Make life seem right.
The varied parts should fit
And compliment each other to
Make life seem right.
The varied parts should fit
And compliment each other to
In this crooked and perverse generation, we must stand tall for the Lord.
“Stand up, stand up for Jesus.
The strife will not be long.
This day the noise of battle;
The next the victor’s song.
To those who vanquish evil
A crown of life shall be;
They with the King of Glory
Shall reign eternally.”
Lyrics by C. Barry Robertson / George Duffield / George J. Webb
The tomb in which Christ’s body lay,
And the stone that sealed the door,
Were both created by the God
Who by His own name swore
That after three days and three nights,
Christ would rise from the dead.
God gave His Word, which has the power
Against which none can stand.
And when He said, “The price is paid,”
And shouted His command,
Christ rose with life for one and all,
And vanquished sin and death.
I’ve shared this story several times in article format over the past 9 years, but never put it all together in a book that was available on a world-wide market. But now it’s available through Amazon in paperback and digital.
The little-known, but true story of one of the most amazing soul-winners in the history of the Kingdom of God. St. Patrick of Ireland’s life of ministry is replete with astounding miracles and spiritual experiences that match those reported in the chapters of God’s Word.
And Patrick is credited with bringing at least 70,000 people to a saving faith in Jesus Christ — without the use of any transportation except his feet and his horse, and without the help of electricity or modern technology on any level. The story related in this booklet is taken from Patrick’s own writings and sidesteps vague legends to give the reader powerful truth that will encourage and inspire the faith of everyone who wants to serve God.
Short and easy to read. Get a copy today and an extra for someone whose faith you want to inspire.
Memories so sweet:
Daddy baking cookies from
Flaky, sugared, golden dough
Stuffed with hickory nuts.
Each year at Christmas,
In kitchen warm and cozy –
Memories so sweet.
For decades, my dad (who was Bulgarian/Polish) baked Hungarian cookies. It was a recipe handed down from one Balkan country to another, and was a favorite of our family. However, in the last several years of my dad’s life, Christmas season included so many other activities as well that sometimes he just didn’t have time to bake those cookies along with everything else. When those years came along, he baked them for me on my birthday instead, which is February 1st. So it’s right that I’m thinking about them in February this year. I can almost taste them even now.
Country lanes at Christmas —
For the traveler, such a chore.
Snow encrusted, rutted lanes
That make manuv’ring poor.
It’s hard to see the shoulders
And the middle line is blurred.
For traffic in the other lane
No ample room’s assured.
And drawing towards the end of day,
When light is running low,
Traversing snowy country roads
Mandates my going slow.
But I’ll continue trav’ling down
Those snowy country lanes,
To friends and fam’ly, waiting me.
It’s worth whatever strain.
Besides, those Christmas country roads
Through woods and fields snow-clad
Resound with quiet so unique
It makes my heart quite glad.
They seem to wear a special peace
That blankets their domain.
And settles over me when I’m
On snowy, country lanes.
photo courtesy of Reijo Telaranta @ pixabay.com
Thanksgiving in the U. S. is exactly three weeks from today, so I think it’s only appropriate that I revisit some of my Thanksgiving poems from over the years — and maybe even write a new one.
This week I’ll begin the series with two: one quite serious and one just for fun. Hope you enjoy them, and if you’re one of my own countrymen, I hope they add to your expectations for a happy Thanksgiving celebration.
AH, THANKSGIVING, HOW I LOVE YOU!
Ah, Thanksgiving, how I love you!
Golden crowning jewel of Fall,
Beacon of warmth and cam’raderie,
Sending glad invitation to all:
“Gather to worship; gather to visit;
Gather to focus on all that’s worthwhile;
Feast from tables resplendent with harvest;
Feast on the love in a touch and a smile.”
All the year’s labors weigh heavy upon us.
All the world’s problems seem bigger by far.
But out from that wearisome struggle you call us,
And laying it down, we run to where you are.
And whether in cottages, mansions, or churches,
Community buildings, or tables in parks,
We gather with gratitude full – overflowing;
To the Giver of blessings lift voices and hearts.
Then we return to life’s pattern awaiting.
Filled up with joy, we set off on our way,
Warmer and richer and kinder in spirit
For pausing to celebrate Thanksgiving Day.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
WHAT’S FOR DINNER?
I spot him there, behind the barn,
A full-plumed, regal bird.
He looks up, straight into my eyes.
I speak no single word.
It’s happened thus, in passing years —
At least for two or three:
Each mid-November I’ve set my mind;
He’s been there to greet me.
Now, lifting his head in challenge strong,
He gobbles loud and long.
I lower my gun and heave a sigh:
To kill him would be wrong!
So, wrestling with my double mind,
I trek home to my wife
To explain why, once again this year,
Ham will greet the carving knife.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Wait before me.
I stand before closed doors
But do not let that hinder me:
The doors obeyed.
And now I stand in awe.
I see what possibilities
I must decide:
Will I cross the threshold?
Will I accept new challenges?
A Cardinal sits with me at end of day.
It’s been a sad, unhappy time,
And I have lost my way.
He seems content to stay a while and rest,
And my front porch is cool with shade,
Sun moving to the west.
On other days I’ve seen him flit and fly
And labor quite industriously
For food that caught his eye.
Those days he’d pick at wings and clean and preen,
Then dart away and back again,
Quite nervous did he seem.
He changed his stance and cocked head constantly,
Not holding still a moment long;
He agitated me.
But, suddenly, this eve he’s come to sit.
As if he knew my sorrowful plight —
That I was in this pit.
And now and then he sings aloud his song.
But when he stops a while,
For more I long.
I’m sure his day is done; he should head home,
But here he sits beside my chair,
Just so I’m not alone.
His beauty, I have finally come to see,
Is unsurpassed: his ruby hue,
Wings black-edged perfectly.
In truth he is a masterpiece of life:
Each part of him a sculptor’s dream,
Down to his beady eye.
A good half hour he’s stayed and felt at home.
And looks right at me now and then,
To say, “You’re not alone.”
I sigh and realize I am content.
I close my eyes; begin to smile.
This is what Jesus meant.
He urged us to behold the birds of air
And take a lesson from each one
About His love and care.
“Yes, Jesus, I’m at peace in You at last.
This little bird you sent to me
Has fulfilled his task.
So take care of him, Lord and keep him strong,
And send him out to other souls
Who need to hear his song.”
Then opening my eyes, I seek my friend.
But he has flown while I have prayed,
His mission at an end.
“Look at the birds of the air! They don’t worry about what to eat — they don’t need to sow or reap or store up food — for your heavenly Father feeds them. And you are far more valuable to him than they are.” (Matt. 6:26 TLB).
I know a forest filled with rainbow colored trees.
And every time it rains, they lift their leafy heads.
For God’s great promise spoken to Noah years ago,
With bow that promised we’d have no more floods to dread,
Reflects its multicolored prism on these trees,
And God’s great faithfulness from tree to tree is spread.
Please, won’t you come along with me
Up river in the fall?
We’ll float at leisure, passing woodlands
Burnished, thick, and tall.
We’ll watch thick clouds give way to sun
That breaks horizon’s crest
And choose a course that guarantees
Delightful Autumn Rest.
photo courtesy of Larisa Koshkina @ pixabay.com
It seems Old Age is calling me,
But I just cannot go.
I have too much of childhood left,
So much that I don’t know.
Why, I still love to color
And to play with paper dolls.
I still delight in bubble pipes
And bouncing rubber balls.
Ah yes, Old Age is calling me,
But I just cannot go.
I still feel like a coed,
Full of life from head to toe.
I hear Old Age a-calling me,
But my decision’s made.
I’m just too young at heart to go.
Old Age’ll have to wait!
Holy Bible, Luke 24:13-35
Two walked along Emmaus’ dusty road.
And there was none to soothe their aching hearts.
‘Twas only days since they’d stood at the cross,
And watched as death tore all their dreams apart.
The Teacher they had come to love and serve
Had spoken words they’d never heard before.
They thought He’d bring about more drastic change,
And were confused when He’d walked through death’s door.
But suddenly another trod with them,
And questioned them about their solemn air.
They couldn’t believe He did not know the tale:
The prophet’s death and how His grave was near.
And as they stopped for evening’s rest, they asked
If He would join them in their humble meal.
And as they ate, He spoke to them with love,
‘Till their hearts burned, and they saw Him revealed.
This teacher who had blessed them with His life,
And whom they’d reckoned dead until that hour,
Now quietly revealed Himself alive,
Risen to reign in unimpeded power.
Painting by Robert Zund, 1877
O, Lamb of God
So pure, so holy, undefiled,
You came so meekly,
Vulnerable, a tiny child.
You took our sin
And took all of its consequence.
You chose the cross,
And on it your lifeblood was spent.
But for what cause,
When tempted in the garden that night,
Did you still choose
To let yourself be crucified?
You told us, Lord;
If we’d just listen, we would know.
You said, “Because
I love the Father, I will go.”
Lord, work in us
That holy and obedient love,
That we, when tried,
Will speak and act only for God.
(Photo courtesy of Karen’s Whimsy)