So many people go about quietly doing their jobs and fulfilling their family and/or civic duties. Some of their work may be dangerous, or sometimes achingly boring or mundane. They may never be famous. They may never be rich. There is nothing glamorous about them. Yet they are real heroes.
Posts tagged ‘rich’
Lord, you made every human being in Your image.
Each person, no matter their color, economic status, or anything else,
Is precious in Your eyes.
Each person contains within them a spark of the divine.
Yet, we fail to see this. We fail miserably.
Many of those in power do not share their power,
Sometimes the rich do not share their wealth.
Or, even “good people” are unaware of the suffering of others.
The poor and the weak often despise themselves,
Not realizing their great value and worth.
Our nation is deeply wounded.
The wound is hundreds of years old.
Anger and frustration boil beneath the surface.
And yet, and yet,
When You change hearts, something new can happen.
Give us new eyes, new hearts.
If we have material wealth, let us share it with others.
If we have gifts of encouragement, of education,
Let us use them to lift others up.
If we are poor, weak, or feel powerless,
Let us not succumb to fear, discouragement, or despair.
Let us see others with Your eyes,
Not the eyes of corrupted man,
Who looks only at ways to bolster his weak ego.
Not the eyes that look only at the surface,
At outward appearance, possessions, or achievements,
But eyes that see Your beauty and goodness in each person.
Give us the courage to reach out to those who seem different from us,
And to accept their friendly overtures.
Heal our fears, worries, anxieties.
Challenge our prejudices, faulty beliefs, and hatreds.
Let those who stir up hatred of people be thwarted.
Let those who have been injured find the grace to eventually forgive,
For an unforgiving heart injures only itself.
Let justice be done for them.
We thank you for Your mercy to fallen mankind.
For without Your mercy, there is no hope.
I LIVE IN A DREAM
I live in a dream …
I live in a little English village
Where everyone knows each other.
I go to the butcher shop
And meet Rev. Franklin Graham and Pope Francis.
At the tea shop,
I enjoy tea and tisane with Agatha Christie,
Hercule Poirot, and Miss Marple.
I also see J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis,
G. K. Chesterton, and Dorothy Sayers there.
I say hello to John Henry Newman,
Martin Luther, and St. Francis on the street.
I take a trip to the United States…
I meet Hilary Clinton and Donald Trump –
Through a series of misfortunes,
They have lost most of their money
And have become very humble people;
They regularly meet for coffee at their local coffee house.
I go to a poor section of town.
The unemployed people are busy
Keeping their neighborhood clean,
Working in the community garden,
And going to school part of the day to better their lives.
I go to a rich neighborhood …
No one is home because they are in the poor neighborhood
Distributing clothing, helping in the community garden,
And teaching English to immigrants.
This is my dream …
I no longer worry what you think of me;
I focus on Jesus and try to do His will.
I no longer try to prove I’m right and you’re wrong;
I respect your opinion and will state mine if you’re willing to listen.
I have peace in my heart
Because I have let go,
And given everything to God.
[Reconciling different elements in my life: Christians
with differing viewpoints, political factions, the rich
and the poor, and my own inner conflicts.]
Are we rich in any way? It may not be material things ….
Invited in, I shyly stood,
Not knowing if I really should.
You see, I had so much to lose —
A fancy coat, expensive shoes,
My pride of life, my love of booze.
[The door too small to take it all … ]
Undecided, there I stood,
But I could see beyond that door
Some happy people, singing all.
But I would almost have to crawl
To get within that little hall.
I’d have to bend, might have to kneel.
My fear, my pride, I sure could feel.
I turned around, dejected still.
I wandered long; I wandered far,
But in my mind could see the door
Still beckoning, still off’ring hope.
While wandering, I lost the shoes,
The fancy coat, my taste for booze.
Somehow they didn’t seem to give
My soul its very-needed lift.
[My feet were calloused; my soul was bruised …]
I lost my pride; where did it go?
The things I’d thought; they were not so.
Inside-out, it seemed my life;
Continuing, but filled with strife.
Then humbly came I to the door.
I knelt; I crawled, into the hall.
With tears of joy I was received,
And my own tears, my fear, relieved.