Church Handout Poem

Woman at the Well

Woman at the well

Oh, the stories you could tell.

Many hardships you have seen,

And yet you sit, serene

Next to the Messiah who has come,

And proclaimed He is The One.

Though He knows your jaded past,

Tells you the way to peace—at last!

How many of us would also partake,

Even though He knows our every mistake?

Would we learn to forgive ourselves and drink,

Eager to live—or, would we be fearful and shrink?

Let us yearn for life, our own stories to tell,

Living our legacy, as women at the well.

Poem by Jenn Stewart

March 8, 2012

John 4:14 But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.

The Rest of the Story

It wasn’t easy living in Wyoming. Besides the winters, there simply weren’t the kind of amenities around you might enjoy in a big city. There was no mall, no Costco. Heck, you almost had no neighbors. You really had to plan ahead; it was just a way of life. If you didn’t, you might end up stuck in a blizzard without a blanket. This meant you also watched out for your neighbors. You took care of each other because there simply was no one else around to do it. This way of life also applied to church.

Our church congregation was small and there was just no way around it—we had to chip in or there would be no church on Sundays. This meant you were often asked to perform multiple tasks that might be given to multiple people in a larger area. One of the tasks I was given in addition to leading the music and preparing the Sunday program was teaching the women of the church. During this time, I became fond of creating small handouts that recapped the main points of the lesson. I wanted to give these wonderful women something to ponder on throughout the week. I also made extras so we could take and share them with our neighbors. I used to hang them up on my own refrigerator door with a magnet throughout the week—or longer if I really liked the message.

I guess I became known for my handouts in addition to my poems. This particular poem/ handout was created because a fellow sister was in charge of an evening program and she asked if I would create a handout for it, a poem, perhaps?! Well, you know me … someone had to do it, so I gave it a go. I remember finding the above photo online and writing the letters “WOMAN AT THE WELL” down the left side of the page. This was one of those poems that practically wrote itself, as the words flowed easily onto the page with little effort. This doesn't always happen, but when it does, it is because an idea truly inspires me.

What inspires you? Do you have a hobby that comes easily to you? How do you share your talents with those around you? I’d love to hear the rest of your story below!

Nursery Poem

Good Seeds will Grow

Dear Sister Buchanan,

You held our tender hearts and hands

Each Sunday we were here,

You taught about our brother Christ

Each moment through the year.

You might think we won’t remember

As our memories start to fade,

The many lessons that you taught,

The fun handouts you made.

Truth is never ever lost

When taught right from the start,

Every lesson that you planted

Lies dormant in the heart.

Our memories may fade with time

But what you lodged will grow,

The Spirit will confirm the truth

From lessons long ago.

Though we’re growing up and moving on

We won’t forget all you’ve done

To shape our growing hearts and minds

Around the Holy One.

We will miss you so much next year!

Thanks for being the best Nursery teacher ever!

With Love,

The Stewart Twins

Poem by Jenn Stewart

December 18, 2006

The Rest of the Story

When we left South Dakota, it wasn’t by choice. After settling into life near the Airforce base, enjoying trips to the lake, a wonderful house with an unfinished basement in which to grow, and a brand new Toyota Tundra, life was picture perfect for about a year and a half. I can still remember the feeling I had every night going to bed in that home. My heart was bursting with gratitude for all our blessings and I thanked God for our wonderful life. Then one day my husband lost his job, and everything changed.

For three long months, I sent out resumes all across the US for my husband. As we struggled to make ends meet (I was not working at the time either – the twins had been my full-time job), we watched as our boat was repossessed, our truck was repossessed, and our home went into foreclosure. It was such an unexpected turn of events. As full as my heart had been, it felt equally torn apart. Finally, we got the long-awaited news. He not only had one job offer – but two! Life was taking us to either North Dakota or Wyoming, whichever gave my husband a start date first. Thank God for tender mercies. We ended up near those beautiful Big Horn Mountains for the next ten years, the place we still call “home.”

My husband ended up moving to Wyoming and starting his new job as the girls and I tried to sell our home back in South Dakota. Finally, just prior to the foreclosure being finalized, we sold our home, saved our credit, and made the move to a rental home in Wyoming that eventually became our own.

This is the back-story of the above poem. When we landed in Wyoming, I had never left my girls in the care of anyone other than my husband – ever! So, it was no surprise that there were some tears shed when I dropped them off in the new church nursery for the first time (in SD we were the nursery leaders, so they were used to being with us). It was so bad, the twins made themselves vomit into the trash can that first week because they were crying so hard (yes, I went back in to sit with them when it got that bad). I think there were a few more weeks of dry-heaving before they finally got used to being away from mom. Needless to say, I was very grateful they had such a wonderful and loving nursery teacher who was so much fun with the kids. In time, they grew to love going to nursery and it was all because of the love they felt from Sister Buchanan. I knew I wanted to do something special for her when the time came to move on. So, I bought her a bouquet of flowers and printed out the above poem on card stock, with the photo of the twins you see above at the bottom of it. I nestled the poem within the flowers and gave it to her after their last class together.

Have you ever given a gift to someone else and pretended it was from your child? Has someone ever helped your own children through a difficult life transition? I’d love to hear about it in the comments below.

Goodbye Poem

What's Left Unsaid

There are so many things

I wish I could say

but I can’t find the words to say them.

So many more feelings

are still in my heart

but I just can’t seem to convey them.

And as I struggle

to somehow let go

I sense understanding in your eyes.

You seem to see

what’s inside of me,

you see right through my disguise.

It helps to know that whatever I can’t 

tell you right now in words,

will still be communicated

through our hearts

and my message will still be heard.

Though the time has come

to say our farewell

I find so much comfort instead

to know my goodbye

means so much more

because you hear what’s left unsaid.

By Jenn

June 20, 1992

The Rest of the Story

Everyone who knows me knows I have a really bad memory. I mean it. I have a difficult time remembering what I did last week, let alone 28 years ago. I am amazed at people like my husband that seem to remember every single moment they’ve ever lived since age two. Thankfully various journals and poems I’ve written through the years have provided an anchor to my past. These words generally spark that ability to recall something I haven’t thought of in years.

Every now and then, however, I come across a poem I wrote and think to myself, when in the heck and why in the heck did I ever write this poem? I came across the above poem recently and found myself asking the same questions. I’ve wracked my brain trying to think of the circumstances surrounding it. The subject matter seems a bit mature for my high school self, based on the date it was written, so I am pretty sure I didn’t write this poem from experience. Cue the memory recall spark. I do have a vague memory of someone coming to me once and asking me to write a poem for them due to a similar situation. They needed to say goodbye to someone but were having a difficult time with it. I still don’t quite remember all the circumstances of how it all came about, but I’m pretty confident now that this poem was the result of a personal request from someone else.

I find this all very intriguing. To craft a well-written poem that captures the heart of an experience that I only learned about by proxy illustrates the power of rhetoric. I find it nothing short of incredible. The fact I could capture the sentiment shared with me and bring it to life on the page for someone else really blows my mind. Words are powerful.

What if instead of using words to help others, someone uses words to incite hate and enmity in others? It is a scary thought. Hitler’s propaganda comes to mind. It’s not the word themselves that are good or bad, but how the people behind the words decide to use them. This is why after discovering a love of words and the power they can wield, I decided long ago I would do everything in my power to use my affinity for words to uplift and inspire those around me. This is also why I tend to despise politics or sensational news media in general. I don’t like it when people use the power of words to manipulate or harm others.

This sentiment goes way back for me. It was my own father who led by example on this one. Though he had his own opinions about the scientific discoveries he made on a daily basis, he never tried to coerce anyone to his point of view. He presented all sides of an issue and felt the reader should come to their own conclusion about a topic based on all the evidence. That’s not to say he didn’t try and persuade people to his point of view. However, he wanted it to be on their terms, with all the facts at their disposal, not his. I think there is a fine line between persuasion (where the reader still has a choice) and coercion (where a reader's agency is manipulated so much it becomes in question or lost). I choose to follow in my father’s footsteps. I choose to support rhetoric that encourages the reader's full use of agency and self-discovery.

Do you have any ideals in your own life that you strive to meet on a daily basis? What is it that you stand for? Is there someone you admire who has stood for something? I’d love to hear about your experience in the comments below.

Military Deployment Poem (or Poem with a Blanket)

Wrapped in Daddy’s Love

(or Mommy’s, depending on the family)

Your daddy will be leaving soon

To somewhere far away,

Because he wants to keep you safe

In hometown USA.

We know that you will miss him lots

And even cry some tears,

But we have a snuggly secret

To help you calm your fears.

Anytime you miss your dad

And want to feel him close,

Just hold this cuddly blanket

And sniff it with your nose!

It should smell so clean and fresh

Like raindrops from above

Now pull it all around you

And you’re wrapped in daddy's love!

Your daddy’s thinking of you

Every moment he’s away,

And with this special blanket

You’ll feel close to him each day.

Your daddy is a hero –

And he wants to let you feel

His snuggly blanket hugs until

He’s home and makes them real!

Poem by Jenn Stewart

March 2009

The Rest of the Story

When we lived in South Dakota near the Ellsworth Airforce Base, it felt like a constant revolving door of servicemen and women coming and going. But the image of a revolving door is one produced by my adult brain. It’s something that tries to make sense of the relentless change. However, when I picture it from a kid’s point of view, I start to see it more like a merry-go-round that never stops. One minute the kid is on top of the world riding next to mom or dad. The next minute, mom or dad is gone. Frantic, the child begins to sob. They get off their horse and wander around, off-balance, dazed and confused. Just when they can’t take it anymore, and they want to throw-up, their best friend and protector again appears, and all is right with the world once more. Life on top of the merry-go-round continues.

My heart went out to these little ones, especially the kids just old enough to start understanding what this deployment-carousel was all about. I wondered if there was anything I could do to help. At one point, I remember a large deployment was announced and many of my friends and their kids would be affected. So, I started brainstorming. I wondered what kinds of things really comforted these kids. Big soft fluffy blankets came to mind. It got cold in the fall and winter, and you’d often see a young child bundled up in their mom’s arms in a huge snuggly blanket as they were running errands. You can probably guess the rest of this story.

A huge part of my personalized poetry during this time of life involved writing poems attached to items I liked to bake (think cookies or banana bread), or items I could easily purchase and give away with the poems (like candy or a blanket). Poetry was my way to connect with the recipient on a more personal level, almost along the same line as someone who crochets a hat or gloves for someone they care about. Personalized poems became my way of showing those around me that I cared about them and their lives. Why? Because it takes something very precious to create poems – time. What’s the one thing your kids want more than anything else? Yep, it’s your time. When I give someone a poem, I’m really giving them my time.

Can you think of something you do for others that takes a portion of your precious time? What’s the best way you ever felt you spent your time?

Road Trip Poem

The Cabin at the Lake

A Poetic Memoir

The girls were still dreaming when we started the drive

“Are we there yet?” asks Lizzie, at only 6:35

Wide-eyed with excitement, their faces all aglow

Mom smiles, “Not yet honey - only ten more hours to go!”

Breakfast at McDonalds and we continue en route

Lunch at Subway - but the ice machine was out.

Dad lets mom drive, but as soon as the car goes,

It starts to rain on us, all the way to Fargo!

We stop for gas and snacks, and we make the final call

The Stewarts will indeed arrive in good time after all.

There was excitement in the air, as if right on cue,

As we pulled into the drive of Cable Lake 132.

Aunt Shari and Uncle Brad greet us, with a big hug and a smile

Instantly our 12-hour journey was more than made worthwhile.

But little did we know just how much the week would hold

From the perspective of the twins, this is how it all unfolds:

Inside the cabin, we couldn’t believe what our eyes fell on…

A cat named Gingey-pants?! And doggies, Bella & Zoey bon-bon!

They were the best pets ever, even if Bella liked to bark,

And outside was a lake with our very own sandy beach park.

We splashed in the water, finding rocks both pointy and round,

We spent hours exploring the lakeside, many treasures were found.

Drawing in the sand with sticks was fun, and making sandcastles too…

But the most fun was getting to know a great aunt and uncle like YOU!

We’ll never forget the paddle boat rides with the doggies and Aunt Shari

Or eating that yummy trifle dessert with angel food cake and berries.

Learning to play “concentration poker” was also very neat

And sipping that special caramel-“coffee” Italian soda treat!

It was also fun helping Uncle Brad rake and water that big ole pile of dirt

And yelling “Uncle Brad is Naked!” when we found him without his shirt!

Nothing made us laugh as hard as tipping Aunt Shari over and over again,

Although throwing wet bath buddies at Uncle Brad certainly made us grin!

We got to meet new friends too - frogs, chipmunks, turtles big and small,

But our favorite was the bobble-head owls, who we loved most of all!

From laying on the “floating table” and eating pudding on the dock,

We loved the Cabin at the Lake - our great aunt and uncle really rock!

In much the same fashion as it all began, the girls were dreaming on our way back home,

Smiling as they played with *Tuesday* no doubt, and “kitty in the hammock” from Joan’s!

Oh, the stories they will have to tell later-on when they awake,

Of the many adventures we had together at The Cabin at the Lake.

Thanks so much for your hospitality and for allowing us to spend time together as a family for an entire week at your cabin.  It was a trip we will always treasure!

Love,

Jenn, Bret, and the girls

*Tuesday was Joan’s dog.* 😊

The Rest of the Story

When the twins were about two or three-years-old, we decided to take a road trip to visit my aunt and uncle who had a lakeside cabin in Minnesota. To this day, I’m surprised we managed to take that long of a road trip with kids that young. However, it was truly a magical week for our entire family. We had many adventures and misadventures along the way. When we got home, I wanted to do something more than send a simple thank you card for their gracious hospitality. That’s when the idea of documenting our trip through verse came to mind.

Everything you read about in the above poem is true. We left early in the morning when it was still dark outside, and the twins were still sleeping. Twin B indeed woke up at 6:35 am and asked if we were there yet! My husband was irked that the ice machine was out at Subway when we stopped for lunch, and I ended up being the lucky one to drive in the rain all the way to Fargo. Looking back, I’m not sure I would have remembered any of those details had I not documented them in this poem.

Once the poem was written, I printed it out on a nice cardstock with a scenic view of the surrounding vegetation in that area. I then had it framed and sent it to my aunt and uncle in the mail. They LOVED the thank you gift. It was so fun for them to reminisce about our time together long after we had gone. To my knowledge, the poem is still hung up on the wall somewhere in their cabin at the lake.

In the case of this particular poem, the meter and flow are not as precise as something like my Sprinkled With Love poem. Rather than worry about that too much, I decided it was okay if it wasn’t “just right.” It was more important for me to tell the story of our trip that would memorialize it for years to come.

Have you ever enjoyed a special vacation together as a family? Has anyone ever lent you their home while you were traveling? What did you do to thank them?

Death of a Friend Poems

Bonnie (1976-1997)

Bonnie’s eyes were full of light,

A light that could pierce your soul.

It was as if she could feel how you

felt, see what you saw.

She could read your mind –

and she would always try to teach

you how to read hers too!

She would do anything if you

just gave her the chance.

She would cheer at your volleyball games

or jump out of a plane!

She loved every minute of being around

the people she loved

and the people who loved her.

She would listen to you, laugh with

you, and cry with you.

Bonnie was Love. Bonnie is Love.

That is all she ever wanted

That is all she ever gave –

She transcended that wheelchair

And she’ll transcend the grave.

(7-18-97)

Holding You in My Arms
(for Bonnie)

Of all the times we spent together

I’ll miss your sparkle and your charm

But most of all I think I’ll miss

Holding you in my arms.

I was so determined to learn to hold you

To get that wheelchair together and apart

And thus began our many adventures

That still linger deep within my heart.

Nothing made me feel as close,

Or safe from any harm, than the

Precious moments I was blessed to spend

Holding you in my arms.

(7-18-97)

Bonnie's volleyball uniform

The Rest of the Story

I first noticed Bonnie decked out in uniform at a varsity volleyball game. My good friend (who also happened to be six-feet tall and a stellar player) was on that team. I was immediately drawn to the light surrounding Bonnie. She had such an infectious smile and was the best cheerleader. I love happy people. Much like Buddy the elf, smiling is my favorite too. I knew I had to meet this happy, cheerful person.

I learned that Bonnie had cerebral palsy since birth. She had no easy way to communicate, so no one in her family was sure how much she actually understood until she was in grade school. One of her teachers found a way to communicate with her through blinking. What an amazing day that must have been, when the girl who understood everything was finally understood.

I was introduced to Bonnie and the rest is history. We became fast friends. She would use this contraption attached to her chin to peck out letters on her computer keyboard and write me notes. The notes were printed out on a slim receipt-like paper. It would take her an hour or so just to peck out a couple of sentences. I was always amazed when the note was longer than a few inches. Eventually I learned to decipher the words she spoke aloud. She would speak and I would repeat after her, to make sure I got the words right. She would frown when I got them wrong and smile big when I got them right.

High school went by in a flash and I lost touch with Bonnie when we went to college. (Someday I will tell you the story of how we reconnected because it was nothing short of a miracle.) We reconnected about a year later and that is when our crazy adventures began.

I never saw Bonnie go anywhere without a parent and I wanted to change that. After years of watching her mom or dad carefully remove her from the car and place her in a wheelchair, I asked her mom one day if she would show me how to do it. Next, I learned how to help her eat, drink and take her medicine. Stacking up pills a mile high, placing them in the very back of her throat, and squirting what felt like an entire water bottle into her mouth so she could swallow all those pills without choking was indeed an art. Finally, I learned how to take her to the bathroom. I felt bad at first for having to take care of something so personal, but honestly, she was used to others caring for her, so it really wasn’t that big of a deal.

Game on.

From that day forward, I took Bonnie everywhere. We went to the park, to dances, to the mall, to church, to get-togethers with other college students. I even introduced her to the world of toilet papering someone’s house at midnight. The last thing we did together was attend a 4^th of July Alabama concert in Phoenix, AZ with my new husband and his family. It was the first country music concert I ever attended. Bonnie LOVED Alabama, so I knew she had to go. It was a night I’ll never forget. Some weeks later, I got the unexpected phone call that caused time to stand still. Bonnie died in her sleep while at summer camp. The above poems were written shortly thereafter. I gave the poems to her parents at the funeral as a way to show my respect and share in their grief.

Do you have a family member with cerebral palsy? Or perhaps you have a friend who suffers from this condition? Maybe you know someone who has a different condition, but who is also confined to a wheelchair.? I’d love to hear thoughts that come to mind as you read the above poems and reflect on any of your own friends who may have been called home too soon.

Bonnie's first midnight toilet papering
experience with friends

Valentine’s Day Military Poem

Sweet Tarts

Dear Jackie,

To help you celebrate this Valentine’s Day

While your husband is stationed so far away,

We wanted to share something from the heart

So please accept this bag of Sweet Tarts!

These candies are both bitter and sweet you know,

Kind of like having to let your husband go

To serve our country and be the best he can be

So we can fully enjoy a land that is free.

He makes a sacrifice in the field where he roams

But we see another sacrifice made back home,

There is a wife and a mom left behind for so long

Who musters the courage to smile and be strong.

Though we admire the way you make it through,

Don’t forget you have friends who are here for you.

Whether it’s a meal or simply a chat on the phone,

We want you to know - you are never alone!

Let’s do lunch this Friday! Call us!!

Love,

Your Friends

Shauna, Becky, Crystal & Jenn

  

The Rest of the Story

Prior to Wyoming, we lived in South Dakota near the Ellsworth Air Force base. At the time, I was chasing double-trouble around the house (aka, my identical twin toddlers). To survive those early days, I took the girls to one of the many amazing parks or other tourist attractions in town on an almost-daily basis. As a resident, you only paid once for an entire season of access. It was a God-send for parents of small children. So, whether it was Storybook Island, Reptile Gardens or Bear Country, there were endless opportunities to explore and make friends along the way.

I quickly discovered that many moms (and even a few dads) I met around town had spouses in the Air Force and either lived on or near the airbase. Although I grew up in a large metropolitan area and knew people with family members serving in the military, the feeling here was totally different. I was in a much smaller town with a much higher concentration of military families. This time around, I also found myself in a similar phase of life raising small children. 

I don't think you can begin to comprehend what a military spouse or their kids go through until you’ve caught a glimpse of the front lines at home while the spouse is deployed. Even then, unless you’ve been in those boots, you can only do your best to imagine.

I was raising my twin daughters alone during the day but had a husband who came home to share the load. Not only that, but his help was a constant in our lives. What would it be like if I had his help for a time, then it was taken away for months on end, only to be given back for another period of time, and eventually taken away again? The never-ending cycle of deployment and reunification was difficult to watch, and I was only an outsider looking in. Thankfully one day, I also noticed something wonderful unfold inside those homes.

There was this awesome community on and off base that came together to support these spouses and their children. As Brianna mentioned in a comment to my Sprinkled with Love poem, enjoying a “Friendsgiving” meal during Thanksgiving became a lifeline to her when she didn’t even realize she needed it. Reaching out to these spouses and kids means so much more than we will ever know. I saw it with my own eyes and did my best to support that sacrifice on the home-front. One way I did that was through my heartfelt little poems. I felt it was the least I could do to support those dearest to the ones who were away protecting our freedom.

Have you ever lived on or near a military base? Did you feel that same sense of community support when stationed in another country as opposed to here in the states? I’d love to hear about your experience in the comments below.