We’re Not Alone, by Stacey Lake

(Written after watching a Michael W. Smith home concert

on Facebook during the Pandemic, 2020)

We stay at home around the world,

They say it’s for the best.

They hope it will protect us all;

Put the disease to rest.

I scroll for hours, every day,

To see what you have said,

To see some posts, some images,

To clear my busy head.

Some bring me chuckles, some a sigh,

And some bring on despair.

My heart grows weary from the pain

That’s seething everywhere.

But pain is lifted when I view

A worship pastor sing,

One who unites the whole wide world,

And lets HIS praises ring.

I watch the scrolling messages

Of those who view the same.

From Paris, Spain, and Hungary,

They worship with a name.

We’re all together, feeling this

In ways we can’t describe.

We sing along and worship Him,

His truth, we can imbibe.

We’re not alone, in any way,

It’s powerful to see.

My tears flow then because of Him

He’s holding you and me.

I’m strengthened by the family—

The ones who love Him so.

There’s peace and joy right in the storm,

Because of Who we know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Technological Advances, or a Campfire in the Living Room

 By Stacey Lake

(Written after a harrowing experience, many years ago.)

        I love modern technology.  I do.  I love texting, I love e-mail, I love the internet, and I love my trusty computer and word documents.  I feel like I’m pretty up on the latest advances, such as YouTube videos and online shopping.  But, perhaps I have lagged behind in the TV world.  For the last however many decades, I have loved my really big techni-color TV set in a huge, vintage, wooden console. It had a clear picture, I never had to adjust anything, and all was well.  It came from my grandparents, and I would imagine they bought it in the 80’s.  That’s the 1980’s, of course. 

        So, after they passed it on to me, there it stood, in all its glory, in my living room for a very long time.  It held up the VCR, it made a great stand for the Pictionary board, and it served as a knick-knack table whenever necessary.  Ergo, when a friend arrived one night, carrying in his hands a flat screen TV the size of Arizona, I felt no need to make a change.  He was willing to donate the monstrosity to me, for he felt I “needed” it.  But really, why would I accept a TV that would require me knocking out a wall so that I could move the recliner back far enough to efficiently view the screen when I had the 1980’s style techni-color console television?  Yes, you guessed it.  I turned him down.  He looked at me with great dismay, if not utter confusion.  He muttered something under his breath as he departed with the beast, and I happily settled in to watch a little “Jeopardy” on the console TV.  Magic.

        It was not but a month or so after the attempted gifting that I sat happily in front of my TV one evening, watching M*A*S*H before making a hasty departure to choir practice.  Suddenly, much to my surprise, the screen went from a lovely picture to a blue and white vertical striped image.  The sound remained intact, so I simply gazed at the stripes for a few minutes.  Then, I wondered if I should. . . do something? So, like anyone with mad technological skills, I turned off the TV, counted to ten, and turned it back on. The picture returned, and the sound was wonderful, as always. Success!  But—and here’s the tragic part—the success only lasted for about thirty seconds.  And then, the unthinkable happened.  My techni-color vintage console television went black, and a sudden explosion occurred from the back.  It’s true.  There was even a plume of smoke.  My trusty canine and I dove behind the television to investigate (we had a lot of room, since the console TV sat about two feet from the wall).  The smoke rose, but we didn’t really see any flames, per se.  To prevent any potential flames from rising, I thought quickly and unplugged the TV.   Then, as all experienced daughters do, I called my father.  The conversation went something like this:

    “Hello, Father!”

    “Hello, Daughter!”

       “Say, Father.  Is it bad if my television set just blew up and smoke is rising from behind?”

        “Yes, Daughter. That indicates a problem.”

       “I suspected as much. There are no current flames, and I have unplugged the television.  Should I anticipate a further explosion or any surprise flames to rise from the console?”

       “There should be no new flames, if you can see no flames at this point.”

       “So, if I leave for choir rehearsal, my sweet canine should not be in danger of a mass conflagration?”

       “No, there should be no danger.”

       “And, now the big question.  Is my beloved console television. . .gone?”

       “It’s gone, Daughter.  I’m sorry. It’s all gone.”

        So, that was the end of my 1980’s style techni-color vintage console television.  I admit I did phone my friend who had offered the gargantuan set, hoping the rejected gift was still available.  Unfortunately, I was informed that it was already decorating someone else’s home theatre.  I, therefore, had to purchase a new set on my own.  I bought it on the Saturday before the Super Bowl, and there was a generic comment made by my shopping companion of this nature:

    “You are undoubtedly the only person in the United States who is purchasing a big screen TV the day before the Super Bowl who has absolutely no intention of watching the Super Bowl.” 

        He was correct.

        As for the new TV?  Well, it’s working out fine, I suppose.  There is no place to set anything, so that’s an adjustment. The picture is clear, but it is not nearly as consistent as my old TV.  Channels just seem to disappear from time to time, but is that really all that bad?  As long as I don’t move to the other room or an airplane doesn’t fly over, I get pretty good reception. Pixelation is always an adventure.

        I love modern technology.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A  Friend in the Darkness

by Stacey Lake

(April, 1991)

 As a child, I would lie awake,

Unsure of what was there. 

Then I would hold my hand outstretched,

And squeeze it around a prayer.

‘Dear Jesus, I’m afraid,’ I’d say,

My voice made small with fear.

‘Please hold my hand and don’t let go.’

Then I’d blink back a tear.

My tiny fingers would curl around

Your hand, right next to me.

In the darkness, I’d feel a squeeze,

And no longer need to see.

The squeeze I felt was one of love—

I felt it in my heart.

The darkness scared me, but I knew

You never would depart.

The darkness doesn’t scare me now,

But I still cannot sleep.

What lies ahead is so unclear,

I’m terrified to leap.

‘Dear Jesus, I’m afraid,’ I say.

My voice is small with fear.

‘Please hold my hand and don’t let go.’

And I blink back a tear.