There is a difference between
Knowing with the mind
And knowing with the heart.
For the Lord has told us
He will teach us in our hearts
And in our minds.
Our thoughts and feelings become
So intertwined it is often hard to tell
Which is thought and which is feeling.
Together they act as a duet,
For they are welded to each other
By the Savior’s love.
Cerita M. Hewett
September 21, 2015
A river of people flowed in and out
Along the art fest stalls displaying
Sculpture, painting, pottery, glass works,
With people floating in and out,
Seeking the medium that pleased them most,
Slipping by the booths that didn’t interest them.
We melted in among the swirl,
Swimming smoothly stopping and starting,
Soaking up the art, yet keeping Roger’s head in sight,
As he moved effortlessly, gliding quickly through the flood,
We paused longer at displays,
Talked briefly with some artists.
It seemed a thoughtful overflow of young and old,
Couples, singles, babies in strollers, teens,
Somehow calmed and gentled in the stream,
Amazed that in three hours of drifting,
We were jostled or bumped only once or twice,
And then received profuse apologies!
The sun, the breeze, the early Spring,
The coming back to life,
The art and its creators,
Came together for one delightful day,
Which flowed and ebbed into
A lovely memory.
Cerita M. Hewett
April 12, 2015
Revised May 18, 2015
Amid the screeching
Screaming tires of the night,
When dreams, fragile dreams
Are about to be crushed,
Listen, listen!
You may hear the mockingbird
Singing in the dark,
I did!
Cerita M. Hewett
April 22, 1988
The daisy with its golden sun center
And white radiating petals,
His light and eternal knowledge.
The daffodils first blooms,
Of the first spring for all mankind,
When He arose and came forth.
The rose with the sweet fragrance of
Life, not of the tomb,
His glorious resurrection.
Well then, all things remind me,
Trucks pulling heavy loads
His cross.
Bucket loaders
Lifting dirt and rocks to higher places,
His lifting of our sins.
Cars speeding down the straight away,
The eternal path, narrow, but well-marked
By His treading feet.
Graders moving rocks aside,
Smoothing the way,
His gentle voice calming hearts.
Airplanes soaring up and over mountains,
His lifting, climbing,
Carrying all who come to him upward.
Yes, all things can remind us of Him,
When we look through the lens of spiritual lives
At mortality.
Cerita M. Hewett
September 20, 2015
When I think of the Savior
Teaching the common people,
With the Widow of Nain,
Healing the sick,
In the garden of Gethsemane,
With the woman at the tomb,
Appearing to the Nephites after his resurrection,
Letting each one of the multitude
Touch the marks in His hands, feet, and side,
Holding and blessing each child,
I feel sure hope that He knows me.
I know He loves me,
When I let Him come into my life,
He reaches out to me,
Though there is turmoil in the world around,
Through Him I smile each day,
And with this hope I pray and work,
I try to be a little kinder,
Then follow Him.
Cerita M. Hewett
Revised 2015
Sometimes when I am troubled
I wander through the photo albums of my mind
To places of peace and love.
I lie near the pine of our old backyard,
In the tall early morning grass,
Just after dew tears have dried,
Watching mountains of marshmallow clouds drift by.
I sit on the deck of an Idaho cabin,
Where I gaze at magnificent pines,
And observe busy chipmunks,
As they open brown seeds for lunch
I watch the flames of a campfire
Melt from dancing yellow and orange,
To a red, red glow, and
Slowly expire into flickering black embers and white ash.
I rock a baby,
Feel a soft cheek against my neck,
The pressure of dainty feet upon my leg,
A tiny hand curling round my little finger.
I perch in the sheltering rocks of a windy beach,
See the white caps forming at sea,
Watch Roger playing with the children on the shore,
Smell the salt and hear the gulls.
I gaze from a schoolroom window,
At the oaks and pecans of the woods,
Listening to the murmur of children,
Busy with reading, writing, and painting.
I stroll the temple grounds,
Pull grass spears from among the flowers beside the walk,
Sit looking up towards its towers,
Sense the trumpet’s soundless plea for peace
Remembering through each scene,
Knowing how I have been understood and loved,
Feeling the Spirit wash my heart in a quiet hush,
Then, in the stillness, the calmness,
the silence, comes serenity.
Cerita M. Hewett
July 12, 2009
(revised 2014)
I have experienced a few “time outs” in life,
Some illness or injury that took me out of the active game,
A loss or disappointment that paused my busy days,
These “breaks” have been well springs of deeper reflection,
Benevolent “rests” in my perpetual music and dance.
Though uncomfortable, even painful,
They have enriched my soul and drawn me
Closer to friends,
Closer to my family,
Closer to the Lord.
They have made me more compassionate,
A stronger, more joyous player.
Cerita M. Hewett
March 2013
The runner who
Sweeps the cobwebs,
On the paths through the woods,
Before the dawn comes,
Is on vacation.
So the feathery,
Sticky lines,
Hit my face as
I walk through the daylight woods.
I held a twiggy
Branch aloft,
In front of my face today,
To clear them for myself.
My how it changed
My view of the woods.
It was like looking,
Through a cracked
Window pane.
Every vista fractured
By scraggy lines.
But then my face
Was protected and free of webs.
I will be glad when
The dashing cobweb sweeper,
Returns to the forest.
Cerita M. Hewett
July 2014
(revised October 2014)