Wednesday, December 20, 2017

Easter 12 Word Poem and activities

Poem By Jen Hunt for Spring Lake Church Easter event
I found most of this (except the poem lines and the words in capital letters which I added) on the following website. http://www.teachkidsthebible.com/biblelessons/resurrectioneggs.htm



Poem by itself
DONKEY
On a lowly donkey the Savior rode to town
All Jerusalem was cheering and throwing palm leaves down
PERFUME
Grateful Mary wept and poured rich perfume at his feet
Preparing him for burial with fragrance strong and sweet

BREAD
The night before our Savior died, he ate dinner with his friends
Teaching how his body would be broken just for them
SILVER
Judas for some silver betrayed Jesus to the Jews
Later on, no money could relieve the guilt he knew

CROSS
From the moment he arrived Jesus’ life aimed toward the cross
For the joy set before him, he’d gladly die to save the lost
CROWN
Mocking soldiers crowned him with sharp thorns until he bled
Though shamed, he knew one day he’d wear the victor’s crown instead.
DICE
Those greedy, cruel soldiers even gambled for Christ’s coat
The meek Owner of the Universe just watched and let them gloat
NAIL
If you think about the nail marks Jesus bore on his hands
You’ll know how much he suffered to bring sinners to his land.
VINEGAR
The punishment he bore for us was nasty, dark and bitter
Neither vinegar nor gall could make the penalty any sweeter
SPICE

Had their leader really died? His fearful friends ran in turmoil,
While Joseph of Arimethea used spice and clothes for his burial.
ROCK
Jesus’ tomb was sealed with a large, round stone
No one would be strong enough to move it on their own.
EMPTY
At last, three days later, awesome news broke their strife
The tomb was empty! Jesus had come back to life!

Jesus’ death and resurrection proves that though God does hate sin
He’ll go to any measure to bring sinners back to him.



Egg Number 1
Message: Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. The people waved palm branches.
Passage: Matthew 21:1-11.
Item: A small plastic leaf or a piece of a palm branch or a blade of grass.

DONKEY
On a lowly donkey the Savior rode to town
All Jerusalem was cheering and throwing palm leaves down

Egg Number 2
Message: Mary poured expensive perfume on Jesus' feet.
Passage: John 12:2-8.
Item: Cotton ball with perfume on it.
PERFUME
Grateful Mary wept and poured rich perfume at his feet
Preparing him for burial with fragrance strong and sweet

Egg Number 3
Message: Jesus ate the Last Supper with His disciples.
Passage: Matthew 26:17-19.
Item: A small piece of cracker to represent the passover bread.
BREAD
The night before our Savior died, he ate dinner with his friends
Teaching how his body would be broken just for them

Egg Number 4
Message: Judas betrayed Jesus for 30 pieces of silver.
Passage: Matthew 27:3.
Item: Three dimes
SILVER
Judas for some silver betrayed Jesus to the Jews
Later on, no money could relieve the guilt he knew



Egg Number 5
Message: Jesus carried His cross.
Passage: John 19:17.
Item: A toothpick that is cut and glued in the form of a cross.
CROSS
From the moment he arrived Jesus’ life aimed toward the cross
For the joy set before him, he died to save the lost

Egg Number 6
Message: Soldiers placed a crown of thorns on Jesus' head.
Passage: John 19:2.
Item: A small thorny branch or a single large thorn (a toothpick would work too)
CROWN
Mocking soldiers crowned him with sharp thorns until he bled
Though shamed, he knew one day he’d wear the victor’s crown instead.


Egg Number 7
Message: Soldiers parted Jesus' garments and cast lots for His coat.
Passage: John 19:23.
Item: Miniature dice
DICE
Those greedy, cruel soldiers even gambled for Christ’s coat
The meek Owner of the Universe just watched and let them gloat


Egg Number 8
Message: Jesus was nailed to a cross and pierced in His side.
Passage: John 19:18,37 and John 20:25-29.
Item: A nail or push pin
NAIL
If you think about the nails Jesus bore on his hands
You’ll know how much he suffered to bring sinners to his land.

Egg Number 9
Message: They gave Jesus vinegar mixed with gall on a sponge to drink.
Passage: Matthew 27:34.
Item: A q-tip
VINEGAR
The punishment he bore for us was nasty, dark and bitter
Neither vinegar nor gall could make the penalty any sweeter

Egg Number 10
Message: Spices to prepare Jesus for burial.
Passage: John 19:40.
Item: a few whole cloves or other whole spices.
SPICE

Had their leader really died? The fearful disciples ran in turmoil,
While Joseph of Arimethea used spice and clothes for his burial.

Egg Number 11
Message: The stone covering Jesus' tomb was rolled away.
Passage: John 20:1.
Item: A small rock.
ROCK
Jesus’ tomb was sealed with a large, round stone
No one would be strong enough to move it alone.

Egg Number 12
Message: The tomb is empty. He has risen!
Item: Nothing
EMPTY
At last, three days later, Good News stopped their strife
The tomb was empty! Jesus had come back to life!

Jesus’ death and resurrection proves that though God does hate sin
He’ll go to any measure to bring sinners back to him.

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

by Jen Hunt (same title as a later poem about Mary Magdalen, but not the same Mary; this one was for a friend from a small group in 2013.)

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary
How do the gardens grow?
Unless we paint at the Botanical grounds soon
You’ll probably never know!

How about this Sunday, June 9th, at 6 pm?
Let me know if it’s a go.

A rolling stone

Poems by Jen Hunt 1/26/14

A rolling stone
gathers no moss
But only a still pool
shows reflection

---
Musty, Rusty sword—
Do I use it, dare I?
It is blunt and dull
So many reasons not to divide soul and skull
I feel a lull,
Sulky, bulky, hulky thud
Resist the pull

Ode to My Vacuum

by Jen Hunt from the archives

Thoughts wrap in me
Like carpet string
In vacuum’s mouth
Catching and halting the inside turnings

I curse the silence
Move away from the dander
Unroot unravel
Replug and scream anew.

God of the fifth day

By Jen Hunt
from the archives

I praise the God of the fifth day
Whose birds
Fly like scattered thoughts
Falling stars of dawn
Their winged forms teasing
Tickling the sky
Illiterate skywriters
Encircling an invisible maypole
Weaving potholders in air
Scattered thoughts
An anarchist’s air show
Pennies in a coin drop

Easter poems

By Jen Hunt
from the archives


Before dawn on the last day of the week
Before the dog barks and the garbage truck--
Tearing off bed sheets, the living dead arise.

They sleepwalk across their comfortable kitchens
Eyelids curving open like coin-purse slits
To receive the grayed rays of the pseudo-dawn compact fluorescents.

Their eyes turn downward, prayer-like, staring down the coffee.
As yet unsure what empty tombs have to do with inner rooms and human hearts.
they will church’s yearly crucifixion rewind

A sense dresses the pockets in the air
This resurrection Sunday
That of something freshly ground
Strong enough to dissolve graveclothes,
Tear curtains, and cream coats like the white of the sun
Go ahead and finish your cup so that it is like
The empty tomb.
Death is sleepy.
The grave yawns.
Her white tongue
Lolls there, unraveled and mute.
Arimtethea’s stoned rolled aside.
Sepulchre barren. Just as he said.
Smell and see.
The last word getting the last word.
Put your finger in the warm cinnamon roll; the hot cross bun
To check for sweetness in the cracks
Begging for water.
Beg for napkin,
Lick it off and run for cover.
Ask, with gravel throat on gravel road,
A word with someone.
Ask of Him: Are you only a visitor to morning that you do not know the things
That happen there in these days?
Are you not awake enough to see the crucifix in the coffee?
He replies.

Jesus, what can you do with hurts like that

by Jen Hunt
from the archives
Jesus, what can you do with hurts like that
So wide and high and deep
What can you do for a wound so raw
One jolt can make me weep
It’s taking too much room inside
Take this burden from my mind
Rejected, scorned! Satan chides
Beheld! Adored! Your mercy shines
Here I am, worth more than sparrows,
Tired from dodging all these arrows
Unless you take me on your shoulders
I’ll never find the fold.
My head is tired and my feet are cold
My hands will give out before this story’s told
This wasn’t the victory I had in mind
When I heard your song for the very first time
My hair’s in knots, my stomach too,
Where did everyone go when I tied my shoe?
Gone the grasses patched with dew
Maybe this sewer pipe will do.
It doesn’t take long before I can’t remember
What it was like when life was tender
Who was I then? Who am I now?
This yoke would be easier if I were a cow
I’m not going anywhere new
Until I’m sure it’s really you.
You’re going to have to carry me through
Or these shadows will tear me in two.





Debbie Dooby: Deb’s Birthday Song

lyrics by Jen Hunt to the tune of "Come and Go with Me", from the archives

Dom dom dom dom dom, Debbie dooby
Dom dom dom dom dom, Debbie dooby
Dom dom dom dom dom, Debbie dooby do
Whoa whoa whoa whoa

We love you Debbie, ever helping us
Friends like you are few and fabulous
You are a peach and a confidant

You bring the sunshine everywhere you are
More fun than an otter on the Fox Riv-ar
Our kids love Miss Debbie more than us sometimes
Whoa whoa whoa whoa

{Refrain}
Yes we love her, yes we really love her
She keeps bringing goodies by
We’ll, still love her, though she really never
She’ll never give Thai food a try-y-y

{Refrain}

We love you Debbie, you’re a special pal
Surely you know that you’re a blessing, gal
We love, you Debbie, Happy Birthday, girl!

Happy Birthday, girl!

Tennis Wars

By Jen Hunt

You thought I’d served a tennis ball
And so you lobbed a cannon
My, how singles' tennis flops
When you add one angry man in

Obesity

By Jen Hunt

There’s a reason the word jowel
Rhymes with bowel
And trowel—
The wolf does howl, the smell is foul,
The grave digger chews a dry, brittle dowel
“Don’t look down!” hoots the cemetery owl
Whose life’s as lost as a big round vowel
Oh, the things we yowl
When obesity is on the prowl
And then, before you catch your breath,
The fat man yawns and throws in the towel

Quicksand to Cashmere

by Jen Hunt
From the archive. Gray areas: I used to be afraid of them– the unknown outside and within, without the Lord
Black and white felt safe, and comfortable
Now, finding myself in gray areas again
I’m afraid, yet now I know the Lord is in the gray area. In relationship with him, it’s not the same gray as before. “I’ll never leave you nor forsake you.”


Black and white is safer and stronger
Straight, unquivering, solid, unbending, sure
Cuts deep as a wafer, offers no salve or cure
Bread without wine leaves one parched
But when the wafer is dipped,
It will bend, not chip,
Blushes, bends, turns to mush dipped in mess
Complexity’s school
And it plays with your stiff, wooden rules
Till it fashions your head, unfastens your heart
Til factoids and feeling share tea
The gray in the sky, on the steam in cloth dyes,
No more is the gray feared
Jesus is nigh

Jesus is the cashmere sweater
Hushed landscape, the mist, the palm, familiar hand, the stone
“Never will I leave you or forsake you, trust in me alone”
Abba connection conjoins the poles
Shifts me from gray to black and back again
Where monsters once crept under the bed
I find a warm, calming purr instead
Gray without Jesus, a stale misery
Gray with Jesus, sacred tryst, mystery

Ode to Jake

Written by Jen Hunt
in honor of Jake's 5 year work anniversary

I'm Jake Magnuson; my face is hairy
My brain holds so much trivia, it's kinda scary

Proud Dad to Lucy, Butter's my cat
I’m a loyal Brewers fan, and I Back the Pack

I wed a preacher's daughter, but don't be fooled
I still drink Stillmanks, as long as they're cooled

For about 5 years now I've kept DVR rollin'
When I'm not here, find me Pokemon Go-in'

My desk raises high; I do SVRI
So please show respect for this Titletown guy

Welcome (Back) to Wisconsin

by Jen Mary Hunt
Written in honor of my in-laws' new cottage

Kudos to the wise, brave gentry
Who fit this spot for the 21st cent’ry
Bathrooms aplenty, sigh-worthy sights
Plumbing that functions, ladder-free flights
A recreation relaxed, yet precise,
Preserving the virtue; sparing the vice.
Whether one is ram or ewe
No one lacks for things to do.
Some play Sheepshead, some roll dice
Some jog the lake path once or twice--
Fishing, napping, green frog catching
Reading dockside to lake lap-lapping--
Visit by visit, hour by hour
May young and old affections flower
Over time shared and fun had
At the Watts’ Langlade County pad.
Cottage-bred and cottage-wooed,
God bless this nest and bless its brood.





The Lord’s Tear Bottle

By Jen Hunt

Dear Child,
do not suppose the Lord’s tear bottle
cannot store those wept inside
or those there’d be had you any left to cry--
He marks every wail.
Just as his love is deep and wide,
so also is his vial.

Psalm 56:8 “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?”
Revelations 7:17 “For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; ‘he will lead them to springs of living water.’ ‘And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.’”

Four Show and Tell Poems for the Jacob's Well Ladies Retreat

by Jen Hunt
My Box is a Bag
Or a purse
Or a green, camel tote if you will
Haggled at Petra
Now treasure-filled

A simple set of spoons
Bequeathed to my Pop-Pop
By the Lutheran nun, Sister Lena,
Who raised him at Tabor Home for Boys
After his father left his wife and three children
(His mom couldn't afford to keep her sons by, just the girl)
For as long as I knew him,
Pop-Pop lived in government subsidized housing
In New Jersey, an active AA sponsor
Taking one day at a time
Painting rooms, perfecting apple pies
Pontificating on earth and sky, and
Watching me whenever my mother would fly

Pictures for the Palace:
Story by Flora Fifield, pictures by Nola Langner
A 1950's children's picture book
That should never ever have gone out of print
Generous and creative, Eiji, lived in Japan
With two taunting older sisters
Who made him pawn calendars and red peppers
When he only wanted to paint
The little dreamer snuck into the palace and
Won Emperor's Best Artist
Despite his critics' nays
With a remarkable mural
The details of which I shall not give away--
Through him I remember
When we live true to the passion God has put inside
We are destined to serve before kings
--AS WITH DREAMS,
THIS BOOK SHOULD BE HANDLED WITH CARE—


Zig Tech Monument
After the pit stop in our cottage-bound van
One son's Zig Tech went on the lam
He didn't notice 'til we came late to base.
Then mother-in-law swooped down to solve the case
Attempting to prove her superior, maternal ways:
"We've got to go back right away--
He'll die without his prized shoe mate"

Oh, if only I never made such mistakes!
This shame will be hard to face.
Lord, will help me find the shoe;
You know we can't afford to replace it with new.
Look upon this poor daughter-in-law's fate
Can't you see my honor's at stake?
Wal-Mart is a half hour back
It is dark; and I'm tired and out of whack
Prove to this worry-faced crew
I'm no less a mom, if I chill and trust you.
Besides, if you help me find it tomorrow
They will know my God watches more than just sparrows.

Back to Big Box customer service, promptly, next day:
"Nope, no Zigs turned in here", they say.
So we scour the parking lot, leaving no can unturned
If we go home empty-handed, how my cheeks will burn!
"Check one bin more", an inner voice cries.
"Have we looked there yet, Cal?"
"It's useless, Mom. Why even try?"
But half-way down, camouflaged by things
Crumpled, ketchup'ed and half-chewed:
"Say, could that be? Is it true?
The tongue of your long, lost, hallowed shoe?"
Reached my arm in long to find
The Zig tech had come back in the nick of time
This here is no ordinary shoe
But a testament of God's mercies everyday new



One final kid's book for you to squint
I will never forgive the publisher that let this go out of print:
Elspeth Campbell Murphy's God Hears Me When I Pray
Psalm 23 retold in childlike prose
Retells the ways God loves me, thrills my soul from heart to toes
If you find one in a thrift shop
You are more blessed than you know
Just don't tell me you found it
Unless you want it --"stowed."

Summer Wood, or Resilience and The Black Ash

By Jen Hunt
3rd draft

The Menominee museum kept
Baskets under glass
Made from Black Ash
Black Ash--
(Elsewhere called Basket Ash, Brown Ash,
Water Ash, What-have-you Ash)--
Is unique among trees--
Having rings with no fiber between--
North Eastern Indigenous
(And Quakers)
Would take mallets and
Pummel the wood until
The weaker spring wood crushed and
The darker summer wood
Peeled away--
These tougher summer scraps
Trimmed, washed, and woven together
Found use
As containers
For berries and the like

Lord, you know
The growth rings hidden within
Here I am--
Black Ash in your hands—
Crush my proud pulp--
The emptiness that burdens--
The flesh that needs unraveling --
No other crafter
With hammer and lash
Is as temperate for the task--

Then prune, clean
And weave
What endures
Into a vessel strong
And
Still enough
To hold
Not foraged fruit
But soul—

On Gratitude

By Jen Hunt 11/28
Poetry Challenge: One Bad Poem a Day

Lord, I cannot store any more thanks
There’s not enough room to contain it
Building more barns you only despise
When hoarding miser’s grain
The heart overflowing, to the contraire
You value as great prize.
So build on, Soul--
Raise your roof!
There’s a thanksgiving harvest to store
Time to make room
For the bounty
Joy intends to settle for more.

Friends

By Jen Hunt
11/30/17, written with my word magnets

The loyal sing first
When dark the way--
We hear in them
The smell of spring
And remember glory's tender weight

Like silence once the metal bowl sings

By Jen Hunt

Like silence once
The metal bowl sings
My soul is weaned
My soul is winged
What quiet follows envy’s din
When haughty dreams grow gaunt and thin
Replaced by God’s sweet mothering
Clear fullness born of emptying
A solitary, solid thing
My soul now weaned
My soul now winged
Like silence once
The metal bowl sings


Why remember?

by Jen Hunt
Written with my word magnets:

Why remember
The momentary years
Between earth and glory
When all is full of pain?
God knows, daughter
He is here beside
Even in winter
Light shines










Eternity

by Jen Hunt

Eternity made, eternity left,
Eternity borrowed, eternity paid
Eternity hidden, eternity coming,
Eternity nearing, eternity here

The empty bowl sings

By Jen Hunt
12/8/17 - From the "Write Bad Poetry" challenge
The empty bowl sings
When struck with wood--

Though it was he
Who withstood
The wrath
And sorrow--
I sing

***
After contemplating Romans
He emptied; I filled
I sullen; He killed
The cycle is broken
The law fulfilled

On bedtime and rising

by Jen Hunt

Per the AODA
Breakout speaker
The successful rise at 5:53

I lie awake
11:24 at night
Bemoaning his omission--
But when must I retire?

Newly mindful
Why success eludes
The sleep disordered
and
Co-dependents

O “Prayer for Princeton”

By Jen Hunt

After reading the Chapel book and remembering my time as a chapel guard:

O “Prayer for Princeton”
You promise the never failing
Company of Christ
To all who bear your name
So why
Does the coat rack
Cloak you
Time and time
Again?

I spared a covetous thought

by Jen Hunt

I spared a covetous thought, for once
Was thankful for my job
Sat quiet, cursed by wounded souls
Did not respond in kind
I trusted you were still in charge
When noble plans were dashed
Let another win this time
Didn’t shove in line;
Refused to let conditions trump
What your word states as true.
But, none of this was done alone,
It all began with you.
This poem celebrates the heights reached
As I continue to climb
Delighting in Christ’s reign
O’er parts feared here till end of time.
His Spirit’s power has shone within,
Revealed by fire and clay
Achieving for me a victory
Death cannot take away.

On Writing

By Jen Hunt

I tear
My heart off
In
Small
Pieces
Expecting it
To break
But like the loaves
In Jesus’ palm
Somehow there’s always more
To give
And basketfuls left
Over