Old Friends

Old Friends

Last week Keith Sims died of colon cancer. He was a good friend of mine in Jr. High and High School but I hadn’t seen him since our 20th reunion. He was married for 35 years to Jane Endres, another Lake Worth classmate. There were only about 100 of us in the class of 1970 and now another is gone.
Seeing his name and picture in the obituaries was a jolt that I am still coming to grips with. I don’t know why Keith’s death has bothered me so much. Maybe because I am reminded about our mortality. Perhaps because I truly regret having lost touch with people who provided so many great memories.
Throughout our lives we are shaped and influenced by those who populate the various paths we traverse. As a kid there were the neighborhood urchins with whom I constantly played with. My teenage years were made richer by those special souls like Keith who filled the classrooms, football fields, dances, and other memorable events of a time dominated by innocence, awakenings, acne, and hormones.
My fifteen years with the Southland Corporation brought not only gainful employment but also a new group of companions - folks in their 20s and 30s with whom we shared new homes, new babies, and the other accessories of young yuppiehood.
Next came the Cougar football years. For ten years life revolved around me as a coach, Steven as a player, Stacey and Laura as cheerleaders, Shanda on the drill team, and Debbie as the perfect football wife/mom/booster. Our friends were the parents of our kids’ friends and the world was maroon, grey, and white.
At each crossroads I have surrounded myself with people who, for the most part, are like me. Now, on the backside of 50, my circle of friends are the Homies - a group whose genesis was bible study but who have evolved into much more. We share common life experiences and a common desire to find meaning in a time marked by religion, reflection, grandchildren, margaritas, and the vagaries of age.
The transience and impermanence of our relationships is part of the cycle of life. These people, considered friends at the time, are actually temporary players in the dramas and comedies that make up the saga of our time on Earth. No one is more important to us at that particular time but, with the passing of the years, each is relegated to the dusty pages of photo albums and then stowed away in the attics of our life.
There have been many people like Keith who have enhanced my life, from growing up with Freddy Zwald to growing old with Harry Berney. In between, there was Mark Long, Billy Brown, Wayne Howard, Richard Moore, Mark Braun, and so many others who helped define who I am today.

"Preserve your memories...they’re all that’s left you"

(Also attached is a poem I wrote in 1982, in commemoration of my years with the Southland Corp. and dedicated to the men I worked with from 1972-1982. However, it applies to each group of "guys" I have known.)

One of the Guys

(written in 1982)

One of the Guys

It’s been said that as a man goes through life,
Next to children and a loving wife,
The thing most treasured until life ends
Is the relationship between good friends.

For some, these friends are hard to find,
But I feel that life has been most kind.
For one pleasure that I’ll always prize
Is having been one of the guys.

In ten years of work they all paraded;
Some mere names that have quietly faded.
But a special few have stood apart;
They’ve left a mark on mind and heart.

For these friends and I, time cannot sever
Our common kink that’s lasting ever.
We formed a bond I now realize
Can only exist between the guys.

Our mutual work brought us together,
And at first, of course, we knew not whether
The faces before us could be holding
The joys that soon would be unfolding.

It did not matter from whence we came;
Our newfound goals were now the same.
And we knew with whom we’d fraternize -
We had each become one of the guys.

But Toffler was right when he did state
That change and transience is our fate.
For our working union was abated
As some left or were relocated.

Within all of these rearranges
Only the cast of characters changes.
Just other names to recognize
As the newest members of the guys.

And so its gone in these ten years,
That playing ball and drinking beers
Has been an aspect of employment
That has brought to me the most enjoyment.

Ten years that I have gladly shared
With men about whom I have cared.
Their friendship I now idolize,
For I’ll always be one of the guys.

Why Should I Be Moral

WHY SHOULD I BE MORAL?

(I wrote this one when Shanda was in college. Her professor had asked the class to write a paper answering the above question. As I had done for the kids since they were in Jr. High, I did a bit of ghost writing.)

According to Webster, to be moral is to be ethical, virtuous, and righteous and to conform to a standard of behavior. Morality then is not some inherent trait that one is born with but rather a lifestyle choice. Assuming that I know the difference between right and wrong, why should I choose "right"?

One obvious reason is because of the legal implications of breaking society’s designated decrees of accepted conduct. Negative consequences are the fate of those who break the laws, whether it be speeding, doing drugs, shoplifting, or murder. Therefore, I choose to be moral in order to avoid fines and/or incarceration.

However, if those consequences did not exist, would I speed, steal, or take drugs? Would I commit murder? According to God’s laws, I risk a hellish fate if I don’t abide by His commandments. So, even if I lived in a land where there were no legal standards of behavior, I choose to be moral in order to uphold the Christian ideals and mores that are spelled out in the Bible.

But suppose I grew up with no religious education and no concept of legal deportment. Would I still conduct myself in an ethical and noble manner? I think I would because of my conscience. Despite any lack of influence from laws and commandments, I possess inside of me an inner source of power that regulates my character and obliges me to choose the "right" way when confronted with a question of principle, fairness, or justice.

Why should I be moral? Because I want to conform to society’s laws. Because I strive to uphold the teachings of my Lord and to be pleasing in God’s eyes. And because I have to live with myself and constantly perform a self-administered evaluation. Did I do the "right" thing? I have to look in the mirror each day; therefore I choose to be moral so that I can peacefully sleep each night.

Golfing in Grand Prarie

Golfing in Grand Prarie
(true story - one name has been changed to protect the innocent)

The wait on the first tee had already drug on for twenty minutes and now this! 110 yards down the left center of the fairway, just before the crossing cart path, an old man was lying on his side.

"What the heck is that?" Rick wanted to know.
Mark shrugged, "He was bending down to check his lie and he never came up".

Debbie and her brother, Randy were still sitting in the carts. Randy quickly appraised the situation and wondered aloud, "You think they will let us play through?"
"They should", replied Debbie, "because we should all be able to clear his body with our drives."

By this time Rick was trotting back to the pro shop to inform the staff about the new hazard in #1 fairway. An overweight gentleman promptly hopped in a cart and headed toward the prone linkster.

"I wonder if he knows CPR?" Mark asked.
Debbie, also concerned, offered "I wonder if he has a walky-talky to report back to the pro shop?"
Rick returned and chimed in, "I wonder if they will give him his money back?"
"I wonder if they will let us play through?" the impatient Randy still wanted to know.

The staff member, having joined the other members of the old man’s foursome, spent a few minutes over the motionless body and then began waving his arms in the direction of the pro shop.

So much for the walky-talky", Debbie said, "Is he signaling that the man is all right?"
Mark wasn’t sure either. "Maybe that means to call for help."
"He looks like those crazy ladies in the studio audience of the Rosie O’Donnell show", Rick said, adding "You know the way they wave their arms back and forth like a referee signaling ‘time out’."
Randy, thinking he had interpreted the gestures, blurted "I think he is telling us to go ahead and play through".

Presently the old man was put into a cart and driven back to the pro shop. The foursome on the tee box looked properly concerned. Debbie was right. Their collective golfing ineptitude dictated that they could have played through. The old man would have been safe. Randy put his tee shot into the right woods. Rick hit a tree and barely cleared the red tees. Debbie’s drive, as always, went 120 yards right down the middle. Mark, however, might have needed an official ruling as he uncorked a slicing worm-burner that could have become embedded in the old geezer’s butt.

As they made their way toward their respective balls, a yellow taxi turned into the entrance of the golf course.
Mark threw up his hands and told Rick "I can’t believe they called a cab instead of an ambulance!"
After walking a few paces Rick replied. "Maybe the local taxi service has a quicker response time."

Rick proceeded to put his second shot down the center of the fairway and into a crossing stream. Frustrated, he fumed, "They should give that old guy a one stroke penalty for slow play".
Mark stopped for a moment of reflection and dead-panned, "His penalty is that he just suffered one stroke".

Sachi

SACHI

"I have raised you up for this very purpose" – Exodus 9:16

We always end our bible study sessions with prayer requests and praises. On this particular Monday evening the dominant subject of these oral missives to God was Sachi. That very morning she had departed Texas for the long flight back to her home in Japan, having spent a year as a foreign exchange student in the Mansfield home of Shirley and Cecil. The genesis of our home group was the church-wide study of Rick Warren’s The Purpose Driven Life and after three years of fulfilling fellowship, we found in Sachi our common purpose.
How did a shy seventeen year-old with no command of English become such a blessing to our group? How did we, a varied and eclectic group of adults, send her home with the knowledge that we had been a collective positive influence on her life? The answer is, of course, God.
Actually, God began working on Sachi before we ever met her. During a period of deep depression (not uncommon for teenage girls in any culture) Sachi felt an "explosion" in her chest, and she was convinced it was God talking to her. This is all the more amazing when you consider that she had been raised exclusively in a Buddhist environment. Her knowledge of Christianity was sketchy at best. In Warren’s book, it is noted that nothing matters more than knowing God’s purpose for your life. Sachi could have spent her junior year of high school in any number of places, but she was sent to Mansfield to live with Shirley and Cecil, who just happened to be members of a dynamic home study group that was more than willing to incorporate Sachi’s spiritual needs into its weekly gatherings. Coincidence? I think not!
Although she occasionally attended Sunday school, during our Monday bible studies she remained on the periphery or stayed in her room. Gradually, though, she got more comfortable around us, and she began to ask Shirley questions about God, Jesus, and Christianity. She wrote a list of twenty questions that we endeavored to answer at our next get-together. We tried our best to give honest and clear answers to someone who still had trouble with our native language. Emotions ran high, especially when Sachi related the aforementioned "explosion" story.
This young girl’s curiosity about Christianity and her desire to learn more about God has been an inspiration and a blessing to all of us. In sharing our faith with her, we have also been strengthened. Our lives were made fuller by her presence and our hearts will be emptier with her absence. We can only hope and pray that the seeds that were planted will grow to fruition…that more "explosions" will expand her knowledge and increase her yearning…that Sachi lives a life "in conformity with the purpose of His will." – Ephesians 1:11

(It's been a few years and none of us has has heard from Sachi since she went back to Japan. However, Johanna, a German foreign exchange student who lived a year with Kathy, keeps in touch with us. She was, and is, a delight - our Frau Blucher. She touched our lives and we all hope to see her again.)

Eulogy for Aunt Jo

Eulogy for Aunt Jo

In Jeremiah 31:13, the Lord says, "I will turn their mourning into gladness;
I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow."

Jo wouldn’t want you to mourn. She would want you to remember her with smiles.
Her only wish was that she be allowed to live out her last days at her home in Italy, on the same property that her Grandparents lived on. And thanks to the 24/7 efforts of her sister Pat, that wish was granted. Pat and the rest of the family are grateful for all of the help and prayers over those last few weeks.

On any given day you would find Virginia, Lois Helen, Altha, Sally Ruth, Mary Elizabeth, Kim, Karen and Brian and many others. The love and compassion these good people showed will always be appreciated. I especially want to recognize Karen, who selflessly and tirelessly performed every imaginable task. The family is forever indebted to her.

Shakespeare asked; "What’s in a name?"
To Pat, she was simply Jo.
To strangers, she was Mrs. Higdon.
To Amy and Johnny, she was Mom.
To her many long-time friends, she was Jo Ann.
To Aaron, Josh, Charlotte, Colleen, Taylor, and Jeremy, she was Grammy.

Through Debbie, I only knew her as Aunt Jo. She was Debbie’s only aunt. Debbie was her only niece. And they shared a special bond that was obvious to all who were around them. I knew she was special to Debbie because when we started seeing each other, Aunt Jo was the first person she told.
We had a long-standing routine that went something like this:
She would call the house, I would answer, she would ask for Debbie. I’d say, "Who is this?" She’d reply, "Ain’t Jo." I’d say, "Well if it ain’t Jo, who is it?" This went on for 15 years and she laughed every time.

And when we think of Aunt Jo, we should laugh. She would want us to celebrate her life.
For a long time, Debbie had urged Aunt Jo to write about her life. Six years ago Jo began by saying, "…it seems people want to know about my very boring life…I just remember bits and pieces…but after all, I’m 68 years old so what do you expect!?"

She then proceeds to relate humorus and poignant tales about family and friends and growing up in Italy. She said, "Pat and I had a happy childhood. I was very tiny and everyone thought I would be the height of Mama Fleet, 4’7", but I fooled them all because I was 5’ as a freshman and 5’6" as a sophomore."

Jo talks about how she and Pat entertained themselves by jumping out of the hay loft, playing in the cotton fields, and putting on plays for her parents. And she talks lovingly of their many friends.
"Pat and I had a lot of friends that came to visit including Altha. We would dress up and play like we were movie stars. Pat was Betty Grable, Altha was Rita Hayworth (because Rita and Altha both had red hair), and I was Lana Turner"

Our cousins came to play a lot also - Lois Helen, Marcie Pearl, and Mary Elizabeth…who met a boy named Arthur. We thought he was so cool, and gosh!…he was from Dallas!"
"When we did not play what Lois Helen wanted to play, she would start to go home. But always she would get half way down the road and turn around and come back."

She tells of going on vacations with Ruth and walking all over town in high-heeled shoes with Altha, Peggy, and June.
Jo loved her friends and one sentence sums up her feelings. "[Our friends] have been like sisters to Pat and I."

Aunt Jo also loved music. She especially liked Elvis. A few days before she died, several of us were gathered around her and she asked us to sing a song. Even though we were a week early, we sang "Happy Birthday", and she smiled. As she was drawing her last breaths early Monday morning, those around her were singing praise songs. How appropriate that the last sounds she heard were songs of worship. I’m sure her soul was smiling.

Jo liked movies and her favorite of all time was Dirty Dancing.
She loved shopping for shoes.
She loved to mow her yard. She said that’s when she did her best thinking.
Her favorite food was nachos.
Her favorite time of year was Christmas and for many years, including this past December, many of us spent the holiday at her home, always including a Christmas Eve church service.

In her journal, as she is talking about living in Germany and hearing the news of President Kennedy’s assassination, suddenly the handwriting changes from pretty cursive to a barely legible scrawl.
She writes, "I’m now 72 years old. I had cancer and a stroke. My grandson, Aaron, asked me to finish this book, so I will." But it was the last page she wrote.

When Aunt Jo was diagnosed with cancer, the doctors gave her five years. That was ten years ago. For ten years she fought and fought, never complaining, never saying "why me?", but finally God said, "Enough", and He brought her home. But not before she got to spend her last weekend with her beloved Josh and Aaron. Once they said their goodbyes, she was finally ready to say hers.

She also lived long enough to celebrate the newest member of the family when Shanda gave birth to Claire Elizabeth one month ago. Jo got to hold her and love her.

With Claire’s birth, Jo officially became a Great Aunt. But in reality, as far as Debbie and Randy were concerned, she was always a great aunt.
And she was a great sister.
And a great friend,
And a great mother,
And a great grammy.
And she will be greatly missed by all her knew her.

So, when you think of Aunt Jo…smile; and take comfort in the words of this old hymn:

A rose is blooming there for me – where the soul never dies.
And I will spend eternity, where the soul never dies.
Dear Friend, there’ll be no sad farewells, there’ll be no tear-dimmed eyes.
Where all is peace and joy and love, and the soul never dies.

(Aunt Jo was Debbie's only aunt and she was a special lady. I had also delivered the eulogy for Debbie's brother, Randy, a few years earlier. Debbie Berney was at Aunt Jo's funeral and she asked to speak at her funeral. I went ahead and wrote her eulogy even though she is very much alive. I delivered it at her birtday party at Joe T's. I'll post it later. Maybe I should hire myself out as a professional eulogist.)

Homey Christmas 2009

Homey Christmas - 2009

Twas a week before Christmas
And we’re in the car.
After two and a half hours
We haven’t moved far.

As the girls in the backseat
Drink holiday cheer,
I look back and ponder
The past Homey year.

We now rarely see Shirley,
Ans we haven’t seen Cecil
Since he gave her the gift of
A gallon of diesel.

And we didn’t see much
Of Leigh and of Donna.
But the one we’ll miss most
Is our Frau Blucher - Johanna.

But Terry is back after
A long time away.
We missed her desserts so
We hope she will stay.

And we welcomed some new folks
To our Homey land-
The famous Cathy and
Charlie Daniels Band.

Bob golfed with the pros
And often drew cheers.
Then he golfed with the Homeys and
...well we did get free beers.

Randy golfed also but
Why did he choose
To swing his big head as
He wore Jesus shoes.

Maureen’s feeling better but
She’s still a bit tender,
But that’s what you get when
You head-butt a fender.

And while we’re speaking of heads,
M.B. was at our place
And her head was cracked open when
She French Kissed our fireplace.

She’d been out with the girls and
They were all feeling jolly
After too many drinks at
The World known as Wally.

It’s Debbie Berney’s favorite place;
The best ritas she’s tasted.
But why must she have coffee
Every time she gets wasted?

Sally’s "Bite Me" tattoo was
really da bamb.
As was her Wally Theme Song -
"Ground Control to Major Tom".

On our road trip we saw
The world’s biggest tree.
But Harry’s Big Red Dog Belly
Was the real sight to see.

We know Kathy is outgoing,
But where does it end?
Now she goes in a restroom
And makes a new friend.

Now Lauren was supposed to
Show up in Verse Eight.
But I waited till now because
...She was late.


As for me, there’s the time
When I got out of bed.
The next thing I felt was
Great pain in my head.
The carpet beneath me was
Soon turning red.
So I grabbed some old socks
To put where it bled.
In a voice wracked with pain,
"Sally help me!" I pled.
But her biggest concern was
The carpet instead.
And despite the fact that I
Could have been dead,
"Drive yourself to the Doctor",
Was all that she said.
Now helmets are needed when
You’re at our homestead,
Or you’ll end up like me or
Like Mary Fred.

Let me now say as
This year nears its end.
If you are a Homey then
You are my friend.
Best wishes and God bless you
In 2010.

(For the past three years I have written a Christmas poem for our bible study group. The contents only make sense to those in the group.)

Tale for the Punkin Patch

Punkin,
Aunt Jean died Saturday. She had been pretty sick for some time. Meemaw was glad she got to see her last week. That only leaves Aunt Betty on Pimpaw’s side of the family. Growing up, we always saw more of that side than of Meemaw’s clan (the Lodge People). Mainly because most of them lived in the Dallas/Grand Prairie area and the Lodge People lived in East Texas. Since Pimpaw died, Betty, Jean and Meemaw have spent lots of time together. They were more like real sisters to Meemaw than in-laws.
Pimpaw had two brothers, Joe and Tom, and four sisters, Betty, Jean, Wanda, and Nelda. There was always a house full when we all got together on holidays. I had nine cousins (more if you count Tom’s mistakes). With me, Tricia, and Larry that made a dozen rug rats running around. Everybody seemed to always get along with each other. Pimpaw didn’t seem to be very close to his siblings. He moved farther west than the others and we would only see them 3 or 4 times a year.
I guess I’m the same way since I hardly ever see my sister or brother. Tricia and I were close when we were young (pre-teen) and Larry and I were good buds till I got into High School. They have both stayed close to Meemaw, so have Karen and Emily. I must have more of Pimpaw’s genes in me.
I was never close to my dad and I regret that. I can never remember having a meaningful conversation about anything with him. We didn’t do anything together and I have to blame that on him. As a kid and as a teen I saw how much fun my friend’s dads were and I missed that. Maybe that’s why I bonded with Pawpaw. He was the kind of dad I wanted.
But in Pimpaw’s defense, he didn’t know how a dad was supposed to act. His own dad, my grandfather, died when Pimpaw was only three so he really never had a dad. I, on the other hand, swore that I would be more involved in my kid’s lives and I hope I succeeded. You and Steven were my joy and I couldn’t spend enough time with you. Whether it was sports, cheerleading, dance, or just having your friends around, I thoroughly enjoyed being a dad. I used to say that being a dad was the reason I was put on earth – it was my smiling place.
Debbie was devastated when Aunt Jo died. I’ve had six sets of aunts and uncles on dad’s side and eight on mom’s. I’m not close to any of them. Over twenty cousins and I barely know them. Again, I guess I inherited lack of family closeness from my dad. I envy Jeremy and his family. They seem really tight.
The "Crane" name is in peril. Larry didn’t get married and have kids. Uncle Tom had kids out of wedlock. Steven would have had the responsibility of keeping the name going. The only branch of the Crane tree that can continue is Uncle Joe’s family. My oldest cousin, David, has a son (and maybe a grandson) so maybe they can keep it going. Maybe it’s the Irish in me, but keeping the family name alive is important. I want future generations to research their family trees and find us – the Cranes.
When your descendants study their genealogy they will be confused by the two branches of Rodriguez – Meemaw’s branch and Jeremy’s.


Aunt Jean didn’t want a funeral, not even a graveside service. She was always somewhat introverted and never wanted anyone to make a fuss over her. Debbie and I went to a viewing at the funeral home and I saw Jean’s two kids, Alan and Jana. Of course I haven’t seen them in years. Alan looked sixty but he is younger than me. My youngest cousin, Jamie was there. Everyone knew Meemaw, even Jean’s friends and former co-workers. Some of them thought Meemaw was Jean’s real sister.
Her actual name was Imogene and her husband was Arnold. What names! Joe was married to Bessie Mae. Wanda’s real name was Elwanda. Betty’s husband was Elmer. He and Arnold worked together and they were a lot of fun as they tormented us when we were young. Elmer was a lot older than Betty. In fact he was the school bus driver when she was in school. They never had kids but they were the favorite aunt and uncle to all of my cousins. They’re all gone now. Except for Betty and possibly Bessie Mae. It’s sad that I’m not sure if one of my aunts is still alive.
I haven’t even mentioned anyone on Meemaw’s side of the family. I couldn’t begin to name them all. We only saw them at Christmas. Because of the Lodge, you know them as well as I do.
Well, I know I’ve been rambling but a death in the family gives me pause for reflection. It seems like Meemaw will live forever but this August she will be 79! Pimpaw was only 64. For some reason I had no problem with 50, but 56 has been more troubling. I’m closer to sixty, and that’s old! I think it was Thoreau who said that most men go to the grave with the song still in them. Did Pimpaw leave something undone? Did Pawpaw? Steven had a whole chorus of songs that will forever remain silent.
I don’t want to leave any songs unsung. But whatever happens, my greatest legacy will always be you - my Punkin.
2008

No Country for Men, Old or Otherwise

No Country For Men, Old or Otherwise

Other than Farrah Fawcett (sex symbol, poster icon) and Bea Arthur (Maude, Golden Girls) can you name any famous women who have died in the first eight months of 2009?
I didn’t think so. Now how about the men? For starters:
Don Hewitt - invented 60 Minutes
Les Paul - invented the electric guitar
John Hughes - invented Molly Ringwald (Sixteen Candles, Breakfast Club, etc)
Robert McNamara - invented the Vietnam War (Sec. of Defense under JFK and LBJ)
Frank McCourt - Pulitzer Prize winning author of Angela’s Ashes, the ultimate personal memoir.
Jack Kemp - Pro football quarterback, Senator, and Vice Presidential nominee.
Paul Harvey - iconic and beloved radio commentator (Good day?)
Ed McMahon - most famous second banana in history (Here’s Johnny!)

And then there are the ones whose passing caused the world to stop and take notice:
Walter Cronkite - The most trusted man in America. Defined the news anchorman.
Ted Kennedy - The last man standing from America’s most famous political family.
Michael Jackson - The King of Pop, the Moonwalk, Thriller, the Nose.

When I taught school, I told my students that 8th Grade American History was the story of dead white men. Women were barely mentioned. The only Blacks that were discussed were tied to the slavery issue - Dred Scott, Frederick Douglass. Native Americans and Mexicans were temporary roadblocks to the Manifest Destiny of Caucasians.
The above list, with one exception, is a litany of the Pale Race. And the exception tried his best to become white.

My own personal world has likewise been marked by a substantial subtraction of male figures. I only had one grandfather, the other having died long before I was born. My only son died at thirteen followed three years later by my father. My first father-in-law passed a few years ago. My two brothers-in-law, Debbie’s brother and my sister’s husband, are also gone.
Debbie and I have three daughters and our only grandchild to date is a precious little girl. I have one niece, no nephews. That niece has one child, a daughter. On our last ski trip to Colorado, it was me and nine females. In our bible study class, the women outnumber the men 9 to 4.

Thanks go to Son-in-Laws Jeremy and Chris for adding some needed testoterone to the diluvian amount of estrogen in my life. Special praise that Cooper Steven will soon tip the scales toward the boys... for two months, at which time Lulu Tulip will tip them back.

All My Love is Due Him

"...All My Love Is Due Him"

When feeling low, in times like these;
When everyone is hard to please,
And the pressure brings me to my knees...
I feel that I should quit.

But I realize that there’s a way,
So I’ll stay on my knees...and pray.
My God will get me through the day
And ease the pain a bit.

Inner peace is what I seek,
So to my heart and soul He’ll speak.
Then my spirit is no longer weak;
It’s strength he daily feeds.

No need to sacrifice a lamb;
I merely reach to touch his hand.
He accepts me as I am
And listens to my needs.

I need His great and precious love,
So he will send it from above,
Carried by the snow-white dove;
This gracious deed is done.

He gives me hope when I am down;
His praises I will always sound;
His greatest gift have I now found...
My Savior - His Son.

Sept. 1977