Some Say

Some Say

© 2019 Mollie Pearce McKibbon


Some say I believe myths, Lord,

But I think that’s so unfair

Since they believe that U F O’s

Are flying everywhere.


Some say You are a crutch, Lord,

But You’re just what I need

For I am lame in Spirit

And your help makes me succeed.


Some say its just happenstance

All the miracles I see,

But miracles keep happening

When I ask You faithfully.


Some say that I am blind, Lord,

To the truth that science finds,

But I cannot forget, Lord,

That You made those human minds.


Although I love my friends, Lord,

I know they’ve been misled.

Please open up their hearts, Lord,

To the truth You’ve done and said.

Something About That Man

Jesus carrrying his Cross


Something About That Man

© 2016 Mollie Pearce McKibbon


Oh, what’s the hubub in the street?

I hear the sound of marching feet.

I hear the shouts of and angry crowd-

They’re coming near; they’re getting loud.


See the Man with the crown of thorns?

He is the one that King Herod scorns.

They’re driving him up Godgotha’s slope-

A merciless place without hope.


There’s something about that Man’s face

Reminds me of a time or place

Where he and his friends shared their meal

And went about to teach and heal.


They say he now claims to be God

And his miracles were a fraud.

But I saw the lame he made walk,

The blind to see, the mute to talk.


I heard the stories that he taught

And felt the hope that Man brought.

I must protest this awful fate

Brought on because of fear and hate.


Yet, I stand silent on the hill,

Urging my conscience to be still

And when they plant that awful tree,

My voice is stopped; my eyes won’t see.


As I gaze at the darkened sky,

I hear his words, his groaning cry,

“Father,  forgive them for my sake,’

And I feel my own heart break.



The Wild World

The Wild World

©2018 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

The world is wild and full of care;
There is danger everywhere,
And yet, when I look above
I see the grandeur of God’s love.

The way through life is full of snares
Of empty pleasures, foolish dares,
But when I smell the blooming spring
I know God’s love is everything.

No manmade lights can compare
To all the twinkling stars up there.
No thrill of speed nor vain award
Can tempt me ever from my Lord.

When many years have dimmed my eyes,
And life no longer holds surprise,
My heart will yearn with keen desire
To sing in God’s celestial choir.

I AM – a poem


© 2018 Mollie Pearce McKibbon


Jesus healing

I am the healer of pain-wracked souls
And the fixer of broken parts.
I am the soother of weary minds,
The one comfort for troubled hearts.
My arms are open to welcome all
Of those who are yearning to be
Sheltered from the storms of life,
Enfolded and strengthened by me.

I am the mender of shattered lives,
The breaker of earthly fetters.
I am the finder of long-lost souls,
Forgiver of life-long debtors.
I long to gather my dear ones home
And rejoice with all who will come
For I have prepared a banquet feast
With enough places for everyone.

A Candle Burning

candlelight #3


A Candle Burning
© 2017 Mollie Pearce McKibbon


A candle burning in the dark night
Cannot outshine my Saviour’s light.
The greatest bonfire and its glow
Compared to Jesus, will not show.
The brightest beams from our big sun
Cannot eclipse the Blessed One.
The love light from my Saviour’s eyes
Is kind, and caring, always wise.
He sees my weakness, knows my fears,
Has helped me stand and dried my tears.
And when my task here is complete,
You’ll find me sitting at his feet.

In Heaven – a poem

In Heaven 

© 2016 Mollie Pearce McKibbon




In Heaven
© 2016 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

There is no anger in heaven;
the only loud shouts you’ll hear
are “hosannas” to Jesus
from all the saints gathered there.
There is no sadness in heaven;
No broken or lonely soul.
God promises to give his comfort
and make everyone whole.
There is no hunger in heaven;
A banquet is prepared for all.
None is forgotten or left out.
Just listen for our Father’s call.
There are no mirrors in heaven;
the only reflection you’ll find
deep in the eyes of our Saviour –
The beauty of God’s holy mind.











Without God – a hymn

footsteps of faithWithout God

© 2014 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

8  7   8  7


Without rain this world’s a desert;

Without sun this world is cold;

Without God this world is barren

And our hearts will turn to stone.


Without hope this world’s desperate;

Without Love this world is cold;

Without God this world is chaos

And our souls will have no home.


Turn your eyes towards the Saviour;

Turn your ears to hear God’s Word;

Use your hands to do His service

And God’s love will overflow.


For in God we find our purpose;

For in Him we find our joy;

And in God our hearts will open

For the truth to set us free.

My Saviour – a winter poem

My Saviour

By Mollie McKibbon

© March 2011

meter= 6  6  6  6 D


Redder than cardinals

Singing up in the pine,

My  Saviour’s precious blood

Was sacrificed for mine.

Softer than the new down

On a  snowy owl’s  breast,

My  Saviour’s tender touch

Brings peace, healing and rest.


More fragrant than cedar

In the evergreen wood,

My  Saviour’s promises

Are trustworthy and good.

Purer than white snowflakes

Coming down from above,

My  Saviour showers me

With his blessings and love.


What Kind of King?

crown of thorns #2What Kind of King?

© 2013 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

What kind of king has a crown of thorns,

A borrowed robe and a court that scorns?

What kind of king has no retinue,

No army of might, no jeweled shoe?

What kind of king is so humble and meek

That he washed the dirt from other folks’ feet?

What kind of king heals the deaf and lame,

The sick and downtrodden with nothing to gain?

What kind of king claims no kingdom on earth,

But promises all a holy re-birth?

What kind of king is nailed to a cross

And loses his clothes when dice are tossed?

What kind of king dies in terrible pain,

Is buried, mourned and rises again?

What kind of king forgives and forgets

Even sins we haven’t committed yet?

What kind of king promises hope and love

And eternal life in a realm above?

The King that created all life from the start,

Is my Lord, Jesus Christ, the King of my heart.

The Sandals

6907easter_lily_crossI wrote this poem 13 years ago (how time does fly) and now I see so many things wrong with it, but I still like the story, so here it is.

The Sandals 

©2000 Mollie Pearce McKibbon


I was busy at work on my bench one day,

My leather and tools all around me lay,

When a weathered centurion ventured in

With a pair of sandals, shabby and thin.


“Repair these, cobbler, you have one day”

When I disagreed, he said he would pay

A week’s soldier’s wages if he could be sure

That they would be ready in one day, not more.

I nodded my head; it was too much to pass,

Everything else I would take off my last.

He sighed in relief and left in a hurry.

I shrugged as I pondered his manner so surly.


What possible use would he have for such shoes,

Ragged and scuffed from miles of abuse?

I considered their obvious poverty state-

Nothing a Roman would value; third rate.

A week’s soldier’s wages was a very high cost

For something most likely a servant had lost.


It was late and the shadows were filling my shop.

I had promised my wife, before dinner I’d stop.

As I placed the sandals above on a shelf,

Something inside me prevented myself.

I wrapped up the sandals, unmended and worn,

And carried them home with me until morn.

I laid them carefully by my bed for the night

And slept without stirring, no dreams of great fright.


When I woke, my wife asked me why I was giving such care,

To something only a beggar would wear.

I couldn’t explain it and she shook her head,

“They’re not made of gold or silver,” she said.

“They’re worth a soldier’s salary here in my hand”.

Money was something that she’d understand.

But her face turned pale and she recited a verse

From the Torah, and shivered,”Perhaps they are cursed.”


“Such shouting we heard in the street yesterday,”

Remember how Romans make everyone pay.

Oh Husband, dear Husband, take care what you do.

Your good reputation may depend on those shoes.”

In spite of her fears, I wrapped them up tight,

And carried them back to my shop at first light.


I recovered the soles and strengthened each thong.

As I worked on the leather, my heart filled with song.

If a week’s wages purchased my cobbler’s good name,

What more could I garner, what more could I gain?

When the centurion returned, his wages in hand,

I wouldn’t accept the price that he planned.

He paused and considered, a moment not more,

Then turned on his heels and went out the door.

All day I was angry at my foolish thought;

The sandals were mended, but what had I got?


That evening the soldier returned once again,

His gaze it appraised me and he grasped my hand.

He said in a whisper, with tears on his face,

“I have no more money, no way to erase

The pain that I caused an innocent man,

On Friday I hammered the spikes in his hand,

And as He hung there, high on the cross,

I won these sandals with dice that we tossed.

I haven’t slept since that horrible day,

Yet, somehow, I just couldn’t throw them away.


As he urgently spoke of his horror and grief,

I remembered the look on the face of a thief

Who passed by my open shop door on the way

To his execution, to die that same day.

I recalled this same soldier was part  of the mob

That marched in the legion in charge of the job.

He paused and I muttered, “No blood money, please,

I saw what you did when He fell to his knees.

I saw His raw back and the blood running down

From the thorns on His head they’d made into a crown.

No money you’d pay me would ever reverse,

My greed and your torture; we both will be cursed.”


The soldier, a veteran, as his grave scars attested,

With a sob in his voice, earnestly protested.

“Yes, we’re both sinners, that can’t be denied.

I witnessed his agony and watched while He died.

No amount you demand, nor could I afford,

Would pay for the sandals worn by my Lord,

But Cobbler, I tell you, we both are forgiven,

These sandals are needed because He has risen!”

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