GospelSong

GospelSong

Jubilation song I sing

                        They heard the metal nails of death

Endless cry of victory

                        pounded mercilessly into His hands and feet.

For I was bound in sin’s dark chains

                        Blood spattered

But then your blood set me free

                        from His forehead,

Gracious lover of my soul

                        where a crown of pointed sharp thorns was pressed;

Left your glorious, splendid state

                        from His ragged chin,

To humbly bear my crimes and shame

                        where His beard had been plucked out;

And to reverse my hopeless fate

                        from His side,

Greater love has no man shown

                        where a soldier’s sword had viciously entered;

Than that which your truth declares

                        from His back,

That Christ the Sinless Son of God

                        where a cracking whip had plundered into tender flesh;

Died but only for my sins to bear

                        blood from His hands,

Precious, Spotless Lamb of God

                        blood from His feet.

Flesh and blood the sacrifice

                        And they still laughed.

God Incarnate, Gift of Love

                        Disfigured form,

You willed to pay such horrid price

                        broken on a splintery tree,

Before I even knew my name

                         no beauty,

You wanted me right by your side

                        no glory,

You wanted me to know your life

                        brutal pain,

So you stretched your arms and hung and died.

                        bitter loneliness,

Grief and sorrows of my soul

                        open betrayal,

Were nailed upon the cross that day 

                        sour death.

Day ordained before all time

                        They heard his groans,

Day that Christ my debt did pay

                        His whisper of thirst,

But greater day would lie ahead

                        His agony,

To break the mourner’s dismal spell

                        His sorrow,

An empty tomb would testify

                        and they did not realize

To all the world that all is well

                        that this was for them,

The sting of death had been cut off

                        That this was the plan.

The grave’s victory is now defeat

                        And He bowed His head,

Christ the Lord rose from sin’s death

                        And He shouted

The road of life is now complete

                        “It is finished!”

Host of heaven, all of earth

                        And they went to the tomb

Let your praise resound and sing

                        and they saw that it was empty

For freedom lives, redemption’s purchased

                        and they still did not believe.

By the Holy King of Kings

(c) Leslie J. Sherrod

All Rights Reserved

In Memory of My Aunt

In memory of my Aunt Joanie, who passed away on this day four years ago following a hard fought battle with breast cancer. To the end, she still talked about dancing....

A DANCER’S LEAP

Poetry in motion is the woman we celebrate.

A life choreographed by Christ we now commemorate.

 

The curtain parts and the recital begins,

A sunbeam with a smile takes center stage and spins.

She twirls and jumps, flutters and darts,

Pure energy, sincerity, nothing hidden, all heart.

 

Here a plie¢, now an arabesque,

Freedom, joy, and love her only quest.

Modern dance becomes Spirit-filled ministry

As she pulls others onstage to join her moving legacy.

From classics to jazz she’s a fluid song,

Even when the music changes her performance goes on.

 

And now we’ve come to the grand finale.

The audience – her loving friends, her cheering family –

Stands and roars with thunderous applause

At Joan Kruythoff’s final curtain call.

Bouquets in hand, “Bravo” the chants.

But wait – there is still one more dance:

A performance she’s waited a lifetime to give,

A routine she’s perfected every day she’s lived.

 

We hold our breath and watch in awe

As she gets in position, waiting for the Director’s call.

Eyes steady, feet ready; she’s starting the encore.

And there it is – her leap from our stage to heaven’s floor.

Oh the beauty, the perfection, the riveting grace

As she joins the eternal dance troupe of celestial praise.

 

Her father is there to greet her and catch her with his hands

And escort her to her Lord who’s been waiting for this dance.

Though our eyes are filled with tears this sweet memory we can keep

That we were blessed and privileged to witness

A beautiful lifelong dancer make a once-in-a-lifetime leap. 

(c) by Leslie J. Sherrod
November 2008
All rights reserved

VICTORS

VICTORS

We fight.

And then claim victory

Marching proudly

With hands upraised.

Victors.

When all that’s left around us

Is broken buildings

Bombed out buildings

Scarred, blackened buildings

Shattered glass

Broken hearts

Death mounds of buried bodies

Flags of every color

Waving over brokenness.

We fight.

Centuries have passed

And still we fight.

Welcome to the

Human experience

The human idea

Of

Victory.

Leslie J. Sherrod

Sometimes...

Another oldie but goodie from my teen years :-)

SOMETIMES

Sometimes it takes the rain,
To make the flowers grow.
Sometimes it takes real pain,
Before real joy one knows.

Sometimes it takes tomorrows,
To understand days gone by.
Sometimes before the laughter,
There comes a heavy sigh.

Sometimes it takes the midnight hour,
To value morning light.
Sometimes it takes the longest mile,
Before things come in sight.

Sometimes you often wonder,
Why your heart can get so sore.
But it's the rocky paths in life,
That make you cherish smooth roads more.

(Written when I was Leslie J. Datcher) 

 

Childhood

I also wrote this one when I was a teenager. There will be no literary prizes, but it did bring a smile to my face with the memories....


Childhood


I close my eyes
And reminisce
Of the years of my life
That were full of bliss.
No worries or cares
To dim bright days,
No responsibilities
Except to happily play
Games and laugh
At funny faces,
Hear neat things
And go neat places.
Ride old bikes
Down alleyways,
Sing crazy songs
And ride the MTA
With Mommy
To downtown Baltimore.
Oh what a thrill
For a child of 3 or 4.
I remember well
Those Little Debbie snacks
And bologna sandwiches
That were carefully packed
In my Care Bears lunchbox.
And what a joy
To eat Crackerjacks
And find the greatest toy
To trade at recess:
That jewel of the school day
Where all I had to do
Was go outside and play
Hopscotch and jacks
And that run-in-circles game
That we made up
(We were a little insane).
Back home we would jump rope
But only in the yard
Where we’d also ride our Big Wheels
Cause we couldn’t go too far.
We’d play kickball in the alley,
Watch old boys hoop in the park,
Build a secret fortress,
And be back home before dark.
Yes, those were the days
When everything was fun,
You’d get held and called cute--
Just ‘cause you were young.
No other time of life
Could come close to compete
With those carefree days of childhood
That were awfully sweet!
 

Leslie Datcher
10/11/94









                       

Where Does the Sun Go to Set?

Going through some old files, I found this poem I wrote when I was 14 years old. 
The message still applies today.

WHERE DOES THE SUN GO TO SET?

Lord, I can’t wear no heart-warming smile,
Cause my heart - Lord - words can’t explain.
Where does the sun go to set?
Lord, please let it rise again.

People, Lord, they hurtin’ so bad,
Depressed, wounded, and filled with pain!
Where does the sun go to set?
Lord, please let it rise again.

Lord, I feel their agonizing misery,
Their confinement to grief-filled chains.
Where does the sun go to set?
Lord, please let it rise again.

Just can’t tell no day from night,
The eyes of time are flooded with rain.
Where does the sun go to set?
Lord, please let it rise again.

Lead the weary to your arms
Where new strength, peace, and freedom they’ll gain.
Lord, you know where the sun went to set,
And yes - you’ll make it shine again.

Oh, you weary, worn, and lame,
For you the Son of God was slain
Let go of all your hurt and shame.
Look- the sun is shining again.

                            Leslie J. Datcher
                            4/15/91

#CantKeepQuietNoMore

It's a chilly, rainy day, and I had the audacity to allow my 9 year old son wear a hoodie, and (gasp) he wore it with the hood up. According to Geraldo Rivera - on the sole basis of my son's brown skin - that article of clothing alone is supposedly enough to make the shooting of a young black boy understandable.

I am so SICK of the stereotypes and misconceptions that plague our country. The tragic death of Trayvon Martin - and the aftermath that continues to follow - only brings to the surface the larger issues that still permeate our national consciousness and identities.

Yes, I do take comments about black men personally, because I am the wife of one, the daughter of one, the mother of one. The black men in my life are some of the greatest men I know - not because of their skin color, but because of their character, their wisdom, their hearts. I don't even think of them being black. I think of them being men. When you say something negative about black men, you are saying something negative about the men I love. So, yes, I do take it personally.

My challenge to the body of Christ - black, white, Chinese, Latino; rich, poor, or just trying to make it to the next payday - let's show the world how Christ really loves. There is no box to check your "race" in the Lamb's Book of Life. We, as Christians, should be the first ones free of stereotyping (in either direction). We should be the first ones who aren't tied to shallow perceptions of other human beings based on superficial characteristics like skin color. That black skin, that white skin, all skin, turns to the same thing: dust. If we can't get it right in our (largely segregated) churches, why would we expect the rest of the world to do so? We're asking for a type of love and acceptance that we haven't figured out ourselves.

My heart is heavy for the grief, pain, and finger-pointing that is going on across this nation right now. Let's move beyond assumptions, stereotyping, profiling, us vs. them mentalities. America is over two hundred years old, but that does not mean we've grown up. As long as we keep stumbling over colors like toddlers fighting over crayons, we'll never be united.