4th of July Parade

We come early to get just the right place
And we wait as people file in around our space.
All the time praying the rain will not come,
Because Dad left the umbrella at home.

Miniature American flags were given away,
But the little boy didn't have anything to say,
He just took the flag and waved it around,
As he took in the new sights and sounds.

There will be many more parades for a boy,
But may the parades of his life be full of joy,
And as a child marches on to become a man,
May his steps all fit with God's perfect plan.

By Alan T. Stokes   
July 4, 2007

This poem was written after Jonathan Stokes went to his first parade. The parade was held in Lansing at the Capital of the State of Michigan.

Senseless in San Diego

Where does the blame rest?
With those who poked fun?
With those who heard the jest?
With those who owned the gun?

Everyone wants to know why
Life at school is so bitter cruel.
To early the young say goodbye,
To classmates left in a bloody pool. 

With seasonal shootings to recall,
Softer we dare say, "Never again."
Harder it is for the tears to fall.
Shorter is our attention to the pain.

We find ourselves in a perfect storm,
Where unresolved anger and guns
Can so unexpectedly transform
The power of the unrestrained ones.

Working for a superior gun control law,
Wanting all our youth to know real love,
Like Titanic our dreams have a key flaw.
Within one must live a trust in God above.

By Alan T. Stokes  March 7, 2001

---

Note: This poem is dedicated to Randy Gordon and Bryan Zucker who died on March 5, 2001 after being shot by a classmate (See Scars of the Santana High School Shooting - 10 Years Later, San Diego Union-Tribune, March 4, 2011).

Closing the Camp Gate

Many nights my body is tired,
And I wish my camp gate was wired.

The often cold and lonely walk that lies ahead of me,
Is something few others will ever praise or see.

But it's a journey I will loyally make,
For security at the camp on Silver Lake. 

My dog will be in a very happy state,
When he walks with me to the gate.

I just hope B.J. is a good and clean dog,
And doesn't go in the pond after the frog.

As I'm on my journey I never know what I'll find,
And simple lights left on drive me out of my mind,

When it's late at night and I want to be in bed,
But I'm sidetracked from my walk to the gate instead.

Sometimes after I finish closing the camp gate,
Someone will call me saying they've arrived late.

Then I retrace my steps and open the gate for the guest,
And accept the fact that tonight I'll lose some rest.

There are many times I wish we didn't need to lock the gate,
But I know that there are people in the world who rob and hate.

So I thank God that my two feet are those of a healthy man,
For I do this for my family, my dog, and the entire camp clan.  

By Alan T. Stokes  August 20, 2000

At Silver Lake Camp there was a 1/4 mile walk to the gate which was manually closed every night by the camp director at approximately 11:00pm CST. This is a task that Alan instituted in 1998 to improve camp security after he became camp director.

The Song of a Poet

Death makes poets rife,
But death gives the poet life. 

The loves of youth make each one a poet,
But the children’s heritage inspires the poet.  

Teachers expect all their students to write,
But from within a true poet the words must ignite.  

From the hidden tree the robins cry,
“Record my purposeful song before I die.”

From the quiet cemetery the stones contrive,
“Remember our song while you strive.”

Life makes people regret their words,
But life gives flight to the poet’s words.
  
Fame beckons people to guard their words,
But anonymity lets a poet find the words.  

From the burning hearth the embers speak of,
“Sharing the best song with those you love.”

Health encourages a person to ignore death,
But pain gives a voice to the poet’s breath.

In a hectic hospital the air mimes,
“You are not alone in these times.”  

When the tide arrives at sunset,
Will there be peace or regret?

How can one look at silver water,
And not smile with a mother’s daughter?

Sin makes the heart miss the free,
But forgiveness helps the poet see.  

The sunrise calls with a new days notch,
“Put on your Father’s gold watch.”

It is not losing what is in the hand,
But forgetting what is in the sand,

That is each generation’s commotion
Of looking below the deep ocean.  

Death makes poets dearth,
But death gives the poet birth.    

By Alan T. Stokes  April 11, 2004

---

This poem is dedicated to Mrs. Pat Seiter, my favorite teacher at Mt. Pleasant High School, who taught English and Literature with the passion of the sea.

God's Care in the Air

Preparing to board the airplane my fears run wide,
What danger might some sinister stranger hide?
Am I spiritually prepared to enter eternity today?
For Divine safety and salvation I fervently pray.

I hurriedly eat an overpriced and average meal,
Resting from the strain of walking on my heal.
Shuffling past dozens of empty plane seats,
Wishing I could keep my feet on level streets.

A turbulence is like an earthquake in the air,
And I’m so glad I’m under a loving God’s care.
Flying brings me personally closer to heaven,
With memories today of September eleven.

While my ears hurt during the shaky descent,
I hope my faith in God is as strong as cement.
For as I return quite safely to the good earth,
Before me lies a vision of tremendous worth.

By Alan T. Stokes

November 19, 2001

Note:  Written on my first plane ride after 9/11/01 as I was headed to Orlando, Florida. 

I Promise

I can not promise your own spacious house,
But I promise where we live will be peaceful.

I can not promise you the weather won't be cold,
But I promise the warmth of my heart will always be near.

I can not promise you treasures of the earth,
But I promise to minister with you for treasures in heaven.

I can not promise us constant good health,
But I promise to give you unconditional love.

I can not promise us perfect children,
But I promise to love and accept our children.

I can not promise we will not have our differences,
But I promise to trust in grace for daily reconciliation.

I can not promise we will always have the same interests,
But I promise to be willing to sacrifice my self.

I can not promise to meet all your needs of life,
But I promise to help you develop vital relationships.

I can not promise my emotions will always be at today's high,
But I promise to always love you and communicate with you.

I can not promise you I will always know the answer,
But I promise to listen to God's Word and to pray.

I can not promise you that our life will always be easy,
But I promise that Christ will be our joy and strength.

I can not promise that we won't change as we grow old,
But I promise to let God mature our love over time.

I can not promise we will together for all our tomorrows,
But I promise I will be with you for all our earthly todays.

I can not promise it won't hurt if death makes us part,
But I promise that the God of eternity will help us carry on.

I can not promise you anything that you can touch,
But I promise you a solid foundation that will last forever.
These three--My LORD, My Faith, and My Love.

Alan Thomas Stokes   December 29, 1994 

---

For Anne Hostetler on her wedding to me. This poem was printed on the back of our wedding service bulletin.

---

Just the Driver in the Car

I dreamed that the Lord and I were riding in a car
Together through the highways and byways of my life.
I was driving, but Christ sat on my right hand.
He had a brake on his side just like
The driver's education instructors have.

We didn't ride in a fancy car, it was just a Dodge!
But it was faithful.
Together we rode and talked together
Through many turns in my life.
We went through storms and sunshine.

We drove the Dodge through valleys, deserts,
Mountain ranges, bridges over water, and fertile plains.
There were times we sped 65 mph in heavy traffic,
And times we drove down isolated roads.
Sometimes we traveled unpaved paths to help the poor.

But the best times of all were when we slowed down,
Especially when we parked and stopped our work.
Even then we stayed in the car together,
Resting in Divine communion.

But something troubled me, as I looked back through my life.
I noticed the troubled times of trial, temptation,
Decision, conflict, and doubt when I called upon Christ to
Navigate. I saw just the driver in the car.
I asked the Lord, and I said, "You promised you would stay
With me always, then why in the troubled times of trial and
Decision do I see just the driver in the car?"

Jesus replied, "My child, I love you and would never forsake
You in your time of trouble. When you faced doubt and
Decision and saw just the driver in the car, it was then
That I was at the wheel driving. And you were in the
Backseat resting."

Just the driver in the car. Oh, yes I understand.
When I look back through troubles in my life
And see just the driver in the car,
It was then that Christ was driving me solo.
And I was resting in the back under his care.

Just the driver in the car!
Just the driver in the car!

By Alan T. Stokes 
March 9, 1989

My Golden Retriever

You encourage me to obtain the exercise I really need,
And enjoy walks leisurely but even more with speed.

Born from a genuinely loyal and devoted breed,
You make me feel like I will always succeed.

What did you want to say to me as your tail happily moved?
I know you love me but I’d like to have any doubt removed.

You are very friendly to any child you happen to meet.
Helping to dry crying tears by being so funny and sweet.

When thunder comes the world gives you such a scare,
It seems you just need to know I’m nearby and care.

It is so remarkable that you’d rather give up your bone,
Then spend one extra moment outside and all alone.

It seems you can never get enough walks with me,
Or the opportunity to chase a squirrel up a tree.

I’m grateful that God above created your kind,
And if you lived in heaven I sure wouldn’t mind.

Inside your big cuddly body is a heart of gold,
Though now you are young soon you will be old.

And when your time comes to leave me I will not forget,
And it will be difficult to have any other dog for a pet.

By Alan T. Stokes
October 1, 2001

Note: Written about my 2 year old Golden Retriever, Shalom’s Benjamin Jacob. A.K.A. B.J.

A Cat I Will Smooch

Misty mesmerized by something on the computer

A cat knows how to always keep clean,
And how to avoid dogs that seem mean.

She will purr steadily when she is happy.
Unwanted advances will make her snappy.

She'll sit in the window and take in fresh air.
Or cuddle up so cute in a lady's soft chair.

It is true that I am a fan of a golden pooch,
But sometimes my cat and I will smooch.

I have cats because of my dear wife,
But they give to me too a better life.

It's been said that cats have nine lives,
And I hope that mine smiles and thrives.

By Alan T. Stokes (April 26, 2002)

For Misty
Note: Misty lived to a very old age and passed away from Kidney failure on June 8, 2014.

His Holocron

In a time when the truth takes a back seat
In many churches and the halls of government,
We must make sure that every day we meet
The Savior who is revealed in the New Testament.

Healing hands and words of truth
Were the choice technology of His day.
His sinless life was irrefutable proof
There is a God who created our way.

And God wants each one of us to seek
The way of truth, life, and hope,
And make it permeate all we speak
Because it provides the only way to cope.

In our generation's search for wisdom.
We don't have to find a secret holocron
To help us keep step with God's kingdom.
Because the Holy Bible is His Holocron.

I'm sure that nothing new can improve
Upon the Savior's free and golden grace,
Or equal the way His Holocron will move
Mountains in the life of one who turns to His face.

So before you waste years living for self,
Or spend hours searching the internet
Looking for the key to peace for yourself
Remember what Jesus said God meant:

 "All things that the Father has are Mine;
Therefore I said that He takes of Mine
And will disclose it to you." (John 16:15)

By Alan T. Stokes (October 12, 1998)
For my friend Matt Trease.

The Fire's Reward

The fire touches my life.
Reward is a personal peace,
Patiently longing for heaven.

By Alan T. Stokes 
January 1, 2002

This was submitted on the given date to the Poetry in Motion contest on Poetry.com

Our Inheritance

I dreamed that the Lord came by my bedside
And took me far away.
On a tour of Heaven.

Everywhere I looked my eyes
Saw the beauty of precious jewels
As abundant as the grass of the earth.

Everywhere I walked my ears heard 
A mighty chorus of voices praising God
As constant and tireless as the waves of the ocean.

All around me,
I could feel tremendous peace and love
For there was no darkness, disappointments, disabilities, nor death.

Then Jesus held me close and said, "Your room here is almost finished."
But suddenly I grew concerned, and tears came to my eyes,
As I realized how unfinished the rooms for my loved ones were.

"This world is cruel and mean, will they be okay?, "I said.
Then Jesus took my hand and tenderly smiled as he reminded me,
"Honey, you aren't the only who loves them you know.

I am the power behind those prayers.
I am the joy behind your laughter and smile.
I am the strength behind your work.

I am the grace behind your compassion.
I am the wisdom behind your counsel.
I am the spirit behind your commitment and dedication.

I am the light behind your path.
I am the hope behind your faith.
I am the life behind your life.

The inheritance you have given them is Me."
So then I woke up from my dream and as usual,
My fear was gone and the Lord had the last word.


By Alan T. Stokes  October 18, 1997    
For Jewel Hogan at her funeral  (1904-1997)

Hunger

Bare cupboard, empty wallet, medical test.
Lost direction, upset stomach, holy fast.

In the midst of my hunger I ponder,
How many resources we squander.

Life is consumed in daily excesses,
That never bring eternal successes.  

The most precious jewel is a soul,
Who with trust in God can be whole.

Destroying or ignoring a gemstone,
Both remove God from the throne.

Reality belongs to the astute few,
Who though full have hunger in view.

By Alan T. Stokes

April 14, 2002

To help those who are hungry visit The Hunger Site .

Go

To all your communication add a smile
And others will love you and go the extra mile.

Embrace your interdependence upon others
And you will find support through your sisters and brothers.

Let teamwork be a part of every task.
And don't let yourself hide behind a mask.

Then you will find the sun will shine right
On all the fruit of your plans and might.

By Alan T. Stokes 
January 9, 2001


Note:  Written at American Camping Association Sectional Meeting.  
Requirement was to write a poem using the words communication, teamwork, and interdependence.  

Our God Hears

He hears our tears,
When no one else sees them.

He hears our sins,
When no one else redeems them.

He hears our dreams,
When no one else believes them.

He hears our pains,
When no one else understands them.

He hears our temptations,
When no one else can handle them.

He hears our joys,
When no one else caused them.

He hears our problems,
When no one else wants them.

He hears our prayers,
When no one else hears them.

He hears our praises,
When no one else is worthy of them.

He hears our tomorrows,
When no one else knows them.

He hears our daily steps,
When no one else joins them.

He hears our victories,
When no one else values them.

He hears our dear children,
When no one else could find them.

He hears our complete life,
When no one else still remains.

He hears our eternal soul,
When no one else hears our heart beat.

By Alan Thomas Stokes
October 25, 1997    Used with a Sermon on 
Job 42:1-6, 10-17; Psalm 34:1-8; Hebrews 7:23-28; Mark 10:46-52.

A Pastor's Love

In the most difficult of times we experience a pastor's love.
Gently bringing God's hope to us like a peaceful dove.  

And in the best of times too a pastor is a part of our story,
Reminding us of the God above who deserves all the glory.

A good pastor spends the years planting in our hearts a seed,
That a holy relationship with Christ is what we really need.

And through the years a pastor is like a light in our home,
Standing steadfast when from God and church we roam.

But a pastor's love remains only for God's appointed season,
Then we who are part of the church's ministry hear the reason.

A different congregation wants and needs our pastor's love,
And we'll need to find a new pastor with wisdom from above.

We are sad because we don't want to lose our pastor today,
But we rejoice that our pastor will point others to God's way.

Our pastor modeled for us how to live for God through it all,
And with Christ in our hearts we will be strong and never fall.

So as we wish our pastor every blessing in the journey ahead,
We carry extreme confidence and faith as to heaven we tread.

By Alan T. Stokes 

August 13, 2000

---

Written for Pastor Steve Hoffman on his last Sunday as pastor of Minneapolis Sonlight Church of the Nazarene before he moved to become the pastor at Fergus Falls Church of the Nazarene in Minnesota.

---

If

If I add sunshine to a human life and my paths leave one finer;
If I can be the encourager for one to be a follower of Christ;
If I play a small part in a soul being delivered from their sin;
If one remembers me with smiles when they face their judgment;
If a person is better for eternity because they knew me on earth;
If I'm never content to have any person be the last person I reach;
Then my life will have made a difference unmeasured by it's years. 

By Alan T. Stokes   

December 20, 2001 

The original poem "If" was written on February 5, 1989, while I was a student at Trevecca Nazarene University. It has been siginificantly revised in order to better communicate the important theme of evangelism that was intended in the original work.

Autumn Shadows

Tomorrow's snow, yesterday's blossom.  
In vain seeking to walk in a shadow.
Pain and pride will not burn up in a fire,
So rest not in any period but the now.

Life holds passing memories like raindrops
Sitting on oak leaves with the wind blowing.
Never bury colorful feelings in the ground,
But share them like old glory after 9-11-01.

God gave four seasons before eternity
Each one to be enjoyed in their own time.
Not because it is the end or the beginning,
For it could very well be both of these.  

Autumn's daylight grows shorter each day,
But the harvest time has come our way.
Let's not be afraid of dying in the cold,
But bravely fight being cold at the end.

If God would transport me to any season,
And grant me the power to make a difference.
I'd live where today's calendar finds me,
Changing the inside of people not the view.

By Alan T. Stokes             October 2, 2001

Flowers for God's Home

Forever let us remember that your
Love will not end with your breath.
Our lives will carry the best part of you
With us wherever the Lord leads us.
Even if your physical features fade from
Recollection, your tough tenderness
Shall encourage us to look up as we walk on.

Faithfully we take this solemn moment to 
Offer you into the portals of eternity.
Realizing that someday we shall cross too.

God who gave you to us knows what is best.
Our strength and help comes from the Lord, and
Daily we would surrender our lives to His holiness.
'So help us God to give all of our unknown

Hours, whether they be triumph or tragedy,
Over to you, because you alone can help us
Mature like a flower, risking and reaching out to
Express your love and truth to a forgetful world.

Alan Thomas Stokes
December 1, 1997   For Lenora Dawson (1933-1997) Shared at her Graveside Service

---

Minnesota Twins Pastime

Once upon a time major league baseball became a business,
Forgotten were the school children playing at every recess.
With innocent dreams of pitching like Blyleven or Viola,
And fervent hopes of hitting as good as Carew or Olivia.  


Concerned citizens may long debate when the magic left,
But the old and young who love the Twins are bereft.
For even as the powerful intentionally walk this great team.
They will remain a home run through our fondest dream.


An old man with season tickets reaches back for his youth,
Remembering listening by radio to the immortal      Ruth.
A busy father spends precious time with his lad on his knee,
As they watch with awe the precision pitching of Brad Radke. 


To the underprivileged people who come thanks to TwinsCare,
It doesn’t matter what kind of stadium they walk into there,
And the little child who only gets a quarter for emptying trash,
Remains oblivious to the concern baseball has with raising cash.


Some will recall that in 1987 and 1991 they were the best,
Or that they had 3 million in attendance faster than the rest. 
Others will point to a 2nd place 2001 and many a loyal fan,
Or rising stars like Koskie, Mientkiewicz, and Guzman.


Why would anyone want to end the writing of the Twins story,
When they honor America and have such promise of future glory?
Baseball fans from Arizona to New York will shed a heartfelt tear,
If Major League Baseball orders the Minnesota Twins to disappear.   


By Alan T. Stokes

November 8, 2001 


Written after Major League Baseball announced they would contract two teams.     At the time rumors abounded that the Minnesota Twins would be one of the teams contracted but this did not happen.