate the landscape.

Loud rumbling follows, then quickly recedes.

Silence ensues. . .pitter,  . . . pitter, . . . pat.

Steady rhythmic beats on the roof drown out the night sounds.

The driving cadence in monotony issues its cozy tenor.

Pouring rain crescendos in the ebony of night,

Then slowing again to pitter…pitter…pat.

Once again silence creeps through the room.

Blazing lightning strikes its final blow.

Window panes rattle in its wake.

Quiet resumes with light flickering as a dying candle.

Muffled drumbeats pound the earth as rivulets slide off the roof.

Rhythms fade.  A distant crackle bursts in the skies.

Darkness and silence once again enfold the earth,

Inviting the wakeful eye to relax, to rest, to sleep.

Job 37:11-13 (RSV)  “He loads the thick cloud with moisture; the clouds scatter His lightning.  They turn round and round by His guidance, to accomplish all that He commands them on the face of the habitable world.  Whether for correction, or for His land, or for love, He causes it to happen.”

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Wenda Grabau © 2011

With harvest ended, winds press on my windows
Bearing many curious sounds.
This morning, I heard unexpected tones
Wafting up from the barnyard crowd.

The silage bag, down by the barn,
Holds bushels of fermenting corn
Meant for cattle during winter’s blast.
Today it drew three from a gaggle.

Hilarious cackles, unsteady waddles,
Hiccups, and delirious honks;
Apparently, they had quite a hoot.
The intoxicating brew took their senses away.

Migrating habits
Were sorely impaired.
The last I saw,
They took off flying North!

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Wenda Grabau © 2009

In the blackness of winter’s early morning hours,
The farmhouse kept us all warm.
Heat, forced through ducts to most ev’ry room,
Sheltered us from frost, wind chill and harm.

Grandma’s handmade quilts tucked ‘round the kids
Covered us from noses to toes.
But down in the cellar, from the wood-furnace fire,
Heav’nly scents of wood burning ‘rose.

Father felled the trees; cut and split the logs.
He piled and stacked all the wood.
With autumn’s cold chill, he moved the stack into
The wood-room, where his fuel supply stood.

The warmth, sights, and sounds of the old furnace-fire
Mark my life like a hot firebrand.
His work, his commitment still show me his love—
A fire lit by Father’s faithful hand.

 *     *     *     *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *

This poem lauds an earthly father.  However, it also reminds me of my Heavenly Father. 

In the black, coldness of sin, He created a safe haven to make me and others feel the warmth and security of His love.  He shelters us from eternal harm.  Like this earthly father, He, too, lit a fire.  That fire was a Light that God sent into this world to touch men’s lives, to let them see the truth.  (See John 1:1-14.)

Go to that Light, Jesus Christ.  Our Heavenly Father made this haven from the cold and darkness and destruction of sin.  He worked out the details and has made the commitment to you, if you will simply believe in the light He sent.  That light is Jesus—a fire lit by the Father’s faithful hand.

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Wenda Grabau © 2011

Shrouded in secret  ‘neath a blanket of snow,

Each singer awaits making entrance.

Nature revives resting voices although

Time must pass before the performance.

Rainbow robes, trumpets bold, smiles aglow–

Their songs burst forth not making a sound.

Look, there is a choir outside my window

Standing stately on green carpeted ground.

The silent cantata captures my gaze

When led at the Choirmaster’s direction.

Songsters–arrayed for beauty in praise

Of the Artists’s creative perfection–

Reflect their Creator’s capable style.

With joy, I drink deeply all the while.

photo credit: Wenda Grabau