All are beautiful 

In this season of harvest 

Under the blue sky

Do not regret, saying

You have wasted your time

You have gathered nothing

You are the fruit

You are the pride

Of the Creator

You are the old beauty

With wrinkles and aching body

With pure smile of the mortal

Wind can sweep you away like fallen leaves 

Autumn sun light can dry you up like a spider web

Star light can tinkle you like an acorn rolled by a squirrel 

Do not cry

Over the passing of lives 

All are beautiful and you are 

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Stars at night

Grandmother, great grand mother

All mothers before them

Are shining in daylight

When we do not see them 

At night

When all the glittering success fade away

They start talking 

About their joys and memories

Listening to them all night

Is my life 

That brings me to life

For a dusty construction day

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I embraced your dreams that you planted

I water them and grew them as a faithful gardener

Then I wait

Wait for the rain of grace

Wait for the sun-light-heat of love

Wait for the sign of life

Now when the temperature invites frost

They bring their fruits

Waiting for harvests

Waiting for the feasts for all

Waiting for the hungry guests 

There will be joyful hosts

Laughters and giggles

Busy servants

Stories to tell

And a big circle of love 

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Forgotten fruits

Trees are never tired of producing 

uneaten, unmattered fruits 

They keep repeating the same old patterns

without any excuse

I feel safe and secured

when I tread upon those small

smashed fruits under my feet

feeling their scream of silence

With those small unnoticed plants

They become pride of thousands of gardens of old farmers

waiting to be named and described in a poem

Until that time

they will appear again next autumn

smashed and tread upon again

with timeless joy and hope

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One by one

families and friends passed away

as an invitation for me to come

to the still place

where we can find peace together

without racism, wild-fire, COVID-19, and turmoils in Afghanistan

We are all connected

to the One who gives and takes away

forms, sizes, colors, and tones of our bodies

Beyond all those diverse beauty

is the inner beauty

the image of God we all share

The image that we have destroyed for long long time

the image shattered by the waves and winds of the water

the image restored at the center of the Cross

When all the nails are nailed down

and the crown of thorns was put on

we will weep at the bottom of the Cross

For the sins we have committed

for the mistakes that we have made

for the indifference that we have displayed

as we scratch the doors to be open

waiting for us to be accepted

lonely and alone

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Fire and stars

Because of the smoke

my eyes are itching

my nose is stuffed

I realized that this morning smoke

was somebody’s home yesterday

someone was playing with her pet

families sat around the table

Now they all floated into my garden

to plead their innocence

to report to me that they were once alive

loved and touched

They do not just want to be called

Dixie Fire or Clear Lake Fire

someone still remember their stories

they can be stars and shine their lights

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Joy of Living

Sungho Lee

I do not own you, God!

You are the Creator

I am your creature.

I do not own you, trees

You have been here long before I am

I am a visitor of your garden

I do not own you, birds

You are fellow travelers with me

You come and go, so do we

I do not own you wind

I am a beneficiary of your travel

You freely move and I feel you now and then

I own nothing

I enjoy every life

I enjoy God!

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Wherever you go, 

you go inside of your soul

It is not a place

It is your relationship with God

Things change

according to the seasons

relationships are moving

because we are growing

What matters is love

that we have in God

all the creatures show

images of God

Wherever you go

meet God there

enjoy the encounter

that gives you life

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A passerby

People worship God

without me, a preaching pastor

People enjoy mission 

without my involvement, a supervising pastor

People share the Good News

even after my death, a pastor’s funeral

How humbling and how liberating

God is in control all the time
I am just a passerby

a staff or a rod in God’s hand

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When evening comes

When evening comes

all the golden memories of a day

shed their lights like fallen leaves

and autumn fruits appear on naked branches

Apple trees bear apples

Peach trees bear peaches

We cannot change this simple law of mother nature

We reap what we planted and worked for

When the evening comes

Cool breeze will invite us to dinner tables

with loving families waiting for us

welcoming us with smiles and stories to tell

Tears will turned into winds

all the hatred will disappear into sunset

Conflicts and greed will become candle lights for dinner tables

We will share one meal together as one family of the Father

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