You don’t need that gun,
That automatic rifle,
To show that you have needs —
The hate that anger breeds.
To show that no one cares;
At least that’s what you feel.
You don’t need that rotten drug
To make you feel good and snug —
An empty self you’re trying to hug.
You don’t need that candy,
Or doughnuts by the dozen,
Or calories galore —
You need something more.
You don’t need that woman or man
To satisfy your lust —
You need to learn to trust
That God will meet your every need —
Love you without condition.
False self you must uncover,
And then you will discover
Hope and truth and grace
Through friends in the human race.
You need a sense of belonging;
For that you have been longing.
Let Jesus fill your heart —
Then begins your beginning.
Your broken body,
Your fractured faith,
Your shattered dreams —
To the cross now take.
Your failed friendships,
Your social gaffes,
The misunderstandings —
Under the cross, now past.
The things you wanted,
The things you lost,
All worldly dealings —
Now bring them to the cross.
Let them go and
Let them be.
Just put them down
Under the tree.
Release the burden,
Let go the weight;
Then God, His love
Will demonstrate.
What made America great?
People with a faith, lived well —
Not those who merely said the words,
But from their lives, their faith would tell.
What made America great?
People who did persevere —
Through sickness, famine, poverty;
Through trials, hardships, deadly fear.
Have we lost the vision now?
Too cynical, too rich, somehow?
Too comfortable and too well-fed;
Too easy life, our sin to dread?
Then faithful voices, being quenched;
The kind, the gentle, with poison drenched.
Poison of criticism, poison of hate —
The voices of reason, many berate.
But lest we despair, let’s now give pause.
For all of this, there is a cause.
The devil knows his time is short;
All reason, love, he will abort.
When times are dark,
When love’s light dims,
Look for the light
You’ll find in Him.
I smile through my tears,
I laugh through my fears,
I have joy when I’m sad,
You may think I am mad!
Life is a paradox;
We can’t put it in a box.
God will do what He wants,
Though the devil may taunt.
I am strong when I’m weak,
I have power when I’m meek.
No joy without pain,
No gain without strain.
A plant in His garden,
A stroke of His pen,
A thread in His tapestry —
I’m part of God’s plan.
A brushstroke on canvas,
A raindrop in storm,
A beam in a building —
I’m part of God’s plan.
A link in a long chain,
A fiber in rope,
A prayer among many prayers —
I’m part of God’s plan.
Beams in His building,
Strokes of His pen,
Flowers in His garden —
We’re part of God’s plan.
He didn’t show up for the appointment
With my husband and me.
The lights were out,
But the door slightly ajar,
Though the latch was locked.
I thought surely
Either he or his wife
Were in serious trouble,
Perhaps dead.
I thought the worst.
Would there be a funeral?
Would we be notified?
I prayed.
What did it mean to me
If he were gone, or his wife?
The phone rang some time later —
“Sorry, I took some medicine
For a bad cold
And just woke up.
Please forgive me.”
I was so SURE that
Someone had died.
It just shows
That intuition
Can be terribly wrong.
I need to get a life.
There’s a narrow view of the sky
Between the curtains.
The clouds are drifting by,
Ever so slowly.
These puffy pillows,
These dusty denizens of the sky,
Move calmly and gracefully.
How was I allowed this privilege
To see a reflection
Of God’s glory?
I had my head down for so long,
It takes training for me to lift it up.
My focus is off; My heart’s eyes myopic.
Learning from God is my only cure.
“For the joy set before him he endured,”
“He considered the fact that God is able,”
“Our light and momentary troubles,”
“Our slight afflictions,”
“The sufferings of this present time,”
“Not worth comparing with the glory.”
I don’t know how abuse, torture, rape, crucifixion,
Ridicule, mockery, calumny,
Beatings, shipwrecks, imprisonments and more,
Suffered by some,
Can be called “slight –”
But the glory, the joy, of heaven,
Must be far greater than anyone can imagine.
The earth is not my home,
Nor any special land.
Though my heart beats strong
In many places,
In lands where I know many faces —
Still, none can I call home.
Heaven is my home,
Though it I’ve never seen,
Except, when the Creator set
My soul upon earth’s scene.
Heaven is my home,
Seen only in my dreams,
Through mists of time,
Through clouds sublime,
In half-heard tunes
Under bright-lit moons,
In sideways glances
And angels’ dances.
And so, when I go home,
I hope you’ll soon come, too;
On angels’ wings, as choirs sing —
We’ll all be finally home.
clarakatalin 