Saturday, July 13, 2013


I am disturbed that a seventeen year old can't make it home from the store to buy candy and iced tea, and then be blamed somehow for his own death. I am also disturbed that there have been 27 shooting deaths in the City of Baltimore over the past thirty days alone - and there is not the same level of national outrage. We've had more people killed in our city in the past month than the total of recent terrorist attacks and mass shootings in our country. ALL of these deaths are tragic. Healing and comfort is needed for ALL of these families. And yet it seems acceptable to us as a city, as a community, as a nation, that SOME of these deaths are just a given. 


Before we look at the forces without, we must look at the forces within. While somethings we cannot control, we have to look at the power we DO have, and make sure that we are using our power to sustain life, to build, to grow, and not to self-destroy. 

My power is in my prayers, my pen, and in the promises of His unchanging Word. Where is your power, and what are you doing with it? Our lives are never really about ourselves, but about the imprint we are making in and on our times. ‪#‎PersonalAndCommunityLegacy‬ ‪#‎WakeUp‬‪#‎WeHavePower‬ ‪#‎27MattersToo‬

Saturday, March 30, 2013



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

Thursday, November 22, 2012

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....


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

Saturday, July 21, 2012



We fight.
And then claim victory
Marching proudly
With hands upraised.
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

Leslie J. Sherrod

Friday, June 1, 2012


Another oldie but goodie from my teen years :-)


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) 


Friday, April 20, 2012


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....


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


Wednesday, April 4, 2012

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.


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