Volume Ten

Volume Ten: Volume ten consists of poetry written by W. Diane Van Zwol, beginning in the year 2007 AD and based upon personal reflections.

1. The Shoe Box

Christmas Eve, 2006, was a very mild, sunny day in northern Ontario, Canada. I decided to go for a walk and took my camera with me, to take a few photos while I enjoyed my walk. As I was taking pictures of a nativity scene at an intersection, in front of a local church, I was astonished to see that an open shoe box had been placed in front of the manger. Reflecting upon this at a later date, I was inspired to write this piece of poetry.

The Shoe Box

Across the far hills, it's only love fills
... the shoe box.
Nativity's door, the stable's dirt floor
... the shoe box.
Such glory on high, a wondrous lit sky
... the shoe box
For paupers and kings, a mite if one brings
... the shoe box.
A child has been born on this Christmas morn
... the shoe box.
What mystery birth, so joyous, such mirth
... the shoe box.
Elation and pain, a tragic refrain
... the shoe box.
A gift one can bring, what e'er for the king
... the shoe box.
The shoe box to fill, a sign of goodwill
... the shoe box.
The heart of all man, a part of God's plan
... the shoe box.
What blessed peace as all war can now cease
... the shoe box.
A new infant child, so meek and so mild
... the shoe box.
Eternity's sign, e'er yours and yet mine
... the shoe box.
The cattle convey simplicity's day
... the shoe box.
The widow for sure, the orphan secure
... the shoe box.
The beggar in rags, the high flying flags
... the shoe box.
A green Christmas tree, soon Easter to see
... the shoe box.
The mist of the morn, such laughter and scorn
... the shoe box.
Of justice a plan, what destiny man
... the shoe box.
Such love so complete, remarkable feat
... the shoe box.

2. I Stood

A number of years ago, when my life was very difficult, I went through an extremely remarkable experience. Several years later, I began to understand what I had gone through and why I had gone through it, as I was writing a paper on Job 28. While this poem is in some sense allegorical, it may help someone else to understand the experiences and complexities realized in his or her own life.

I Stood

I stood in the depths of deepest despair;
Alone, there I was with no one to care.
As I gazed around, my world seemed so black.
There was no hope, no help, just total lack.
So cold and empty, my whole life did seem,
More like a bad nightmare than any dream.
The void, just a hollow, deep depth of fears;
It held no answer for my vale of tears.
I cried out to God, but no answer heard.
I waited and waited; I knew His word
Held hope and promise for new life so free;
I longed for that freedom, just once to see.
It seemed to me that it would take fore'er.
I was still locked into tragic despair.
E'er gazing up, peering yet higher still,
Searching, I longed for the for true, higher hill.
And then I saw just one small spark of light,
Breaking the darkness of my blackest night.
One tiny thread, like a strong silver beam,
Awakened my hope, as if from some dream.
It bounced off the walls of my black pit, deep,
Wakened me fully, as if from sound sleep.
Looking up, I could see still higher ground,
Somehow the light of new truth, I had found.
And higher yet I gazed, suddenly knew,
The depths of dark sorrow, I had come through.
My realm of worldly pain, soon was erased,
As somehow with new life, I had been graced.
Above the deep pit, I could see a storm,
But I could sense it was much calmer, warm.
I sensed I had to rise still higher yet,
Beyond that new ground, I'd never forget.
Higher still, yes, I knew I had to climb,
To mountains greater, to truths far sublime.
I searched for my God; I knew that someway,
He'd meet all of my needs, fill my ev'ry day
With higher truths and with such tender grace.
I knew that there still had to be some place,
Beyond the cruel world where men have trod,
Revealing real life, true hope and my God.
That thread of light did continue to rise,
Beyond high mountains, torment of man's cries,
To heights way beyond, with far brighter days.
What brilliance, I saw in those new found rays!
More light there was and much fuller joy too
And peace, way beyond what we e'er pursue.
I had somehow found, a loss of all fear,
With true love to comfort my ev'ry tear.
I stood in the light, so stunned and amazed.
'Twas the person of Christ, on whom I gazed.
The light of His presence shone ever bright.
So blessed the peace and radiance, delight!
The love on His face, was divine and real;
The warmth of His Spirit, I did soon feel.
The light in His eyes, way beyond compare;
The love that He showed me, ever so rare.
His robe was so white; His hands, He reached out.
I knew right then just what Truth was about.
And through out the course of history, man,
Has seen the person of Christ, yes, he can.
To all of those who've claimed that He's not real
And for all who say that He cannot heal,
That light, so wondrous did e'er touch my soul.
I knew that for forever, I would stay whole.
History records that this happens to few,
But only in life, those predestined to.
What this could really mean, who is to say,
And why just to me on that one empty day?
Perhaps this truth, I may ne'er really know,
Why God to me, His real Person, did show.

3. In Total Poverty of Mind

It is now forty years since I graduated as a registered nurse in 1967, from St. Joseph's General Hospital, in Thunder Bay, Ontario (CANADA). During my nursing experience, I encountered many unique individuals, in many different kinds of settings and circumstances. Most of them have touched my life in some way, but few as deeply as this old gentleman, living in his own home, when I was doing private duty nursing. His mental faculties appeared to be fading, but to him, his world was still real.

In Total Poverty Of Mind

In total poverty of mind, the old man sits by the battered door,
Seemingly confused by the reality of the present,
While locked into some needless torments from the past.
In his mind, he is alone, completly consumed by former passions,
Now long gone in time, but not yet fully erased from his memory,
Or from the slowly shattering depths of his fragile mind.
Startled by his own racing thoughts, in a sudden panic,
He quickly jumps to his feet, almost falling over.
He appears to climb a non-existent stairwell,
Still vividly fixed in his lost and wandering imagination.
A while later, reaching into a back pocket, for a wallet that is not there,
He signals to his former barber to keep the change, again.
His right hand reaches up to touch the bristles of the new haircut,
Forever etched into the recesses of his fading mind.
"Who are you? I don't know you! I want to go home!"
He cries out to someone...but now less frequently every day.
In reality, he is at home, but in his increasingly shallow mind,
Home is forever somewhere else, somewhere he has been in the past,
While in truth, perhaps he may never truly know home again.
Suddenly, he senses the dawn, alert to the sounds of the cheeping robins.
Quietly, he opens the door and wanders outside into the quiet, dark street,
But now one which is no longer really familiar to him.
He tugs on the imaginary leash of his long deceased dog.
He takes a few more steps and then says, "Let's go home now, old scout,"
Nearby, the neighbours are watching and listening to him talk to his dog.
"Good dog," they hear the old man say, as he turns and heads back towards his home.
Entering the house, he sits back down in the rickety chair by the door,
As if waiting for the next time his waiting dog wants to go out.
Smiling vaguely, he stares off into space towards some abstract object.
Perhaps this is some figment of his mind that we may never see.
Maybe this is some place where life has kept his truncated mind tethered,
'No,' he cries out as he finally gives in to despair
And closes his eyes, as if no one else is in his world
And no one is present to actually care, even if they did dwell there.
The happy child in him, it seems, was never truly there
And neither is he there now, or so it might seem,
While love still hovers, awake in the old man's soul,
Never to depart, even in his total poverty of mind.