Sunday, November 2, 2014

The Measure Of A Man - By Ken Hanson

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In memory of Gene Hanson, my father: 

The Measure Of A Man

By Ken Hanson

When a man starts a family his life changes,

Like nothing he’s seen before,

A solitary life becomes a couple,

Then three or four or maybe more.

The old carefree lifestyle is gone forever,

There are new things that need to be done,

Priorities change, what’s important now,

Is a wife, or a daughter, or a son.

The family is now more important than the one,

The question now is, how much will he give,

How much will he sacrifice of his own life,

So that others important to him may live.

Little babies demand so much of your time,

They’re helpless without you right now,

Sleepless nights and full time jobs,

They have to fit into your schedule somehow.

Forget about hanging out with your buddies,

This is the path you have chosen to walk,

People are depending on you now,

Responsibility is more than just talk.

Toddlers demand constant attention,

You can’t turn your back on them at all,

Walking increases the range of their mischief,

Protecting them from a cut or a burn or a fall.

Consider it part of your exercise program,

Chasing a toddler will keep you fit,

Your parents did it, now it’s your turn,

They’ll even tell you you’ll get used to it.

Their mother needs some time off too,

Your time is not your own any more,

You only thought you were going fishing,

Forget that bass boat outside the door.

Maybe when they’re a few years older,

They can also enjoy your favorite sport,

Your job right now is right here,

Enjoy this time for it is way too short.

In a few years the training wheels come off,

New bikes, skateboards, and dollhouses too,

You’ll work some overtime to meet their desires,

New carpet and drapes, mom also has a few.

Along comes band practice and soccer games,

Cheerleading and trips out of town as well,

It’s important that dad attend these events,

When you’re not there they can tell.

All too soon you’ll become a chauffeur,

Dropping your teens off at the mall,

It’s important that you stay out of sight,

They don’t want to be seen with you at all.

Hope you’ve got a good job, cars are next,

Most are to busy with school to buy their own,

Don’t forget tires, gas, and insurance,

It’s more expensive now than you’ve ever known.

If you think cars are expensive, try a wedding,

Forget about retirement anytime soon,

If you think you can scrimp and get by cheap,

Your wife and daughter will change that tune.
Hopefully they will choose wisely,

A mate is their choice, it’s not up to you,

About all you can do is give your blessing,

Or you’ll lose them and their children too.

You never know what life will bring,

Some families are normal, some are not,

One thing you can count on for sure,

To fill their needs will take all you’ve got.

Someday you’ll be retired in your rocking chair,

Surprised how fast the years flew by,

Life is a journey with a beginning and end,

You can’t stop time no matter how you try.

When you reach the end, the faith you have,

And the people in your life are all you’ve got,

The possessions you’ve gathered mean nothing,

You can’t take them with you like it or not.

The legacy you will leave after you’re gone,

Is you’re service to God and you’re family too,

The measure of a man is in his sacrifice,

That’s how history will remember you.

So enjoy your family and serve Your God,

Embrace your salvation and freedom from sin,

Tell your children about Jesus Christ,

And in time, you’ll see them again. 

(C)Copyright: Ken Hanson 2014 

Sunday, July 20, 2014

Please Build Me A Home - By Ken Hanson

Please Build Me A Home  - By Ken Hanson 

My story began in nineteen forty five,

Near the end of world war two,

If you’ll permit me a moment of your time,

I’d like to tell it to you.

I served in the navy for about twelve years,

Flying supplies around after the war,

Taking soldiers home who had done their time,

To resume the life they had before.

It’s been said though not officially,

I flew the Berlin airlift for about a year,

Helping oppressed people survive,

In the democracy we hold so dear.

After my navy stint I worked civil service,

Doing flight inspections for the F A A,

I was replaced by others younger and faster,

A job that continues to this day.

At age 40 I flew in airshows 10 years,

Helping recruit those eager young men,

The next generation to carry on a tradition,

Started long ago and ending who knows when.

In my 60’s I had yet another career,

Helping celebrate the centennial of flight,

Showing everyone just how far we’ve come,

Especially the children, much to their delight.

I’m retired now after many years of service,

As my seventh decade draws near,

I’m not used to having nothing to do,

After such a long and honorable career.

Like a lot of vets, I lived in government housing,

But it got too crowded with no room for me,

The decision was made to find me a new home,

Wherever that might be.

I feared I would go to Davis-Monthan,

A place old planes go to die,

They chop off their wings and turn ‘em to scrap,

It’s enough to make you cry.

Those that are sent there have no choice,

Decisions are made, they have no voice,

That’s not the end I wanted, for you see,

This tired old veteran is a Douglas DC-3!

N34 is the name they gave me,

During my time at the F A A,

You’d think after all these years,

There would be a place for me to stay.

Turns out someone does want me,

I can make it there if I really try,

The Texas Air and Space Museum,

In Amarillo, where it’s warm and dry.

That’s where my last flight took me,

A cool and crisp February day,

Nestled into a cozy warm hangar,

A good place to be on display.

I have a new job now in my new home,

One I can do for quite awhile,

I teach the children a lesson in history,

My pencil sharpener makes them smile.

Proud old veterans come to see me,

Sometimes with a tear in their eye,

They struggle uphill into my cockpit,

And look out the window seventeen feet high.

I bring back memories of their years of service,

Back when they were strong young men,

They may have bad knees and a cane,

But I can make them feel young again!

I share my new home with several others,

Short Fuse Sallee just an aileron away,

A shiny silver P51 Mustang,

Another proud veteran here on display.

A Bell 47 chopper is over by the wall,

On loan from the college maintenance school,

Bobby Speed’s Beercat is here too,

His Reno airspeed record is pretty cool.

There’s a fighter jet engine on a stand,

A hot air balloon that’s seen better days,

Four radial aircraft piston engines,

That make most interesting displays.

There’s two more planes outside of the hangar,

That we don’t have room for in here,

They are hot or cold or windblown or rained on,

Depending on the time of year.

There’s a De Havilland C7 Caribou transport,

Carrying men and supplies in the Viet Nam war,

And N946NA, a shuttle training aircraft,

Rare and unique, one of only four.

This Gulfstream G2 had an important mission,

Training astronauts how to come back home,

Rick Husband flew this plane the most,

A local boy made good, one of Amarillo’s own.

No amount of training would have made a difference,

When the shuttle came apart that day,

And seven brave astronauts, NASA’s best,

Lost their lives in that dramatic and tragic way.

Commander Rick Husband was in the left seat,

When he and his crew lost their lives,

Our airport is now named in his honor,

We mourn alongside their children and wives.

A plane like the shuttle trainer shouldn’t be outside,

It deserves a home in the hangar too,

But it’s big and we’re already crowded,

There’s only room for a few.

But our museum people are working on that,

We have a new home near runway four,

You could call it a real fixer upper,

Our small fleet will have room for many more.

The property used to be a grain elevator,

With eight large buildings on the site,

Grain storage buildings will make great hangars,

The location is perfect for a museum of flight.

Thirty eight thousand square feet in each,

Just one will give us a permanent home,

Our rented hangar space is OK for now,

But we need something we can call our own.

These buildings held grain for sixty years.

But moisture rusted out the metal skin,

Holes in the walls welcome mice and birds,

Those in the roof let rainwater in.

A new metal skin, insulation, and fire-proofing,

And a new airplane size hangar door,

Everything is so expensive these days,

Estimates say a million or more.

The donations we get as a non-profit museum,

Just barely pay our bills it seems,

We need corporate or private help,

If we are to realize our dreams.

Maybe a retired military aviator with the means,

Would like his name on a hangar someday,

You can’t take it with you when you’re gone,

Let us carry on your name in a meaningful way.

We need a person that needs a tax write-off,

Or a million people with a dollar to spare,

Change from your meal would mean a great deal,

We know there are people out there who care.

Please build me a home, that’s all that I ask,

Help the ones here first, and those who came after me

All I can give you is the everlasting gratitude,

Of this tired but grateful old DC3.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Standing In The Shadow - poetry by Ken Hanson

Standing In The Shadow

The weatherman said to go outside,
It’s gonna be nice today,
One last chance to enjoy the sun,
Before winter is here to stay.

The wind and rain are gone for a while,
I’m tired of being inside,
Today it feels like summer again,
A good day to go for a ride.

A Harley is my steed of choice,
Made of steel and leather and chrome,
A city boy’s equivalent of a favorite horse,
Minus the living flesh and bone.

I head to the east in the warm sunshine,
Not knowing where I’ll go,
I gladly follow where the spirit leads me,
Pretty soon I’ll know,

Claude is in the mirror now,
I turn to the north for a while,
The V twin makes a sound that stirs my soul,
I enjoy it’s music mile after mile.

Something catches my eye on the northern horizon,
You can see it from miles away,
The city of Groom is ahead of me now,
The destination of my ride for today.

There’s a giant cross by the side of the interstate,
That’s what I’ve come here to see,
It stands like a beacon to the faithful and the lost,
I feel like it’s calling to me.

It’s been a while since I was at this site,
It’s construction many years old,
But it’s finished now for the world to see,
With a story that needs to be told.

The site is arranged in a circular pattern,
With the cross in the middle of the ring,
One hundred ninety feet tall from base to tip,
From twenty miles away it’s easily seen.

At fourteen stations around the perimeter,
Sculptures tell the story of trouble and strife,
Cast in bronze, the heartbreaking scenes,
From the last day of Jesus life.

At station one, Jesus condemned to death,
A crown of thorns on his head,
Hands bound in front, his eyes downcast,
He knows he will soon be dead.

The bronze captures every detail,
The look of despair in his eyes,
In bare feet standing before his accuser,
He knows that the charges are a pack of lies.

At station two, Jesus carries his cross,
His back bent from the weight,
He accepts the burden the soldier gives him,
Grace in spite of the torture and hate.

At station three, Jesus falls the first time,
But he won’t let the cross touch the ground,
His elbow on his knee, struggling with the weight,
Without any help to be found.

At station four, Jesus meets his mother Mary,
On her knees, her hands clasped in prayer,
Despite his burden, he tries to comfort her,
To ease her weeping and despair.

The look of anguish is evident in her eyes,
The detail in bronze is clear,
Frozen in time by a gifted sculptor,
She’s unable to help whom she holds so dear.

At station five, Simon helps Jesus,
He helps his friend support the weight,
Jesus touches his shoulder in appreciation,
Grateful for the effort despite knowing his fate.

At station six, Veronica wipes the face of Jesus,
Unable to help him though she wanted to,
He reaches out to comfort her grief,
It’s all that she can do.

At station seven, Jesus falls the second time,
Pain and agony on his face,
On his knees now, the cross touches the ground,
Our sins too heavy despite his grace.

At station eight, Jesus comforts the women,
Those who have followed his progress there,
Despite his burden he touches their hands,
In an effort the ease their despair.

At station nine, Jesus falls the third time,
The hardest one for me to see,
Knowing the torture that he endures,
Knowing he endures it for me.

Totally spent, face down on the ground,
The cross on top of his back now,
He sacrifices his own broken body,
To keep it off the ground somehow.

I look at this statue with tears in my eyes,
His sacrifice in bronze for all to see,
There is nothing I can do to deserve this mercy,
It’s a gift from him to me.

At station ten, Jesus stripped of his garment.
A soldier bares his scarred beaten skin,
They divide it between the four of them,
A reward for their own vile sin.

At station eleven, Jesus nailed to the cross,
He’s carried it as far as he can,
A heartbreaking sight, the spirit of God,
In the broken body of a man.

The cross is on the ground now,
Jesus flat on his back on top,
Powerful blows from the hammer of a soldier,
Unendurable agony that doesn’t stop.

A grimace of pain, nails in his wrist,
The hammer finds it’s mark again,
How much must our savior endure,
To cleanse us of our sin?

At station twelve, Jesus dies on the cross,
Flanked by two thieves on a cross, both dead,
Are you not the messiah? Save yourself and us,
Is what the unrepentant thief said.

Upon his death we received salvation,
His last gift to us while alive,
He gave his life in exchange for ours,
To ensure our souls will survive.

At station thirteen, Jesus taken down from the cross,
His body an empty shell now,
His death and resurrection the core of our faith,
Our mission is to tell everyone somehow.

At station fourteen, Jesus placed in his tomb,
The torture is finally done,
An unimaginable ending he didn’t deserve,
For the life of God’s son.

We all know the rest of the story,
On the third day he rose again,
A miracle overseen by God,
To save us from our sin.

The heavy stone that seals the tomb,
Is rolled back out of the way,
As the angels bear witness, the tomb is now empty,
As seen in the light of day.

Mankind changed on that third day,
Jesus paid the price despite the cost,
Salvation replaced our hopelessness,
It is our job now to tell the lost.

Standing in the shadow of this giant cross,
I reflect on what it means to me,
These magnificent sculptures, this beacon of hope,
Standing here for the world to see.

It means the sacrifice made by Jesus,
Is something we can never repay,
Unconditional love given freely,
I am thankful for everyday.

We know it is our duty as Christians,
To talk to people and help spread the word,
We tell others about the salvation Christ offers,
And make sure everyone has heard.

Sometimes it’s hard to find the right words,
To help the lost find their way,
Sometimes an example tells the story better,
Than any words you might say.

If you’re looking for something to help make a point,
About the importance of that empty tomb,
Do what I do, put ‘em in your car,
And take ‘em to this big cross in Groom!

-Ken Hanson 

Monday, April 30, 2012

I Miss Paul Harvey ...

I Miss Paul Harvey
                      By Ken Hanson

Hello Americans, this is Paul Harvey, stand by for news!
How many of you remember that name?
We lost him quite a few years ago,
Since then, it hasn’t been the same.

How far back can you remember?
At what age do your memories begin?
I remember being five years old,
Several vivid memories from way back then.

I remember when Dave started first grade,
And I was left at home with mom all day,
I remember waiting by the door for hours,
When he got home we could go out and play.

I  remember riding with dad in his car,
We would go to the Dr Pepper plant on 4th street,
He would buy a case off the loading dock,
Watching the bottling machine was such a treat.

I loved riding around in that old car,
We’d get a hamburger at the drive in and I’d know
At noon we’d always listen to Paul Harvey,
That was dad’s favorite program on the radio.

When you’re five you don’t care about current events,
But dad did, he’s shush me  when I’d make a sound,
Paul Harvey was America’s most trusted newsman,
All across America on some station he could be found.

When I got older, I still listened to his broadcasts,
It seemed just a natural part of my day,
I would schedule my lunch to be in the car at noon,
I always seemed to find a way.

I agreed with his political views and opinions,
He had a style and delivery all his own,
He could sneak in an ad that sounded like the news,
America’s love for him was well known.

Every year at Christmas he’d have a reoccurring story,
I loved the message, I’d wait for it all year,
He had a way of explaining things that made sense,
This story is the one I hold most dear.

It’s about a man, kind to his family and a good provider,
But he wouldn’t go to church with them,
He didn’t accept that Jesus died on the cross,
And arose on the third day to save us from sin

One Sunday evening he was at home alone,
While his family was at the church in town,
He was enjoying a cozy warm fire,
When he was startled by a sound.

He turned on the porch light and looked outside,
To find the source of the noise he’d heard,
He didn’t see anything until he looked down,
There in the snow was a shivering little bird.

The poor little thing had flown into the window,
Trying to escape from the snow,
Then several more one after another,
Attracted by the windows glow.

Pretty soon there was a whole flock of them,
He knew he had to help them somehow,
Then he had an idea, he would lead them to shelter,
In the barn out back where they kept their cow.

He opened the door and turned on the light,
But they wouldn’t go inside,
He tried to catch them but he couldn’t,
Nothing worked no matter how hard he tried.

He made a trail of seed to lure them through the door,
But they just flopped around helplessly in the snow,
And as badly as he wanted to help them survive,
There was no way for them to know.

He waived his arms and tried to shoo them inside,
But they scattered in all directions, terrified of him now,
If only I could tell them I’m trying to help,
I’ve got to make them understand somehow.

I need to show them that they can trust me,
But they don’t know what I’m trying to do,
They wont last much longer in this freezing weather,
I’ve got to think of something new.

He stood there shivering thinking of a solution,
And then it occurred to him,
If he could be a bird he could speak their language,
But he would have to be one of them.

Just then the church bell rang in the distance,
He looked up and said, “Lord, now I know”,
“It finally makes sense and I understand”,
And he bowed on his knee in the snow.

Paul Harvey had a way of telling a story,
On his popular radio show,
That made it easy for us to understand,
I miss him more than you know.

He left the world a better place,
For all of us, so I’ll say,
On behalf of all Americans,
We miss you, Paul Harvey… good day.