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Dear God,
While we (I) journey far away,
Keep your children safe, We (I) pray.
They’re so dependent, weak, and small,
And need our care ‘til they grow tall.
So keep away life’s ills and harms,
And hold them in Your great big arms.
Let sweet anticipation reign
Until we’re all back home again!
Amen
Nervous and anxious they come through my door –
Some just arriving on Hawaii’s shore,
Some bold adventurers, some frail and shy,
But all apprehensive – I think I know why.
They’ve harbored their quest so close to the heart
Until their appointment set them apart
As brave and courageous – special . . . “not strange”
But “different” because they dare opt for change.
Different because of the first step they’ve taken
And that may be why their composure is shaken
It’s commitment to change, to a course that’s unknown
To a future that’s different that soon they will own.
Some are quite youthful, and others mature;
But modest or bold we all can be sure,
These pilgrims and travelers who search out our skills
Are seeking Life’s fullness – not grasping Life’s frills!
They do us great honor – assigning their trust
To us as the sculptor designing their busts.
The homage they pay us is like being sainted
As they pay for a portrait before it’s been painted.
So . . . acknowledge their fear and the courage they’ve mustered
Be patient with questions and never be flustered.
Fill in their voids with patience and pride,
Knowing they’ve chosen us from a list tall and wide!
Robert S. Flowers M.D.
Gentle lines of subtle grace
Define the lids on the Asian face
Delicate enigma--emotions concealed
Imponderable windows, with shutters part sealed.
Guarded sweetness, softly veiled
With canopied corners that never have failed
To hint at mystery and whisper clues
Of an ancient culture’s sifted sage views.
An elegant tilt in shy down ward glance
Stirs in the viewer a window of chance
To penetrate through to a lid shielded soul
Where poorly planned surgery would take a huge toll.
Lightly inquisitive, wrinkling the brow,
Inviting an entrance that lids scant allow.
Exquisite design in human clay--
Pleading with surgeons to keep it that way!
Robert S. Flowers,MD
April 3, 1990 |
I stand in awe of who you are
Creator, teacher and morning star.
As sculptor of the galaxy
Why would you bother to look on me?
For who am I but a piece of clay
That you lifted and formed in your usual way;
Then breathed in life and set me free
To explore the depth of who I might be.
Then you gave to a few a special art
You strengthened our hands, and touched our heart,
And gave us a bit of who you are
Though we sometimes forget and stray too far.
And what is that gift of which I write?
It’s the power to create, to restore lost sight
To complete that unfinished at the time of birth.
Continued creation right here on earth.
It’s restoring ones form that’s been crushed in a crash
Or replacing some skin that’s turned into ash
Or remarking what’s lost to a cancerous growth,
All far in excess of Hippocrates’ oath.
It’s altering a nose that holds back a face,
Or rearranging the jaws as might be the case,
Or brightening one’s eyes, or tightening their skin,
Or giving a breast, or strengthening a chin.
And for some simple reason that escapes me just now
In your infinite wisdom You elected to allow
Imperfection in creation. Perhaps it was so
Restoration and healing, Your people could know.
* * * * *
That part of your power you gave to these hands
Is an awesome endowment with awesome demands.
So I ask that you keep me both humble and clear
That it’s Your gift and Your art that made my career.
Robert S. Flowers
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