Sandi's Poetry Page

THE MASTER'S TOUCH Whoever heard a violin that played a tune itself? In fact, it never makes a sound while sitting on the shelf; But, when the master picks it up and tightens all the strings And draws his bow across them, a lovely song it sings. His touch is gentle, loving, never harsh or rough. The pressure that he must exert is always just enough To cause the waiting violin to yield to his command, So that it only makes the sounds that come from his own hand. He draws from it the sweetest song, with which none can compare; Melodic notes so beautiful are wed to chords as fair. And then once more he lays it down until another day On which he shall decide again to pick it up and play Whatever type of song that he decides he will. It may be lovely as before or even lovelier still. So, the violin must sit and wait upon the dusty shelf Until the master touches it - because it cannot play itself. Copyright July 28, 1983-Sandra S. Anderegg [Back to Contents]

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This next poem came to me following a dream I had: MY WALK WITH JESUS I walked with Jesus, hand in hand, along the windward way; And as we walked we spoke of things from serious to play. I faltered in my steps and the I fell a few behind; But He just waited there for me as though He didn't mind. He beckoned me to come along and stay beside Him there. Then as I hurried to His side, He spoke - I didn't hear. So when I asked Him to repeat what He had said to me, He did just that and told me "I have a robe for thee." Even though the wind was chilled, I thought my robe would do; But He told me, "My child, this one is best for you." No further need I question Him on what is best for me, For now I know He is in charge of all that is to be. I'll walk with Jesus, hand in hand, along the windward way; And as we walk we'll speak of things from serious to play. And if I falter in my steps or fall a few behind, I know that He will wait for me and that He'll never mind. He'll lovingly and patiently let me hurry to His side, And as I walk with hand in His, in His love I'll abide. In thankfulness I'll always wear the robe He gave to me And praise His holy, precious name throughout eternity. Copyright December 1, 1979 - Sandra S. Anderegg [Back to Contents]

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The first lines of the following poem started coming to me while I was at a "Women's Aglow Fellowship" meeting. I had been thinking about how I loved these beautiful women, some older than I and some much younger. Somehow it seemed like they were roses in HIS garden. I got the rest of the poem later at home when I started writing it down.* WALKING IN THE GARDEN My Lord walks in the garden with me, always holding my hand in His. He bids me the glorious flowers to touch-the beauty that will be and is. The tender young bud just waiting to burst into fullblown lovely delight, The older blossom that's known the full sun and curtsies to the twilight. They each have a beauty great to behold-the touch of the Master's hand. He paints each petal with artist's brush and makes the garden so grand. I reach out and touch in wondrous awe the smooth silk of a rose, Marveling that He who made it is the Lord that my heart knows. The fragrance and color in this place thrill my heart and soul, Reminding me that, like the lovely rose,He touched me and made me whole. Lord, may we stay in this garden a while and linger among the sweet flowers? May I drink in the glory of them and you and cherish this time that is ours? The rose's beauty is hard to surpass,but you are more beautiful, it's true. Sweet Jesus, nothing that ever was made could be more lovely than you. I love to walk in this garden with God always keeping my hand is His, While we linger and He shows to me the beauty that will be and is. Copyright June 15, 1982 - Sandra S. Anderegg [Back to Contents]

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The next poem came to me almost 2 years after my Mother's death. After the funeral service at the church we drove to the cemetery and were now at the family burial plot. As we got out of the hearse and stepped up to the grave site, I saw the most beautiful butterfly I have ever seen. I grew up in Columbia, SC, where this happened and had never seen a butterfly like it. It fluttered briefly at a flower about 5 feet from Mother's graveand took my breath away. The butterfly was (I found from research later) a Morpho Menelaus, which is a native of Peru in the rainforest and supposedly never migrates any farther north than Central America. I had asked God while we were at the service in the church whether she was in Heaven with Him. I immediately knew when I saw the butterfly that it was His answer to me. Mother and I had been estranged for 22 years until about 8 months before she died and though we spoke by phone several times during those 8 months, she never let the family tell me that she was sick with cancer or was dying. I have hesitated to print this poem for public eyes, but now it seems like I should do so. If it touches someone's heart, I am humbled and pleased: ON GOSSAMER WINGS OF SAPPHIRE BLUE My father sent a butterfly in answer to my prayer When I had questioned Him about my mother being there. My heart had often cried for her to know His wondrous love, That He would be her Lord and God and give her life above. She seldom spoke of Him as if she knew His saving grace Or that He died and rose to give to her a Heav'nly place. I often longed to speak with her of Jesus and to share His love with her and tell her that I really still do care. To let her know I never stopped loving her in my heart And tell her I was sorry we had ever had to part. But somehow that was not to be for death took her away And left me with an empty heart and words I could not say. The grief that overcame me seemed more than I could bear; But, Jesus felt it with me and heard my simple prayer. He sent a lovely butterfly - a symbol of His life - To show me that she lives with Him, happy and free from strife. On gossamer wings of sapphire blue, it fluttered near me there For me to realize His love in sending one so rare. If it had been a common type, maybe I would not see How very clear the answer was that He had given me. Dear Lord, I thank you that you really care so much To send your child an answer with such a special touch. How vast a love that can embrace all large or smaller pleas! Has once again encircled me and set my heart at ease. So, thank you for the butterfly with such a brilliant hue Sent down from you to me on gossamer wings of sapphire blue. Copyright July 29, 1983 - Sandra S. Anderegg [Back to Contents]

* Note--When I first started getting these poems from the Lord, the first few lines would keep coming to my mind, but nothing else. Finally I learned that the rest of a poem did not come until I sat down to start writing it; and then it flowed. Praise God from whom all blessings flow. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thank you for visiting this page.