Our lovely Maida made a path of prayer through the years.
Walking, talking as she shared of Jesus through the tears.
She laid a path and left her life prints on the soil of earth.
Eternity cannot record the value she is worth.
So, when you find yourself in prayer as you daily go,
remember Maida left her mark to reach souls here below.
Her walk of prayer dropped seeds of faith along the road each day,
where blooms of life will spring forth because Maida came this way.
In this world of politically correct
There comes a phrase: politically suspect.
Our words, a weapon used against our life,
Even if our intent was not for strife.
Squeezed into a vacuum of neatly worded verbage.
Which spews out its remains-it then resembles garbage.
To be afraid of which words we can say,
Is not the way the framers said that day.
The right to speak, no matter what the cost,
Infringed upon, in this world at great loss.
Our country built on freedom through our speech,
Renew this purpose, for which we nobly reach.
The Under Shepherd serves the sheep — the heart of God’s own soul.
The Under Shepherd sees one part. The Great Shepherd sees the whole.
The Under Shepherd’s stationed near the beating heart of God
and travels the sheep’s own terrain upon this earthen sod.
To aid the aimless, wandering herd and help them see God’s face,
the Under Shepherd scoops them up in God’s amazing grace.
The Under Shepherd takes his orders from the Master’s call
and finds a place reserved for him, when at God’s feet he falls.
The Under Shepherd tends the lambs, surveying them in love,
and yields them to the Great Shepherd, who’s watching from above.
Side by side they lay in peace, because of Christ the King.
If not for Christ, this visit here would great hopelessness bring.
The truth is, they’re not covered up with soil or grass — it’s true.
They’re covered by the grace of God that still avails for you.
The blanket of the love of God wrapped them into His arms.
For all these years they’ve rested there, safe from all life’s alarms.
So, may this moment turn your focus from grave to skies ablaze,
Where they’re at peace and joining in heaven’s choir of grandest praise.
How do we know a parent loves their child? By these few things:
That daily they look out for them, and also these ones bring.
They feed and cloth them. It’s a lot. It’s mostly done in vain.
The child understands nought what he or she did gain.
Just as a parent displays their love in child rearing their own way,
So God, our parent up above, repeats His love each day.
He placed the sun up in the sky to warm our hearts and so,
He gave us windows – they are eyes – to watch out here below.
He fed us in so many ways; creation comes to mind.
His vegetation, kingdom of the food of its own kind.
How do we know that we have folks? They take care of us, of course.
How do we know that God exists? By the way He’s provided as our source.
A present from God in a dark media day,
Comes a palm tree unveiled, to light a new way.
From the script wisely chosen, to the performers of care,
We know that God’s work flow gently there.
For the palm brings the oil, and its salve heals what’s ill.
It’s a voice for the Creator as he produces His will.
A “hypocrite” is an “actor,” so described in His book,
But these workers of truth merit yet a close look.
They take from God’s view some remarkable scenes,
If you think for a moment, you’d know what this means.
A palm tree needs more trees to make it stand strong.
This palm tree needs God to make it last long.
A play on a stage ends with the curtain call’s nod…
This palm tree works on, where true praise goes to God!
The palm tree is a desert plant, with roots deep in the ground.
Since every part is used by man, a complete source can be found.
The palm tree flourishes in the driest times, for it is tapped into deep waters.
It is the perfect plant to show the worship for God’s sons and daughters.
Every part of our life here should reflect God in His praise.
So God enabled palms to show how worship should be raised.
Palm branches waved at the entrance of Jeremiah’s Branch, the King.
Palms in movement signified the warrior’s song to sing.
Palms fanned out to welcome a soldier who brought home the spoil.
Palms exude creations clap of freedom from sins toil.
So, raise your hearts and palms upward, knowing God meets all our needs.
The palm tree provides He is in charge. His palms showed grace indeed.
Palms rules this very festive day with shout of Triumphal glory.
Now we lift our hands and declare for sure the start of Passion’s story.
The words of Jesus from that time still echo to this day.
If people do not praise His name, the rocks will have their say.
Above us marks the glory of unending skies of space.
A painting with its stroking, of the unseen hand of grace.
It’s form becomes a picture, when the brush waves o’er its place
Of the one who first brought life to them, when he framed it in its case.
Soon the clouds will not just give form, for these particles they trace.
They will roll back wide and present to all the sight of God’s redeeming face.
A mural is a painter’s way of how a story’s told.
To see the range of life in depth; it’s lovely to behold.
If told upon the stainglass stage, it tells the story old,
Of how God’s story came to life; how he wants us in his fold.
The sun allows the light to shine upon this glass or pane.
Scene upon scene does prevail, in the order of the frame.
This artist starts and ends his theme, with gentle strokes of care.
Oh just to see the art come through, you’ll know that God’s been there.
Whether in voice or written form the word is truly king.
Its scepter stretched out right beyond; its subject it will bring.
Today we find our words or phrase, ev’n if wrapped in coins of gold.
To be worthless as the next; promises which do not hold.
Attached to all the implications promise does entail.
We find ourselves playing the game until we find we’ve failed.
Words, a seed planted below; they’re watered by the world.
They heal, hurt, help, and can relieve. The harvest scene unfurled.
One gave His word and by Himself He could not go any higher.
Because His word is good as gold; you’ll find He is no liar.
When our own words fall to the ground and sprout plants of despair.
Do not forget God left Himself; He left his word down here.
