Tag Archives: Poetry

Remembering Ruth Bell Graham on Her Birthday

billy_ruth_graham_0808Today we celebrate the life of Ruth Bell Graham.  Ruth was born June 10, 1920 in China, where her parents served as medical missionaries. 

She lived a full life which demonstrated the grace and mercy of the Savior she first met when she was a little girl in China.

Ruth went to heaven on June 14, 2007 while living in Montreat, North Carolina.

None of us know the day we will join Ruth in heaven, but we can be assured that it won’t be long before we see her again. 

It won’t be long…A Poem by Ruth Bell Graham

It won’t be long –
the sun is slowly slipping out of sight;
lengthening shadows deepen into dusk;
still winds whisper;
all is quiet:
it won’t be long
— till night.

It won’t be long –
the tired eyes close,
her strength is nearly gone;
frail hands that ministered to many
lie quiet, still:
Light from another world!
Look up, bereaved!
It won’t be long
— till Dawn!

Click here to purchase Ruth Bell Graham’s book of poetry, Sitting by my laughing fire.

Mother’s Day Poem by Ruth Bell Graham

Ruth Bell Graham with children in 1958 Montreat
Ruth Bell Graham with children in 1958 — Montreat, NC

By Ruth Bell Graham

For all these smallnesses
I thank You, Lord:

small children
and small needs;
small meals to cook,
small talk to heed,
and a small book
from which to read
small stories;
small hurts to heal,
small disappointments, too,
as real
as ours;
small glories
to discover
in bugs,
pebbles,
flowers.

When day is through
my mind is small,
my strength is gone;
and as I gather
each dear one
I pray, “Bless each
for Jesus’ sake–
such angels sleeping,
imps awake!”

What wears me out
are little things:
angles minus
shining wings.
Forgive me, Lord,
if I have whined;
… it takes so much
to keep them shined;
yet each small rub
has its reward,
for they have blessed me.

Thank You,
Lord.
____________________

God bless all mothers and their children today.   

“Pray” — A Poem by Ruth Bell Graham

ruth-and-billy-graham-pray-together

Pray
when all your soul
a tiptoe stands
in wistful eagerness
to talk with God;
put out your hands,
God bends to hear;
it would be sin
not to draw near.

Pray
when gray inertia
creeps through your soul,
as through a man
who fights the cold,
then growing languid
slumbereth,
and slumbering
knows not
it is death.

Pray
when swamped
with sin and shame
and nowhere else
to pin the blame
but your own will
and waywardness;
God knows you,
loves you nonetheless.

So…
pray
.

From Sitting By My Laughing Fire by Ruth Bell Graham.

A Poem by Ruth Bell Graham — Then Let It Snow

By Ruth Bell Graham:

If I could have each day

one hour of sun,

glorious,

healing,

hot,

like now—

then

let Winter come!

Not

mild and brief,

but

wild, without relief;

let the storms rage,

let the winds blow,

the freezing rains

lashing my windowpanes;

then

let it snow!

long

and

deep

and cold.

I would not mind at all:

it would be fun…

if I could have

each day

my hour of sun.

Click here to purchase Ruth Bell Graham’s book of poetry, Sitting by my laughing fire.

Why?

whyWhether it is the death of a loved one, a devastating storm, a bombing or a terrible illness, we often find ourselves asking why.

In the following poem by Ruth Bell Graham, she addresses the “whys” in her life.

I lay my “whys”

before Your Cross

in worship kneeling,

my mind too numb

for thought,

my heart beyond

all feeling.

 

And worshiping,

realize that I

in knowing You

don’t need a “why.”

 

— From Ruth Bell Graham’s poetry collection, Sitting By My Laughing Fire.

A Poem by Ruth Bell Graham

By Ruth Bell Graham

Lay them quietly at His feet

one by one:

each desire, however sweet,

just begun;

dreams still hazy, growing bright;

hope just poised, winged for flight;

all your longing—each delight—

every one.

At His feet and leave them there,

never fear;

every heartache, crushing care—

trembling tear;

you will find Him always true,

men may fail you, friends be few,

He will prove Himself to you

far more dear.

A Poem by Ruth Bell Graham

 

 

 

 

 

 

From: Sitting by my laughing fire… 

…my shelf of peace…

This is my ledge
of quiet,
my shelf of peace,
edged
by its crooked rails
holding back the beyond.
Above,
a hawk sails
high
to challenge clouds
trespassing
my plot of sky.
Below
in the valley
remote and dim,
sounds
come and go,
a requiem
for quiet.
Here on my ledge,
quiet praise:
of birds,
crickets,
breeze –
in different ways;
and so do I –
for these:
my ledge of quiet,
my plot of sky;
for peace.

Click here to purchase Ruth Bell Graham’s book of poetry, Sitting by my laughing fire…