In my previous blog post entitled “Who’s Your Hero?” I gave reference to three poems that I wrote. I have decided to post them separately in this post. To get the most benefit and understanding of their meaning, I would first suggest that you scroll down and read that post first. Thank you for reading my blogs and I hope God is speaking to you through them.

This poem is dedicated to my dad, Kenny Hook. He taught me how to drive trucks, things you can’t learn from books or truck driving school. He was a truck driver for as long as I can remember. I used to ride with him and thus began my dream. He was an “Old School” truck driver, a dying breed. I recited this poem at his funeral April 1990. It is my favorite poem.

         Just Like My Dad                            

When I was a boy I used to say, “I’m going to drive a truck like my dad someday.”

It seemed like time stood still back then, but it couldn’t stop my dreams when I was ten.

My mind was made up; a trucker I’ll be, I loved to imagine the places I’d see.

Like Hollywood, where movies are made, and Arizona, where there is no shade.

I’ll go to Las Vegas and see the bright lights, and walk in the desert on moonlit nights.

Up to Montana, they say the sky is big, I’ll see lots of country from the cab of my rig.

Places like Texas and New Mexico, why, there isn’t any place that I won’t go.

Down to Florida to see the beach, there was no place my dreams couldn’t reach.

So I waited and waited . . . impatiently, for time to pass so I could be;

Just like my dad and drive a big rig, my hopes were high, my dreams were big.

So much has happened since way back then, I’m no longer a boy the age of ten.

I’ve gained some wisdom through the years, by closing my mouth and opening my ears.

This one thing I’ve found to be true, a fact that I will share with you.

The only difference between men and boys, is not their age, but the size of their toys.

The years have come and gone so fast, those hopes and dreams are things of the past.

I’ve seen all the places I wanted to most, from border to border and coast to coast.

I’ve pulled the steep Rockies way out West, conquered her grades and passed the test.

Thousands of miles and sleepless nights, I can name every city by seeing it’s lights.

I cannot begin to count the loads, but how well I remember all the roads.

In all kinds of weather . . . good and bad, I am a truck driver . . . just like my dad.

The following poem was written for my Uncle Raymond and Aunt Rhea Klaus. I spent my summers on their farm in my early teens and they had great influence on my life. They were authentic Christians and set a good example for me by observing their lives and dedication to Christ.

50 Golden Years

50 years we now celebrate, 50 years of time, chance, and fate.

50 years have come and gone so fast, but time moves on; only the memories last.

Our friends are all with us on this our special day, everyone is cheerful, happy, and gay.

Joy and laughter fills the room, this is certainly not a place for gloom.

“Do you remember when?”, is the most heard phrase, expressing memories of by-gone days.

50 years! Praise God, we made it at last! We’re all celebrating 50 years now past.

But amidst the laughter, joy and cheers, we have our own memories of those 50 years.

They all gather around us to wish us well, but only we know the secret things that no one can tell.

Times when laughter was not to be found, when we cried out to God with our faces to the ground.

When we didn’t know what the next day would bring, or if we’d be able to plant our crops in the spring.

Lonely days and many sleepless nights, when God seemed so distant, and nothing went right.

We raised three children the best we could, praying every day that they’d all turn out good.

In a world of heartaches others have quit, we’ve never used that word; it just doesn’t fit.

There were times so bad it seemed like only death would bring relief, but we would join our hands and together endure the grief.

Through disappointments, discouragements, death, disease, our goal remains . . .  the Lord we will please.

For He is the one who brought us this far, He is our confidence; our Bright Morning Star.

Another 50 years we are ready to face, we have strength to go on . . . because of His grace.

For 50 years; let us tell you our story, for “50 Golden Years” . . . to God be the Glory!

This next poem was written for Mother’s Day 1985 and dedicated to Sandy Nunes whom I consider my spiritual Mom. Jim and Sandy were my first pastors after I was born again and have impacted my spiritual growth more than anyone.

Mom

My natural mom you may be not, but do not think you’ve been forgot.

For a mom is more than the wife of a dad, who knows all you’ve done . . . good and bad.

Who changed my diapers when I was a squirt, and spanked my butt till it hurt, hurt, hurt!

Wiping my nose and washing my clothes, feeding my face . . .  I thank God for His grace!

Hoping and praying I’d turn out alright, and caring enough to ask, “Where were you last night?”

Well now I’m grown and left the nest, and my mom of moms can get some rest.

They say a mother’s work is never done, I thank the Lord He gave me more than one.

Not just to raise me and take care of my bod, but to encourage and help me in the ways of God.

For there is a closeness, I’m sure you’ll agree, in the Spirit of the Lord between you and me.

No matter what mess we might be in, the Bible says, “We win! We Win!”

So on we go towards the upward call, pressing on together . . . me and yawl.

Love you Sandi (Mom)