by Hazel Holland
He’s just a bird with a broken wing,
He cannot fly, but he still can sing.
Does he have an answer when life goes wrong?
Or does he sing ‘cause he has a song?
When we can’t change the way things are
But only wish upon a star.
Then clouds give way to starlight bright
And pierce the darkness of the night.
Just when I think I’ll never mend
I remember again my feathered friend.
He sang his song of life for me,
And then he soared, far higher, free!
_________________________
I wrote this poem in the midst of dealing with my own grief over the breakup of my third marriage...
Friday, February 29, 2008
Strengthen Your Heart
by Hazel Holland
Give me a heart that is fixed and unbreakable,
‘Cause the one I have is so impractical.
I find myself giving and wanting to share
All the joy and the laughter, the pain and despair.
When I’m all alone in my own desert places
Where is the answer to life’s empty spaces?
When I want to reach out and be touched by you
I do not wear armor as some people do.
I’m a soul that lies open and chooses to feel
All the heartache and ecstasy that makes life real.
Instead of protecting, I’ll strengthen my heart
So that life’s stinging arrow will seem like a dart.
Can I risk again and let more of life in?
God, why was I born without a skin?
_____________________________
I wrote this poem as I struggled to know how to protect my heart from ever being broken again...
Give me a heart that is fixed and unbreakable,
‘Cause the one I have is so impractical.
I find myself giving and wanting to share
All the joy and the laughter, the pain and despair.
When I’m all alone in my own desert places
Where is the answer to life’s empty spaces?
When I want to reach out and be touched by you
I do not wear armor as some people do.
I’m a soul that lies open and chooses to feel
All the heartache and ecstasy that makes life real.
Instead of protecting, I’ll strengthen my heart
So that life’s stinging arrow will seem like a dart.
Can I risk again and let more of life in?
God, why was I born without a skin?
_____________________________
I wrote this poem as I struggled to know how to protect my heart from ever being broken again...
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Saddest Sabbath
By Hazel Holland
The temple stands in fractured silence,
Its curtain parted, rent in two
As pious people pay their homage,
They worship, but they know not who.
Yesterday’s gone down in history
As time that we shall not forget.
Today our feet drag slow and heavy,
Our minds can’t comprehend it yet.
The sky is gray—the sun’s not shining.
It seems the birds refuse to sing.
The morning dew bathes earth in tears.
His death is such an awful thing!
We dare not think about tomorrow
Or what the future holds in store.
Today the hours drag by in anguish.
We thought we knew—now we’re not sure.
He’s dead and gone from us, forever
Locked within those walls of stone…
We feel we died when He was taken
And yet we live, confused, alone.
(Go here to see poem with Temple background).
______________________
I wrote this poem for an Easter pageant that was put on at a Seventh-day Adventist church twenty four years ago. The Saturday morning service was presented from the viewpoint of the disciples who didn't know that Jesus was going to rise from the dead the next day! It was relatively easy for me to get in touch with the disciples loss, because I was was going through the death of my own relationship--my marriage that begun to crumble as a result of my husband's rage over becoming a paraplegic...
The temple stands in fractured silence,
Its curtain parted, rent in two
As pious people pay their homage,
They worship, but they know not who.
Yesterday’s gone down in history
As time that we shall not forget.
Today our feet drag slow and heavy,
Our minds can’t comprehend it yet.
The sky is gray—the sun’s not shining.
It seems the birds refuse to sing.
The morning dew bathes earth in tears.
His death is such an awful thing!
We dare not think about tomorrow
Or what the future holds in store.
Today the hours drag by in anguish.
We thought we knew—now we’re not sure.
He’s dead and gone from us, forever
Locked within those walls of stone…
We feel we died when He was taken
And yet we live, confused, alone.
(Go here to see poem with Temple background).
______________________
I wrote this poem for an Easter pageant that was put on at a Seventh-day Adventist church twenty four years ago. The Saturday morning service was presented from the viewpoint of the disciples who didn't know that Jesus was going to rise from the dead the next day! It was relatively easy for me to get in touch with the disciples loss, because I was was going through the death of my own relationship--my marriage that begun to crumble as a result of my husband's rage over becoming a paraplegic...
The Way It Is
by Hazel Holland
Sometimes I feel my life is being lived in the ricocheted pattern of handball court.
And I’m tired of being the ball that never knows which wall is coming up next.
I’d like to be the racquet and call the shots.
Better still, I’d rather not play this kind of game at all.
I’m gun-shy.
I’m wondering what will happen next?
Because of this utterly outrageous thing that has happened to you,
I’m feeling rage!
And that is perfectly all right
Except rage can be a very destructive force if not channeled positively.
And I’m positively mad.
I’m past the point of going quietly insane.
I’m getting noisy about it!
The neighbors must think I’m mad.
The neighbors, for once, think right!
The memory of the way things used to be keeps haunting me—
Before the wheelchair when we could run and walk together.
The bike rides we’d take, the chasing on the beach,
The laughter that was carefree…
Your face is never out of my mind.
I hear your voice and I feel soothed and warm.
I remember all the beautiful times we’ve had together,
And I want it to be that way again.
I want to plan our future
But that is where I cannot go.
I know I want to be with you in our future
But how can I plan?
How can I be sure there’s not more pain around the corner?
I tried to forget my pain—our pain.
I really did.
I tried to practice forgetting today—
Forgetting to remember what struggles you face each day.
I couldn’t.
I can’t be that objective.
I feel a deep bond between us—
A bond of intimacy and of understanding.
I miss the comfort and security of the way it used to be before…
Sometimes I’m lonely for your towering figure.
I want to look up instead of down.
And I know you would rather be looking down.
Let me lean on you until I can stand a little stronger,
Because although you cannot stand, my love
You are standing far taller...
Help me up, my friend.
Dust me off.
Hold me on your lap.
I do not want to sink into the pit again!
I do not want to draw away from you in order to escape reality--
The reality of loving and suffering that seem to go hand in hand.
Loving you would be most destructive if it were only a memory
Because in loving you I am fulfilled,
But in sharing that loving I am overflowed!
____________________________
I wrote a number of poems in 1984 as I struggled to deal with my husband becoming a paraplegic as a result of being hit in the stomach by an angry camper when we were vacationing up in Yosemite National Park. This is one of the poems I wrote at that time as I tried to fight back depression, and the possibility of divorce looming around the next corner...
Sometimes I feel my life is being lived in the ricocheted pattern of handball court.
And I’m tired of being the ball that never knows which wall is coming up next.
I’d like to be the racquet and call the shots.
Better still, I’d rather not play this kind of game at all.
I’m gun-shy.
I’m wondering what will happen next?
Because of this utterly outrageous thing that has happened to you,
I’m feeling rage!
And that is perfectly all right
Except rage can be a very destructive force if not channeled positively.
And I’m positively mad.
I’m past the point of going quietly insane.
I’m getting noisy about it!
The neighbors must think I’m mad.
The neighbors, for once, think right!
The memory of the way things used to be keeps haunting me—
Before the wheelchair when we could run and walk together.
The bike rides we’d take, the chasing on the beach,
The laughter that was carefree…
Your face is never out of my mind.
I hear your voice and I feel soothed and warm.
I remember all the beautiful times we’ve had together,
And I want it to be that way again.
I want to plan our future
But that is where I cannot go.
I know I want to be with you in our future
But how can I plan?
How can I be sure there’s not more pain around the corner?
I tried to forget my pain—our pain.
I really did.
I tried to practice forgetting today—
Forgetting to remember what struggles you face each day.
I couldn’t.
I can’t be that objective.
I feel a deep bond between us—
A bond of intimacy and of understanding.
I miss the comfort and security of the way it used to be before…
Sometimes I’m lonely for your towering figure.
I want to look up instead of down.
And I know you would rather be looking down.
Let me lean on you until I can stand a little stronger,
Because although you cannot stand, my love
You are standing far taller...
Help me up, my friend.
Dust me off.
Hold me on your lap.
I do not want to sink into the pit again!
I do not want to draw away from you in order to escape reality--
The reality of loving and suffering that seem to go hand in hand.
Loving you would be most destructive if it were only a memory
Because in loving you I am fulfilled,
But in sharing that loving I am overflowed!
____________________________
I wrote a number of poems in 1984 as I struggled to deal with my husband becoming a paraplegic as a result of being hit in the stomach by an angry camper when we were vacationing up in Yosemite National Park. This is one of the poems I wrote at that time as I tried to fight back depression, and the possibility of divorce looming around the next corner...
Love’s Sacrifice
by Hazel Holland
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I followed close behind this Man
Bent low beneath His crushing load.
How could He let men mock Him so?
Must He have reasons I don’t know?
I couldn’t stand to watch them jeer
And cruelly taunt His haggard face.
Those hands had healed; His words had led
Me to accept myself instead
Of hating who I thought I was,
And playing like I didn’t care.
He changed my life, of that I’m sure.
He gave me back myself and more…
I saw him stumble, falter, fall,
And rushed to soothe His sweating brow,
But soldiers shoved me out the way.
He bore His cross alone that day
Until some stranger passing by
Inquired to know what He had done.
Then soldiers roughly forced Him bear
His cross, alone, while I stood there.
I felt His love reach out to me
And draw me in to follow close.
In spite of pain and tortured mind
He touched my soul and let me find
That I was human… fully free.
He was the captive now, not me!
They drove Him on with savage hate
As if to banish from their minds
That God might have become a Man.
They would not stop their evil plan
And took Him up that lowly hill.
Would He display His power still?
He did, but not the way I thought.
He let them crucify Him dead
For all to see and wonder why
Was it for me He chose to die?
______________________
I wrote a number of poems in 1984 as I was struggling to deal with my husband becoming a paraplegic as a result of being hit in the stomach by an angry camper when we were vacationing up in Yosemite National Park. Watching him suffer reminded me of Jesus suffering for us. This is one of the poems I wrote at that time. I painted this watercolor 3/7/08 as I thought about the people I had painted on all fours who were "Prisoners of the Law". See following link for explanation: http://artfromhisheart.blogspot.com/2008/03/ministry-of-silly-walks.html
I followed close behind this Man
Bent low beneath His crushing load.
How could He let men mock Him so?
Must He have reasons I don’t know?
I couldn’t stand to watch them jeer
And cruelly taunt His haggard face.
Those hands had healed; His words had led
Me to accept myself instead
Of hating who I thought I was,
And playing like I didn’t care.
He changed my life, of that I’m sure.
He gave me back myself and more…
I saw him stumble, falter, fall,
And rushed to soothe His sweating brow,
But soldiers shoved me out the way.
He bore His cross alone that day
Until some stranger passing by
Inquired to know what He had done.
Then soldiers roughly forced Him bear
His cross, alone, while I stood there.
I felt His love reach out to me
And draw me in to follow close.
In spite of pain and tortured mind
He touched my soul and let me find
That I was human… fully free.
He was the captive now, not me!
They drove Him on with savage hate
As if to banish from their minds
That God might have become a Man.
They would not stop their evil plan
And took Him up that lowly hill.
Would He display His power still?
He did, but not the way I thought.
He let them crucify Him dead
For all to see and wonder why
Was it for me He chose to die?
______________________
I wrote a number of poems in 1984 as I was struggling to deal with my husband becoming a paraplegic as a result of being hit in the stomach by an angry camper when we were vacationing up in Yosemite National Park. Watching him suffer reminded me of Jesus suffering for us. This is one of the poems I wrote at that time. I painted this watercolor 3/7/08 as I thought about the people I had painted on all fours who were "Prisoners of the Law". See following link for explanation: http://artfromhisheart.blogspot.com/2008/03/ministry-of-silly-walks.html
My Victory is the Lord
by Hazel Holland
In My distress I called out to the Lord.
His ears were open, my cry was heard.
He took hold of my hand and lifted me up.
He smiled at me as He filled my cup.
He brought me out into a spacious place
So I could stand before His face.
With His help I can scale a wall.
He keeps my lamp burning, I need not fall.
He makes my feet like the feet of a deer.
He arms me with strength so I need not fear.
He trains my hands to wield a sword.
My shield of victory is the Lord!
___________________________
I wrote this poem at a time in my life when God's anointing was so strong on me for intercession for His children that I could no longer work at a "regular" job as a special education teacher. Waiting to see how He would open up another door that would provide income for me was a struggle of my faith. I wrote this poem after experiencing his miraculous provision in my life.
In My distress I called out to the Lord.
His ears were open, my cry was heard.
He took hold of my hand and lifted me up.
He smiled at me as He filled my cup.
He brought me out into a spacious place
So I could stand before His face.
With His help I can scale a wall.
He keeps my lamp burning, I need not fall.
He makes my feet like the feet of a deer.
He arms me with strength so I need not fear.
He trains my hands to wield a sword.
My shield of victory is the Lord!
___________________________
I wrote this poem at a time in my life when God's anointing was so strong on me for intercession for His children that I could no longer work at a "regular" job as a special education teacher. Waiting to see how He would open up another door that would provide income for me was a struggle of my faith. I wrote this poem after experiencing his miraculous provision in my life.
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