Blest are the broken,
Shattered and torn,
Those who are weeping,
Those who now mourn.
In our deep sorrow
God is so near.
He walks beside us —
We need not fear.
From broken pieces
He now creates
Mosaic of His beauty —
Majesty great.
Be not ashamed now
Of broken heart.
Know that He loves you
And make a new start.
What is the beauty in a flower?
What draws me to its fragrant bliss?
All I can think, and only this —
It praises Father every hour.
Why do the mountains call to me?
Why so majestic, bold, and grand?
They often tell me of His plan,
His might and power, His purpose grand.
Why does the ocean call to me?
Why crashing waves do beckon still?
Only because my Savior’s voice
Is hidden in their mighty power.
Why do I till and dig the earth?
Now planting seeds that will give birth?
Because the seed that once seemed dead
Will bring new life upon the earth.
Now every day He speaks to me
In seed and flower, in meadows bright.
Though blind and deaf I tend to be
His light and love will make me right.
Rush of the rain,
In waves and showers.
Thirsty the earth,
Now will come flowers.
Like Holy Spirit
Comes the rain.
Watering soul
And life again.
Dry was the earth
And hard as iron.
Dead was my soul
‘Til caught on fire.
Spirit of God
Will now break forth.
Like little seedling,
Life brings hope.
If all the world is trouble,
And everywhere I step
Seems some poor soul is suff’ring —
These things I can’t forget.
Within me stirs compassion
And tears do often fall,
But better still if I knew how
To answer action’s call.
It seems sometimes I’m in a dream
Where body cannot move —
The spur to action paralyzed,
Though there is much to do.
How did I end up in this fog
Of thick pea soup — so still?
Can’t speak, can’t shout — I don’t know why,
But truth will conquer still.
On my nightstand in a pile,
Lie twenty books or more.
Inside each one I’ve read a bit
And then found them a bore.
Yes, this is one I’ve read before,
And that one’s just too gross,
Another one’s too shallow,
The fourth one’s too morose.
Perhaps these lands of fantasy —
Where books my soul do bring,
Can they no longer satisfy —
Reality’s the thing?
But as a child I wandered,
Devoured every word.
One book a day I swallowed
And ate the printed word.
And still I’ll wander to those lands
For, yes, they help me dream
Of that which can, or yet will be,
Of worlds as yet unseen.
The wound of sin
Festers within,
Until God’s light
Can make it right.
Why try to hide
The pain inside?
The healing comes
When brought to light.
Shattered by silence,
No words to express,
Mumbling and muted —
No words will caress.
No great approval,
No smiles of delight,
No healing laughter,
Or love at first sight.
Crippled emotions,
Frozen in fear,
Unfounded notions,
And buckets of tears.
Come out of the darkness,
Come into the light,
So wounds be acknowledged
And wrong be made right.
I walked into a painting,
A seascape rich and grand.
On one side the scudding waves,
On other, emerald lands.
Above the waves, so aptly hung
A rainbow of all-colored hues;
Like fairy bridge it spanned the waves,
And hung ‘neath cloudy view.
I could not tell which land was real —
The painting or my troubled life.
The peaceful setting did give lie
To oft-felt turmoil, strife.
The vibrant air, the soft sea spray,
The colors of the flowers’ hue,
Did stir within my weary heart
A joy and peace anew.
I walked into a painting,
And will I ever know
Which land is real, which fantasy?
Seems only time will show.
Who are You? Divine are You.
A mystery to me.
So great and vast Your universe;
I can but humble be.
Who are You, Who makes the stars
And tender flowers that bend
Under a gently fragrant breeze,
Or continents can rend?
Who are You Who stirs my heart
Though it be calloused with sin?
Who resurrects my deadened soul
And new life brings within?
Who can bring the dead to life
And heal a broken heart?
Who can kindle love within,
When hatred was the start?
Who is He Whom angels sing,
To Whom the great hosannas ring,
Who brings all hope to suffering,
He is the great, the Most High King!
All glory, honor, let us bring!
clarakatalin 
The Gift of Guilt
I once was amazed by a statement in a book by Peter Kreeft (can’t recall which book) that “The Jews gave us the gift of guilt.” In current times, most of us avoid the idea of guilt and find it very negative. To think of guilt as “a gift” was thought-provoking.
Here’s my take on it, but I am not an expert:
1) Guilt is a gift when I have broken one of God’s laws. This might be thought of as the Ten Commandments, or the “two greatest commandments”: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind,” and “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Have I done evil, or have I failed to do the good I had the means to do?
2) It is a gift if I allow the guilt to bring me to repentance.
3) It is a gift if after repenting, I freely accept forgiveness.
Guilt can be a gift like a cancer diagnosis. You did not perhaps know you had cancer until the doctor informed you. Now that you are informed, things can be done to destroy or remove the cancer. The guilt is the impetus, like the awareness following the diagnosis, to take action.
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