The Titus 2:4 Project

Be my companion when I’m alone Be my compass that leads the way Be the colors of my rainbow Be my peace throughout the day Be my confidence when I’m scared Be my clarity when I’m confused Be my ransom when I’m captive Be my defense when I’m accused Be my friend when others fail Be my faith when I’m in doubt Be my guide when I am lost Be everything that I’m about Be my patience when I’m restless Be my strength when I am weak Be my joy when things go well Be my words when I can’t speak Be my rest when I am weary Be the wind beneath my wings Be my light when times are dark Be the song that my soul sings Be my healer when I am sick Be my youth as I grow older Be my high when I am low Be my warmth as days grow colder Be my sustenance when I hunger Be my dream when I’m asleep Be my up when I am down Be my comfort when I weep Be my rescue when I’m abandoned  Be the melody in my song Be my cushion when I fall Be my right when I am wrong Be my provider when I’m in need Be my love that I ado...

 This poem hits me right in the feels... I wrote this when my son Jake was a little guy (18 months old, perhaps). He used to stand next to his dad and watch him play his guitar and reach his fat, little hand up to feel the vibration of the strings. I snapped a photo of this and was inspired to write a poem. Then my dear friend, Lisa, did a pencil drawing of the photo. I had them framed together as a Father's Day gift for his dad. When Jake was 12 years old, his dad passed away. His step-mom gave me the framed art to save for Jake. Fast forward several years... Jake was married, with a young son of his own and that art was hanging in their home. They had a house fire that destroyed everything... well, almost everything. This heirloom piece was salvageable, thanks to the work of a wonderful lady at a local framing shop. I happened to be visiting Jake when his second child, a daughter, was about the age he had been when I wrote this and I caught a picture of the moment that she did th...

 This poem is very different than most of the others I have written. This one feels very raw to me.  Growing up, I had a great (ha) uncle who was a very sick man and sexually abused many young girls in our family and other neighborhood girls apparently.  When he was finally confronted by the father of one of his victims, he took the coward's way out, or so the story goes. So here's perfect example of me using my pen and paper as therapy. GUILTY A single tear was all I cried When I heard the news today. A guilty man was sentenced And his life was taken away. No judge had ever seen him,  No jury heard his case, No lawyers claimed his innocence Just a mirror and a face… His crime was seldom spoken of Though his victims felt the pain And suffered through life, struggling With torn emotions of family shame. No longer able to live inside The monster he had become He handed down his sentence And then picked up a gun. LR

This was one of the first poems I wrote as an adult. My mother, who had been taking college courses ever since I could remember, was about to graduate college at 50 years old. I didn't know what to get her as a gift, so I wrote her a poem. I hand wrote it on 'pretty paper' and had it framed with her graduation announcement.  More than 30 years later it still hangs in her home. Mother’s Love As I look back with the knowledge Of what “Mother’s Love” really is I see a kind of caring The kind that always gives. I see the understanding That only a mother knows A love that never fails As every day it grows. In her eyes I see compassion She feels my every pain She knows just what I’m going through And what experience I must gain. Always there to lend a hand And help me when I’m down She picks me up, she helps me out She’s turned my life around. When I think about my mother An ageless beauty in my eyes She’s everything her children need So wonderful and wise. It’s not every day her...

One of the gifts that God has given me, is the gift of empathy, and the ability to express, through words, other people's thoughts or feelings.  I used to write 'by request' poetry for customized birthday invitations, birth announcements, funerals and any other time a person would share their heart with me and ask me to write for them.  It was always such an honor to share this gift and see how powerfully others were affected by it.  One such instance, was a poem I wrote for a girlfriend back in 1994, who was going through the painful, emotional post-abortion healing process.  After talking with her for hours and crying with her and praying for her, God gave me a beautiful poem that literally took just minutes to put on paper.  I know my friend isn't alone in her pain.  I have had many friends share their guilt and shame with me over the years regarding this same issue.  My prayer is that if you are one of the many women suffering in silence...