Sunday, January 26, 2014

Hands Lifted High in Praise

“I want men everywhere to lift up holy hands in prayer,
without anger or disputing.” 1 Timothy 2:8 NIV

Some lift one
others, both
chest-high, chin high
Some reach upward
ceilingward, skyward
stretching Heavenward
reaching for
His hem

Soft young graceful hands
with squared airbrushed fingertips
Pudgy, fidgety, child hands
copying his daddy hands
Brown hands, pale hands
old bulging vein hands
Just plain hands
hands with bands
hands flashing rings
stones sparkling
Calloused hands, splintered hands
rough, red dishpan hands
Cold hands, warm hands
peanut butter and jelly hands
Salon hands
nails lacquered red
rose pink or pearly

Tambourine shaking
banner waving
clap clapping
Bible clutching
baby holding
tear wiping
clenching, wrenching
God beseeching hands

Hands clasping the hand
of another
hands signing praise
for ears that cannot hear
hands folded
serenely in a lap

All beautiful
all holy
all His children’s
hallelujah hands

Maude Carolan

Sunday, January 19, 2014

What They Learn "At Grandma's Knee"

Meet Aiden, Antonio, Emelia, Dean, Logan & Alana

For my grandchildren

When I was a child, sitting at my grandma’s knee
she told me about Jesus, Who gave His life for me.

She made for me a scrapbook all about the Lord,
to show me countless reasons why He should be adored.

I still have that scrapbook. I keep it with my treasures.
Looking through it time to time is among my pleasures.

She told of His birth at Christmas; Easter, it was the Cross;
told of the sins He saved us from, when His life was lost.

She made it clear she loved Him; I learned to love Him, too,
and I grew up to follow Him, all my whole life through.

Now I have grandchildren, who sit upon my knee;
I get to tell them of the things that mean the most to me.

I read them poems and sing to them…Oh! we laugh and play;
I hug and kiss and pray with them in my special way.

Of course I tell of Jesus and why I love Him so,
and oh I hope they’ll love Him, too, as they grow and grow.

Maude Carolan Pych

Sunday, January 12, 2014




Imagine worshipping a cooing one moment, whimpering the next, born to save us, sweet baby God, lying in a trough filled with scratchy straw, needing a diaper change


Imagine worshipping a stone-kicking, frog-in-pocket, sticky-fingered, tousle-haired God, gleefully splish-splashing through mud-puddles along a rocky Nazareth road


Imagine worshipping a nose-in-the-Scroll, confident little boy-God, teaching in the Temple, confounding elders with astonishing Truths, as His parents search for Him


Imagine worshipping a rugged, long-haired, son-of-a-carpenter adolescent God, as He learns (ironically) to skillfully select woods and deftly wield a hammer and nails


Imagine worshipping a gregarious, life-of-the-party, wedding-guest God, Who miraculously turns stone jars of purification water into jars of finest wine at Cana


Imagine worshipping a child embracing, woe pronouncing, multitude feeding, leper cleansing God, Who walks upon water, instructs the wind and even raises the dead


Imagine worshipping a bread-breaking, wine-offering, foot-washing God, Who soon to be betrayed, beseeches His Heavenly Father, and sweats blood in an olive garden


Imagine worshipping a 30-something, blood-splattered, fist-struck, scourged and spat-upon God, laboriously lugging a cumbersome crossbeam to His own execution


Imagine worshipping a thorn-crowned, sword-pierced, crucified-with-common-criminals sacrificial Lamb of God, as He dies sinless for the sin of the world


Imagine worshipping a resurrected three-days-after-burial God, Who appears ALIVE! Yes, ALIVE! in His own burial garden, in locked rooms and to strangers along the road


Imagine worshipping this crucified, resurrected, gloriously ascending-in-the-clouds, victorious Son of God, Who says, "Go into the world and tell them." Tell them…


He did it for them



Maude Carolan

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Do You Know the "Real" Mary?



She was a real maiden

gracious and virtuous

so she trembled

as any girl might

at an angel’s visit

But she had real faith

in a real God

and she said, “Yes.”


She was a real woman

not blue-gowned in plaster

A poor carpenter’s wife

not an artist’s rendering

gilded and haloed

She bulged big with child

as she rode astride an ass

and during her real travail

brought forth a baby

in a Bethlehem stable


She was a real mother

He was a real son

She nursed him

changed him

bathed and cradled him

as any mother would

She smiled at his first word

saw him take his first step

and when he fell

and scraped his tender knees

she washed away blood

not yet deemed Precious

and soothed him

with soft lullabies


When he was twelve

and they discovered

he was missing

as they traveled home

after the Passover

she was anxious

as any mother would be

and heaved a great sigh

when they found him, safe

in the temple courts


Yes, she was a real mom

and he was a real son

so, it’s not surprising

it was she

who sensed his power

she who encouraged him to act

at the wedding feast

when wine stopped flowing

for she knew

she just knew…


and she was real

at the Crossbeams

Simeon had told her

long, long ago

a sword would pierce her

Though hers be bloodless

it penetrated sharp

and deep, as truly

as the gaping wounds

she now was powerless

to soothe


He looked down

from His agony

into hers—

gave her to mother

his friend

gave his friend

to be her son


It was always about love


She was a real mom

He is the real Savior


Maude Carolan