You Didn't Read the Instructions

You Didn’t Read the Instructions

Lots of Christians today are affected
by injustices each of us sees.
And I fear that we’re also infected
by a mind clouding social disease.
It’s symptoms include Bible thumping,
pointing fingers and narrowing views.
People’s actions just get our blood pumping
and we can’t stand to stay in the pews.
The media says we’re misguided.
And you know what, they may just be right.
Our priorities have been divided
and division is blurring our sight.
If our protesting things that are sinful
angers those who don’t see it that way.
Than what good are Godly intentions
when our witness drives others away?
We can protest and picket till doomsday.
Take saving the world as our goal.
But when Jesus comes, you know what he’ll say?
“You should have been out saving souls.
What happened, I told you to love them?
Not condemn them for things that they do.
But, instead, you wanted to judge them
and frankly, that’s not up to you.”
So, it’s time we stop pointing a finger.
Instead, we should offer a hand.
Help the needy, then take time to linger
and share the Good News if we can.

Amazing Grace

Amazing Grace; how sweet the sound.
But when a wretch, like me
is faced with someone needing grace,
I’m blind and cannot see.

The evidence of God with us
is how we treat another.
And without Grace we don’t forgive
but tend to judge each other.

Grace forgives the things we do,
forgives the things we don’t.
Grace puts up with all our faults
when those around us won’t.

Grace is what we get from God.
Grace is what we give.
Grace is not a mealtime prayer,
it should be how we live.

Amazing Grace; how sweet the sound
when it helps other’s see
God’s love and mercy exercised
in Christian charity.

Jeff Hildebrandt © 2001

Nuf Said!

The Fence Mender

While I was at one of Michael Martin Murphey's WestFest gatherings, I wandered thru the mercantile area and was drawn to a painting called, "The Fence Mender." by the end of the day, the poem was completed and I performed it on stage that night, with the painting next to me. Later, I shared it with a writer I respect, Corinne Brown, who helped me smooth some of the rough edges and actually finish the poem. Oh, one more thing. When I read the poem to the merchant who was selling the print, he told he he'd never noticed some of what I talk about. Isn't it amazing how often we miss what's right in front of us? By the way, Murph is having another WestFest soon. You should check it out and go if you can. Who knows what you might discover.
The Fence Mender
Fresh Snow…
Undisturbed…
except by the horse tracks behind him
and the sagebrush,
like polka dots on a bed sheet,
stretching to the mountains ahead.
He’s alone but far from lonely
as he rides up through the snow
along a sagging fence line
with the valley down below.
Pausing where the wire is down
this old fence mender looks around
to see if he can find a clue
of just what critter busted through.
But fresh snow…
Undisturbed
covers any sort of sign
except those horse tracks back behind.
So he picks up the wire
nails it back in its place
under gray skies that cover
this wide open space.
Then the clouds split apart
by shafts from the sun
as if they’re God’s spotlight
on a job that’s well done.
Shadows shorten.
Boot and horse tracks
melt together as one
and tight wire is all that’s left behind.

Jeff Hildebrandt © 2004

Angel's Mom

Jamie Williams’ vision is to preserve a part of American history that has long been overlooked.
Thanks, in part to Western movies, there is a common misconception that men tamed the frontier and women decorated it. The reality is that women worked just as hard as men to settle this country and they also helped civilize it.
The American Cowgirl project chronicles the dust and the mud; the joy and tears; the hard work and giving spirit of women who know the code of the west and live it.
Their inspirational stories not only inform us, but also inspire us to think beyond ourselves in a way that breeds respect and tolerance.
These are real people and their stories need to be preserved. We will all be better for it.

This comes from one of those stories submitted to Jamie by a woman named Angel.

ANGEL’S MOM

A man once wrote this famous quote;
“I have a dream.”
Remember?
For Angel’s mom, the dream lives on
despite the dust, the bills and rust.
Despite back pain, the lack of rain,
the coyote’s howl and banker’s scowl;
for Angel’s mom, the dream lives on.

Winter wind whipping, ice cycles dripping,
as mom chopped ice, not once, but twice.
Then toted water while her daughter
watched it from the pasture.
She saw her mom walk past her
with grit not tears.
Though it’s been years,
for Angel, the dream lives on.

Memories of that cowgirl swirl
like dust devils do where grass once grew.
She sees mom’s face; that sweat stained grace,
a road map to all she’d been through
and all she did to raise cows and kids
so, for Angel, the dream could live on.

Angel’s tales of hauling bales,
re-stringing wires and changing tires,
aren’t softened by the mind’s patina.
Her mom’s no barnyard ballerina
tiptoeing through the clover.
She’s stooped and pooped and all bent over
so, for Angel, the dream could live on.

For Angel, mom’s an inspiration
whose perfume is pure perspiration;
She’s a symbol of integrity
and other hard hewn qualities.
As long as cattle graze the field
mom says there’s hope and will not yield
so, for Angel, the dream can live on.

Jeff Hildebrandt © 2008

Dean Smith

He’s a cowboy legend with a Golden Boot.
He could ride a trick horse;
he could rope and could shoot.
But the movies were full
of those heroes, of course
so he showed them real talent.
He fell off a horse,
he jumped off a building;
he slipped off a cliff,
he was thrown from a wagon;
he had quite a gift.
He worked really hard
to learn all that he could
about TV and movies
in old Hollywood.
He learned more than acting.
He learned how to act;
how to think about others
and how to give back.
Now Dean Smith continues
what Ben Johnson did;
raising money and hope
for both parents and kids
who pray every day
doctors soon find an answer
in their search for a cure
for all forms of cancer.
He’s a cowboy at heart
who is honest and tough.
A friend through and through
who can’t do enough
for those who need help.
And, I think that it’s true;
When folks see an angel,
it sure looks like you.
Jeff Hildebrandt © 2006

Cowboy's Comfort

The sun’s sinkin’ low,
way off in the West
and this cowboy’s a-thinkin’
it’s time for a rest
‘cause he’s been in the saddle
since just after dawn
makin’ sure all the doggies
stay where they belong.
So he steps off his pony
and takes off the saddle.
Then hobbles that cayuse
so it won’t skidaddle
when those coyotes start howling
their mournful old cry
at the moon, as it rides
through the dusty old sky.
His dinner is simple,
sowbelly and beans.
Then he kicks off his boots
and loosens his jeans
as he pours him some coffee
that’s boiled up just right
and sits there a listenin’
to the sounds of the night.
It’s a lonely old life,
that’s a fact, to be sure.
But, bein’ alone
has a certain alure
cause it gives you some time
at the end of the day
to listen to all that the Lord has to say.
See, a cowboy alone,
sitting there by the fire
doesn’t need to hear preachin’
or songs from a choir
to know there’s a God.
Cause God’s there in the breeze,
and the sagebrush and cactus
and all that he sees.
God’s footprints, he’ll tell you,
are plain as the day.
if you don’t let that other stuff
get in the way,
like worry and frettin’
how this or why that,
or complainin’ how unfair
things are where you’re at.
So, he pours out his coffee
and hunkers on down
ah-hearin God whisper
in each little sound,
“you can rest easy pardner
and I’ll tell you why,
cause I’m always right with ya,
and that ain’t no lie.”

Jeff Hildebrandt copyright 1999

Freedom's Cost

I read a story a number of years ago about the men who signed the Declaration of Independence. I was moved by their dedication which seemed to mirror the American Spirit reflected by the military today. A historian told me later that some of the incidents could not be verified as true. It's not that these incidents didn't happen or the facts were distorted by the media back then, or that they were embellished by George Washington's press agent, it's just that they couldn't be verified. As we get ready to celebrate America's Independence, remember, we are "One Nation Under God." Also, look down the list of poems and you'll see one from June called, "Independence Day."

Freedom’s Cost

56 men signed a sheet of paper; they’d had it up to here.
They would stand for no more tyranny, and wanted to be clear.
56 men said enough’s enough, they pledged to fight or die.
But sometimes we forget the cost when Old Glory passes by.

Nearly half of them were lawyers whose income would be lost.
There were businessmen and farmers who heeded not the cost
but pledged their sacred honor, their fortunes and their lives.
Some lost all they’d worked for, some lost children; some lost wives.

Five of them were captured, they were beaten and were killed.
Another nine fought hand to hand before their blood was spilled.
A dozen had their homes burned down, four saw children die.
But none of them were ever heard to stop and question why.

We remember Boston harbor where the patriots dumped tea
and the bell that cracked while ringing out our new won liberty.
We remember Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin and a few
who went on to shape the framework for a country that was new.

But no one seems to talk about the ones who fought and fell;
the ones who gave up everything, the ones who went through hell.
56 names on a declaration demanding liberty.
56 names remind us all that Freedom’s Never Free.

Jeff Hildebrandt © 2000