Vivian Waite

Dedicated to my brother David who refused to give up on God, even when God Himself didn’t seem to care, and who is now joyfully married and on his way to the

I have no time for God today, To read His Word, nor yet to pray. I’m building structure in my life; I’ll seek God when I have less strife. I have

Dreams are the paths that we follow in life: They give us a purpose to plow through our strife. All seem star-spangled and end in the skies, But some lead downward and end

A Light clothed once in darkness, A Hope put once to death, A Faith that once was shaken, A God who had no breath, A moan among the angels, A tremor in the

Well-worn figures on a shelf, With shiny eyes and plastic faces And a quiet voice within That faintly calls from distant places, “Remember us, my friend! And the world that we have made

Look at God’s army, And you will see an army Of outcasts, Rejected by the world, Counted as worthless and hopeless, Cast out, and wandering among strangers With no place to call

Lord, I see no fruit. The harsh wind scrapes Through my barren branches, And my leaves have long been withered, Leaving life and joy behind. In vain, the pale sun strives To warm

In Heaven, the angels gathered In numbers too great to count To watch a lonely figure Walking to the throne of God. He held his head stiffly high; His eyes shone in defiance;

Years ago, when Earth was young, Warm was the air and bright the sun, White Unicorns stood as guardians Of the world’s bright thoughts and dreams. With them lived a man named

God said He sees the Sparrow fall— And cares for us as well— But why would He let the Sparrow fall If He cared that the Sparrow fell? If God really saw the

You know, sister, these rooms are all haunted, Big Brother slyly said to me one day. Yes, silly, of course the ghost is dead! But he still wanders this place anyway. At night,

I come to visit you each day, My dear and quiet friend, To watch you dance and play At the day’s gloriously golden end, And to watch the tall, dark rushes Bend

Lord, I have failed again; My striving is in vain. My thoughts turn dark; My soul yearns in wretched lust Toward deeds sinful and vile! Ah, Lord, there’s nothing I deserve but

There is my drawing desk Marked up, but bare; And there, my pink dresser With closed, empty drawers; There is my horsey That I would ride upon Standing alone by the wall. And

A sheet of silver lace Spreads across the glass, But in the gaze of sunlight Its loveliness will pass. The morning bed of pearls, Each sheathed in a shell of green, By high

No one knows That my laughter holds A silent scream, And my smile hides An aching heart. No one sees Beyond the facial mask: The bright eyes, The rows of white teeth, The

I went to find a sea of gold, A sea of gold, of shining gold, A sea of the purest, finest gold Beneath a sheet of glass. I traveled over seven hills That

There, mountains rise, Clothed in pine trees, Veiled in wisps of cloud or shadows, Or bathed in morning light; Rolling hills are bare with fields And capped with trees; The morning dew smokes

In the other world, I can sense when trouble is at hand And resolve each problem that I meet. In that world, I can heal injustices And counsel lost souls with prudent voice.

Lord! The battle goes on, And the end is far from near; Duty is harsh, and pleasures are dear! The days are so dark that the night’s a relief. Please, hear me,