Shed Not Tears For My Poor Soul

I wrote this poem six years ago after a long struggle for assurance of my salvation. My thoughts as I look back: Thank you, Jesus!

Shed Not Tears for My Poor Soul
(To Mother)

Shed not your precious tears for me:
My heart, my body, nor my soul;
For I have found the remedy
To death itself, my self of old.

My sins were nailed upon a cross
So high and lofty, with Him they died.
My old self dead ‘neath dirt and moss,
And newly found joy with Him in Life.

Yet still I stumble when accosted
By the ghosts of days since past;
I often doubt and fear I’ve lost it,
The happy thrill I once held fast.

Further still I think of giving
Up all hope of reaching freedom;
But in His words continue living
I stand my ground and won’t succumb.

So see me not for my sad blunders,
View me not in shades of black.
But behold me under God’s grace-wonder
And catch me when I do fall back.

Shed not tears for my poor soul,
Though once bankrupt, now rich as gold.
Refrain, dear mother, now from your sorrow
To see the truth of yesterday’s ‘morrow:
Salvation today indwells my soul.

It Isn't the Church, It's You!

If you want to have the kind of a church
Like the kind of a church you like,
You needn't slip your clothes in a grip
And start on a long, long hike.
You'll only find what you left behind,
For there's nothing really new.
It's a knock at yourself when you knock your church;
It isn't the church--it's you.

When everything seems to be going wrong,
And trouble seems everywhere brewing;
Just take a look at yourself and say,
"What's the use of being blue?"
Are you doing your "bit" to make things "hit"?
It isn't the church--it's you.

It's really strange sometimes, don't you know,
That things go as well as they do,
When we think of the little--the very small mite--
We add to the work of the few.
We sit, and stand round, and complain of what's done,
And do very little but fuss.
Are we bearing our share of the burdens to bear?
It isn't the church--it's us.

So, if you want to have the kind of church
Like the kind of a church you like,
Put off your guile, and put on your best smile,
And hike, my brother, just hike,
To the work in hand that has to be done--
The work of saving a few.
It isn't the church that is wrong, my boy;
It isn't the church--it's you.

--Anonymous

March 15th

Today is the Ides of March. (Whatever that means!)

5 years ago today things changed in my life.

March 15^th, 2002, was a Friday: the last day of spring break. I had just returned home from lunch with my mom and brother. I walked in the door and saw the answering machine light flashing. I pressed the button to check the messages. There was only one. It was my dad.

In the eighteen years of my life up to that point, I had seen my dad cry less than four times. He was a strong pillar in our family. But this time, without even seeing his face, I could hear his voice shaking and could imagine the tears welling in his eyes as he spoke his recorded message. “I just got a call from Dan’s brother Pat. Dan was in a terrible accident about an hour ago. He didn’t survive. The worst part is, the driver of the other vehicle was Dan’s older brother Ray.”

The words “He didn’t survive” were a devastating echo in my mind. “He didn’t survive.” This was the day after I was forced to say goodbye to my girlfriend, not knowing when I’d see her again (because she and her family were moving away to Kansas), and now I was forced to say goodbye to another dear, dear friend, never to see him again in this life.

Dan Mehan was thirty years old the day he was killed. He had been the music leader at our church for the previous five years. He was also my personal vocal coach, mentor, and a close friend. Just the previous summer, Dan and I were co-leaders on a mission trip to Mazatlan, Mexico. The circumstances surrounding his death were bizarre; his own brother was the instrument that sent Dan to eternity. However, there was great peace knowing Dan was now singing with choirs of angels in heaven. Less than two weeks before his death, Dan admitted to a friend that he had finally come to a point in his life where he felt that if God wanted to take him home, he was ready. Dan struggled with the fact that he was thirty and had never been married. But just before he died, Dan saw a glimpse of God’s plan. After he died, the rest of us saw the bigger picture.

There were over a thousand people at Dan’s funeral. Like with the death of my great-grandma, I was compelled to write a song after receiving news of Dan’s passing in honor of Dan and the God he loved. I was asked by Dan’s mother, Rosie, to play and sing this at his funeral. I did with humble gladness. I struggled with the rest of the semester that year. I was a senior looking forward to graduating, but found it difficult to find as much happiness in my life as I had felt when Paige was near and Dan was alive.

Here is the song that I wrote 5 years ago, "Danny's Song":

Oh Danny Boy, we'll miss you friend
And though you're gone I know we'll meet again.
Now you're home and you feel fine,
And all things work in God's time.

You're finally home, you've made it before us,
But we'll meet you there somewhere down the road.
But Dan, we know you won't wait for us
To bow in praise before the throne.

You're singing now with a choir of angels
With a voice that's even greater than the one you shared with us!

And you sing,
Hallelujah to a sovereign God
Who loves us in life and is with us in our deaths;
Creator, Sustainer, and Taker of life--
Let His holy name be blessed!

Oh Danny Boy, it's hard to let you go--
Our eyes will cry but our minds know
Though it seems you're lost, you're finally found
In His arms, on solid ground.

Fear no more, and goodbye pain!
Life and joy evermore the same.
Eternal rest and pleasant songs
Sung by you with angelic throngs.

You're singing now with a choir of angels
With a voice that's even greater than the one you shared with us!

And you sing,
Hallelujah to a sovereign God
Who loves us in life and is with us in our deaths;
Creator, Sustainer, and Taker of life--
Let His holy name be blessed!

While you lived, Christ lived in you;
He was your God, your Savior, too.
And now in Christ you live again
This time dwelling in heaven.
And to Jesus you sing...

Hallelujah to a sovereign God
Who loves us in life and is with us in our deaths;
Creator, Sustainer, and Taker of life--
Let His holy name be blessed!

"I'll Love You on Sundays"

I’ll love you on Sundays
But tomorrow is Monday
And Mondays are rough days
And love is the last thing on my mind during football.

I’ll love you on Sundays
But Tuesday’s still early
In the week and at work:
I’m so tired and stressed out I don’t have love to give.

I’ll love you on Sundays
But it’s hard when it’s Hump-day
And my spouse calls from home
Wanting my love when I’m feeling out of love already.

I’ll love you on Sundays
If Thursday is easy
But if the house keeps falling down
I still may not be loving by the time it is Sunday.

I’ll love you on Sundays
And maybe Fridays and holidays
When my spirits are happy
And I’m not thinkin’ about my job, my boss, or yard.

I’ll love you on Sundays
If Saturday’s a good day,
But if Saturday’s a dump-day
It will be awfully hard to show much love at church.

I’ll love you on Sundays
At most, but that’s it!
Because the week’s full of work
And there’s so little time to love, but I’ll try to be nice.

© David J. Giarrizzo
January 30, 2005