The soil on which we’re standing was disturbed so long ago.
It changed our life’s foundation and brought tears and much sorrow.
Now the soil, in its resting movement, does contain the buds of life.
The flowers bloom in heaven for this husband and his dear wife.
And we stand upon the promise that a seed goes in the ground
And springs life beyond earth’s measure of where victory abounds.
Surely tears have watered this garden, with our love for mom and dad,
And still growing is the realization of the gift we each have had.
For the soil thrust hard upon us, with the change and growth of time,
Is a marker in our journey that they’ve crossed the finish line.
The shots of words -a stinger’s edge. The promise sought was lost.
The measure of this decade’s deeds, mount up to this day’s cost.
The shots of drugs – the needles gave a high none else could reach.
The lows ensued and pulled them down and killed a lot of each.
The years went on and war dragged on. This hate – it stripped us bare.
The problem was, the soldiers brave, were treated so unfair.
The demonstrators lined the walk, while fortress blocked the ear,
Of those whose signature could still the distant noise so near.
The rounds of bullets, none deflect; their aim, specific ones
Were killed because they stood. How sad for mothers’ sons.
With J.F.K. It blew our minds, so needless was this thing.
And R.F.K.’s death broke our hearts; a healing yet to bring.
Dr. King, he had a dream, but we woke up to find.
The balcony of hopes split us open wide.
The sixties brought a round of pain. Perplexed were we, still are.
The scars have festered and remained. We thought we came so far.
Transcending seasons we call life, the frigid and the warm.
Relationships change in time, for space; their breath
Takes a new form.
Proceed in full circle, beyond surface gate,
To a place where the breech may be closed.
Dig deeper together to find common ground,
This groundbreaking treaty’s rose.
Movement in turns takes coldness of touch
To inaugurate summer’s found friend.
Whether family or not, give new chance a spot.
Build this circle where love does not end.
The rose – supreme in gardens’s view.
Fragrant, embracing its bloom.
Marks each new petal with its aroma.
Come to this welcoming room.
There once was a rose – bloomed late in life,
Watered by God’s word.
Opened wide, embraced by His side.
The greatest growth she ever heard.
She found out that God’s grace had no fences
To limit those gifts she’d receive.
Never too old, nor withered at all;
Of this she mostly surely believed.
Inhibited in this life we live –
Its fulness can’t fully be known.
Until then at last in heaven we see
The rose blooming at God’s garden throne.
When I was young I saw the Holy Ghost as Casper, dressed in white.
He was so nice and non-threatening; He’d help to make things right.
A little spooky, though, at times, for what else could He be?
A ghost, a spirit, not a man – someone I could not see.
I did surmise that God the Father was the big one there.
Jesus, the Son, was here, also, but only for holiday fair.
But what purpose did this one serve, whose being is mystery.
I guess He shows us that God, Himself, is someone you can see.
This time He’s seen by movement-in fire and through the wind.
One needs not eyes to see the prize, but behold the dark rescind.
Go deeper than what you do feel to sense this touch of heav’n.
He is the way you know God’s there. He’s from our Savior given.
Do not attempt to meet Him where the mystic presence flies.
He is not there, He’s not a force, but you meet Him with your cries.
And when He comes He will not come to center on his name.
He’ll lead you to the One in whom you’ll never be the same.
The law of first mention of this term “thanksgiving” is found in an
Old Testament text.
Leviticus 7:11 speaks of a peace offering to heaven. Let’s examine
what in Scripture comes next.
The peace or fellowship offering included thanksgiving, and that for
a Christian is quite real.
Here the blood was so shed – both male and female had bled. God
made access for all through this meal.
More than a holiday table or words said in a fable, thanksgiving was
God’s relational feast.
Any summoned could come, if they approached through the Son.
Christ died for the best and least.
When the invitation is made, the price has been paid. God’s heart
was embossed on that call.
His grand table was set – You, He did not forget. This Thanksgiving
meal is one and for all.
The centerpiece of thankfulness grabs each one round the bend.
Its focus is a grateful heart; that’s where the thanks begin.
The source of thankfulness does start from our Ancient of Days,
And we should let God know we appreciate all He does and says.
The centerpiece of God’s own grace touches each one on their plate.
We’re nourished by the food He made upon this earthen gate.
Each one we love extends the blessings we have found in Him.
How suitable that on this day, we spend it with our kin.
This table that we all enjoy reflects eternal gain,
Where we will sit with Jesus, who removed our guilty stains.
The Marriage Supper of the Lamb welcomes God’s table there,
Our hearts will melt before the One who made our hearts prepared.
Shiny, moist eyes appear on the scene.
A fountain of water they’ve found.
Continuing torrents of watery pain,
With dried up persons around.
A filmy layer forms on the eye
As tears, their frequence find.
Droplets caught on window sills
Below the hazy mind.
Lacy veils cannot contain the pain
Beneath the sheer.
The sparkle of the newly formed refrain,
You’ll know that tears are near.
Thanks for pointing out a sunrise, through the sunset we did see.
All the beauty that awaits us in the new day given so free.
So, I pray that you see through my eyes that upward forward glare,
That with our Lord’s creative touch, He shows what He’s doing there.
May the sunset that you’re feeling now rise to meet the hopeful dawn.
Our Lord understands your aching heart. Let His sunrise lead you on.
Enroute to sing about Him, Dottie met Him face to face.
With heaven’s harmonies blazing, she approached the praising place.
She, earth’s incubator of worship, found herself then fully born,
and the songs she gave to Jesus sounded like salvation’s horn.
Suddenly her hands received the jewel from God’s own eternal space;
lt, the song God wrote for Dottie, did describe amazing grace.
This song, which held its high notes, with the absence of life’s own griefs,
was a crescendo of deliverance, revealing all her sound beliefs.
Dottie’s songs, in grand summation, were the gifts to God returned,
and God’s song welcomed the parchment upon whom its lessons were learned.
