Pattern of the Soles

 

 

The mission shoes were purchased.
 

The box was set aside.
 

Waiting for the packing….
 

They were left inside.
 

The soles were meant for walking
 

Top stitched with finest thread
 

To take the missionary
 

On pathways they would tread.
 

The time came to depart.
 

They left what they had known

To another place . . .

To plant seeds to be grown.
 

They labored every day
 

When months soon turned to years.
 

Now….time to home return
 

They couldn’t hold back tears.
 

Still…the shoes are ready

To take the steps of faith.
 

The pattern of the soles
 

Wore off on paths they paved….
 

                       -Shanna C. Hugie

 

              Inspired by Branden Jorgensen upon completion of his two year mission

Heaven's Voice

Written for a dear friend….Kelsey Kendrick

Her every word was focused
As she shared a message there
Though speaking was a challenge
With courage she would share.
Her spirit was celestial
As her light came from within.
Her halting words came slowly
So real hearing could begin.
For a message given quickly
Might not be pondered well.
Her struggle to speak freely
Became the Savior’s tale.
Could it be that Father
Gave her this challenge here
So that we could there absorb
The spirit waiting near……
So valiant in her effort
To share her light inside
If our ears will really listen
We’ll be blessed as she confides.
Her testimony lifts us up
As she makes the better choice.
Turning off the stopwatch
She speaks with heaven’s voice….
          -Shanna Hugie

God's Scrapbook

In an effort to "look for the silver lining" during mortal thunderstorms a little more often, I wrote the following:

I wonder...in God's scrapbook
Are there snapshots of our lives?
Do they tell a story
Of faith used from inside?
Or...do they show despair
On faces looking down
Forgetting to be blessed
By lessons that surround.
For if we're only seeing
The shadows on the floor
Our memories can't be
Of when Father made us more...
Our lives here are so brief
Every moment holds a pen
Will we record a journey
Or...a lot of “could have beens”?
Will the pictures be unlabled
Or...will our journals place
The narrative of courage
Beneath our mortal face.
Perhaps a generation
Will read from pages there
Before they start their journey...
May we live a life to share . . .
Shanna C. Hugie

Seek Not

Seek not for self importance
But . . . for humility.
Seek not for earthly riches
But . . . to give from bended knee.
Seek not for happiness
But . . . true joy when first you serve.
Seek not for mortal knowledge
But . . . freely share God's holy word.
Seek not for self fulfillment
But . . . to fill another's soul.
Seek not to be complete
But . . . help others to be whole.
Seek not for independence
But . . . to depend on Father's Son.
Seek not for true perfection
But . . . to be content when day is done.
Seek not to know the ending
But . . . be happy to begin.
Seek not to be the teacher
But . . . humbly learn from Him.
Seek not to stand on mountains
But . . . find purpose in the climb
Seek not to run from trials
But . . . embrace your growth divine...
                -Shanna C. Hugie

Heaven's Song

Yesterday I attended an Easter Cantata written by a dear family friend and his wife.  It stirred the following within me:

Like a spirit blanket
Melodic sound sustains
Through our mortal discord
With staccato noise of pain.
A chorus of the hopeful
Gently fills the air
Bringing Father's whisper....
"Listen . . . I am . . . I care"
Music calms the troubled
Who breathe in harmony
Let cleansing make the room
As the soul absorbs a reverie.
Were the notes more pure
There in Gethsemane
When Jesus used his voice
To praise God on His knees?
Do we miss instructions
While we hear the ugly sounds?
Will we forget to voice
The song our witness found?
A voice alone may tremble
When singing in a storm
Timid notes of searching . . .
Then, a heaven song is born . . .
          -Shanna C. Hugie

Royal Visit

I wrote this recently when noticing the "winter trees" without any snow on them.....it dawned on me that it was a little like people when they have entered the winter of their lives....

She planned so long to visit
The people in the hall.
Some were strapped to chairs
To ensure they couldn't fall.
Eyes fixed on the floor
No smile to greet her there.
Yet, she sensed her presence
With royalty she shared.
She wondered of their lives
When they were filled with youth.
She imagined greatness
And discoveries of truth.
For even though her visit
Brought a smile or two around
The people in the hall
Filled her with heaven sounds.
For though she was the giver
Of service there that day
She received the gifts
They gave in their own way.
We start as seed then seedling
In life's forest we all dwell.
Yet . . . even gray decaying trees
Have a story they can tell.
              -Shanna C. Hugie

Then . . . He Poured

After a particularly tough period of time, or should I say in the midst of it, I wrote the following.....what a loving Heavenly Father to give me answers before I can even ask the questions....

"I can't" my own voice whispered
As I crumbled on the floor.
My vessel cracked and leaking
Was empty . not holding more.
"I tried" I offered weakly
As I looked into the dim
Straining to envision
My image of Elohim.
"I was" as I behind completed doors.
"I'm not" the goals I set
Long ago within my youth
Back then I still had courage
To believe my inner truth.
"But Father" I am saying
To excuse the way I feel.
Alone, lost and failing
As I fall down progress hills.
And then . . . just like an echo
I hear the words "Come Here"
"You're on the road I placed you"
"Come . . . let me dry your tears."
And then, He placed faith's mortar
In the vessel that is me
Sealing every mortal crack
Finally . . . He poured eternity . . . . .
              -Shanna C. Hugie