In a quiet restaurant, a son brought his father, An elder man, weak, yet no burden to bother. With trembling hands, his meal he ate, Spilling crumbs that time would create.
The crowd around them whispered and stared, Faces twisted, but the son never cared. With patience and love, he bore no disdain, For he knew honor blooms where kindness remains.
He led his father to cleanse and refresh, Wiped food from his face, smoothed wrinkled dress. He combed gray hair with a gentle hand, Restored the dignity of this cherished man.
Returning to silence, the room stood still, The son paid calmly and cleared the bill. But as they turned, an elder arose, A stranger with wisdom the moment chose.
“Don’t you think you left something behind?” The son replied, “Nothing comes to mind.” With a smile, the stranger softly spoke, “A lesson, my friend, in every heart woke.
You’ve left a hope for fathers to see, And taught sons what honor truly can be.” The room, once loud, grew solemn and still, A truth resounding, a moment fulfilled.
For what greater tribute can a child impart, Than to care for the ones who first gave them heart? The elders who sacrificed, who paved the way, Deserve our respect every step of the day.
So cherish the hands that once held you tight, For in their care lies a beacon of light. A timeless bond, a love so true What they gave to us, we must return too.
To the dads who guide with steady hand, Who teach us how to love and stand Your strength, your grace, your quiet might Reflect the Father’s holy light.
And to the One who reigns above, Who fathers us with perfect love We lift our thanks, our hearts, our praise, For all You’ve given, all Your ways.
On earth or gone to Heaven’s shore, A father’s love lives evermore. So here’s to each, both near and far A gift from God, a guiding star.
We often cling to what we claim Our time, our treasure, even name. We build and hoard, and plan with pride, While God stands gently at our side.
We say, “This harvest, I have grown,” Forgetting none of it’s our own. Each gift we guard, each breath we take, Is lent by Him—for Heaven’s sake.
He gives so we might pass it on, To light a soul, to lift the dawn. And when we yield with open hand, He multiplies what we had planned.
It’s not the gold or grain we sow, But love that makes the blessings grow. The Spirit whispers, soft and true: “There’s someone there—this gift’s for you.”
So let us walk with eyes aware, Of need and sorrow, pain and prayer. And trust that joy will overflow, When grace through giving starts to flow.
Not ours to keep, but ours to share The riches of His loving care. For everything is His above And He repays with joy and love.
Each morning, I pass that barren land, Once green and soft, now scorched and tanned. A yard that knew the bloom of spring, Now silent, dry—remembering.
Why did the watering cease one day? Did time slip in and steal away? Did busy hands forget the care, Or did despair hang in the air?
So too, the soul, if left unfilled, Grows parched and weary, hope unspilled. It doesn’t die—but turns to stone, A silent ache, a hollowed tone.
Yet even hearts as dry as bone Can drink again what Heaven’s shown For mercy rains in steady streams, And grace revives our buried dreams.
No soul’s too far, no ground too cracked, For living water to bring it back. So let us tend what lies inside, And water well where love may hide.
For hearts, once hard, can bloom again, With just one drop of Heaven’s rain.
The road behind is strewn with dust, Of dreams once bright, now turned to rust. But grace, not guilt, shall light my way— For I was never meant to stay.
The past may whisper, plead, or cry, But I lift my gaze toward the sky. Forgetting chains that held me fast, I walk unbound—no longer cast.
Each step, though weary, draws me near, To what is holy, pure, and clear. Not for this world’s fleeting gain, But for the crown that comes through pain.
The prize is Christ—my hope, my song, The call that pulls my heart along. I press ahead, through storm and fire, Fueled by a deeper, heaven-born desire.
No turning back, no pause, no end, Just faith in Him—my Lord, my Friend. For upward still my soul shall soar, To meet the One I’m striving for.
“I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 3:13–14 (NIV)
Saints Can Not Live on Wine Alone (They Need the Lamb)
They gather ’round with lifted cup, The vintage rich, the vessel full Yet still the soul feels hunger deep, A quiet ache, a gentle pull.
For wine may warm the tongue and cheer, And momentarily dull the pain, But joy that lasts, that stills the storm, Is found not in the grape or grain.
The saints may sip from gilded glass, But thirst returns with every breath. Their strength comes not from vineyard rows, But from the Lamb who conquered death.
He bore the cross, He broke the bread, He poured His blood, the truest wine. He is the feast, the Living Word, The holy root, the sacred vine.
So let them taste, but not forget That heaven’s hope is not a toast It’s in the Lamb, once slain for all, Whose mercy means the very most.
Saints can not live on wine alone They need the Lamb upon the throne.
Jhn 6:35 And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst.
As a young boy, I dreamed wide and high, Built wings from wonder, carved clouds in the sky. My cockpit? A box with a broom for a blade, An ace of the air in the world I made.
I soared past rooftops, past worry and rain, Dodging the fire of enemy planes. With nerves of steel and a pilot’s grin, I always found a way to win.
Each dive and roll, each daring feat, Was powered by hope beneath small feet. To guard my home, to brave the storm, My cardboard plane became my form.
I came back home with wind-blown hair, A hero welcomed with trumpet flair. No medals pinned, just stars in my eyes No one but me knew I’d ruled the skies.
And now… I’m tired. The day is done. The race has faded with the setting sun. But even as this body lies, My soul prepares again to rise.
For sleep is just the hangar door To launch me into dreams once more. So tuck me in, don’t say goodbye I’ll wake and once again… Return to the sky.
Keep your eye on the Cross, where mercy was shown, Where the weight of our sins was carried alone. Not in anger, not wrath, but love pure and true He cried, “Forgive them, they know not what they do.”
Two hung beside Him, each facing the end, One mocked with pride, one called Him a Friend. With trembling voice and soul laid bare, A thief found grace hanging right there.
No time for good deeds, no long, righteous way, Yet Jesus declared, “You’ll be with Me today.” No works, no robe, no claim to defend Just faith in the Savior, and love without end.
But ponder this truth as your heart takes in view: The Man in the Middle died for me and for you. The Cross was the bridge, the pain was the price, And Heaven was opened through that sacrifice.
So when you feel lost, betrayed, or dismayed, Look up to the place where redemption was made. For the One in the middle, with thorns on His brow, Still says to the seeking, “You’re with Me now.”
