If I do nothing, nothing is done,
No race is started, no prize is won.
God watches over, His eyes so clear,
But He placed my hands and feet down here.

He gave me breath, He gave me days,
A heart to work, a voice to praise.
He expects me to rise, to stand, to go,
To plant the seeds and help them grow.

Faith is trust, but faith must move,
In every step, His love will prove.
For prayers alone won’t build the wall —
He strengthens hands that answer the call.

So I will work, and I will pray,
Trusting Him to guide my way.
He walks beside, He leads ahead,
But I must rise from this old bed.

If I do nothing, nothing is done,
But with my Father, I’ll outrun the sun.
Together, we will walk this land —
My life, my work, all in His hand.

For His Honor
MarkWaldrop

I can’t wait to get on the road again,
To see the smiles of my dear friends.
Through miles and time, our hearts stay near,
Their voices like music I long to hear.

No treasure shines, no gold compares,
To the love a faithful friendship shares.
For friends are gifts — pure, tried, and true,
A glimpse of heaven in all we do.

So I’ll pack my bags, my heart so light,
Chasing laughter into the night.
For wealth may fade and fame will end 
But priceless is the heart of a friend.

For His Glory
MarkWaldrop

My family waiting on the front porch of Heaven, arms open wide, calling to me,
Straining to see if the next soul coming down the road might be kin they’ve longed to see.

It seems like forever since we last embraced, hearts yearning across time’s divide,
But now Heaven’s light softens the distance, and love beckons me inside.

We’ll sit and laugh, caught up in stories only family knows how to tell,
Each memory a treasure, each word making our hearts swell.

What a glorious homecoming that will be — joy running wild and free,
When family and friends gather at last, in God’s eternal love we’ll see.

No more goodbyes, no more tears, only light and perfect peace,
A home where love endures, and every longing finds release.

So I’ll walk that road, my heart set on home, my faith steady and strong,
For the front porch of Heaven is waiting — and I’ve been expected all along.

For His Glory
MarkWaldrop

No man’s ever the same, once he’s crossed the sand,
The desert leaves its mark like a scar on his hand.
Each step burns a lesson, each breath carves a line,
In the silence, he wrestles with something divine.

He either takes something — a truth hard and clear,
Or leaves something behind, like doubt or like fear.
The sun strips him bare, the wind wears him thin,
Till all that remains is the fire within.

No map can prepare him, no words can explain,
The weight of the silence, the sweetness of rain.
He meets his own shadow, his soul face to face,
In the wide open nowhere, he finds his own place.

For the desert is ruthless, but honest and true,
It takes what you cling to and shows you what’s you.
No man’s ever the same, once the sands have been crossed —
Some find themselves whole, and some count the cost.

For His Glory
MarkWaldrop

Everything you love may fade,
Like footprints lost where tides have played.
A whispered name, a fleeting touch,
The echoes soft of those we clutch.

Yet love is not a thing confined,
It shifts, it bends, it redefines.
A seed that falls, the rain’s embrace,
It blooms again in time and space.

Through aching loss, through sorrow’s mist,
A hand will reach, a dawn persist.
For love returns in forms unknown,
A voice, a light, a kindness shown.

Embrace the change, let go, expand,
Like rivers carve the yielding land.
Pain to wonder, loss to grace,
Love will find its rightful place.

MarkWaldrop

In a quiet place, I stand in Your Grace,
A refuge of peace in this sacred space.
Without Your love, where would I be?
Lost in the storm, adrift at sea.

But You, O Lord, are ever near,
Your whispered truth, so calm, so clear.
For Grace and Mercy flow from above,
Poured out in boundless, endless love.

These gifts are found in Jesus’ name,
The Lamb of God, the One who came.
He walked among us, pure and true,
Revealing all that Love can do.

For Jesus said, “Come, follow Me,
If you have seen Me, then My Father you see.”
Through Him, we learn, through Him, we live,
And in His light, our souls forgive.

So in this quiet, here I stay,
Wrapped in Grace, I kneel and pray.
For all I need is found in Thee,
My Savior, Lord—eternally.

God is Love.

MarkWaldrop

         Masterpiece

Each one of us, a masterpiece rare,
Crafted by God with infinite care.
Not born of chance, nor lost in the tide,
But shaped by His love, with purpose inside.

Through winding paths and trials unknown,
We never walk this road alone.
His hands have formed us, strong and true,
With a work to fulfill, a calling to do.

In Christ, we’re made not just anew,
But set apart with a mission in view.
Not random acts, but plans divine,
Threads of grace in His grand design.

A word of kindness, a hand to lend,
A light to shine, a heart to mend.
Each step we take, His love displays,
Guiding our lives in wondrous ways.

So walk with faith, stand bold and free,
For you are His—His artistry.
A vessel of hope, a spark of His grace,
A masterpiece held in His warm embrace.

MarkWaldrop

To serve another, hand to hand,
to lift the weary where they stand,
to give with love, to walk with grace,
to bring the light to every place.

No greater work, no nobler way,
than easing burdens day by day.
A word, a touch, a kindness shared,
a life devoted, one that cared.

Not for the riches, not for fame,
but for the calling, not the name.
For in the giving, hearts will find
a joy that lingers, pure and kind.

So go and serve, stand strong, stand true,
let love and mercy shine through you.
For in this life, when all is done,
the greatest gift is love begun.

For His Glory
MarkWaldrop

A Rich Man’s War, A Poor Man’s Fight

They sounded the call, the banners waved,
The cannons roared, the ground was paved
With blood of men who had no choice,
While others bought their way with coin and voice.

The wealthy sat in gilded halls,
Safe behind their mansion walls,
They paid their fee, their pockets deep,
And sent the poor their debt to keep.

A farmer’s son, a blacksmith’s hand,
Were marched to die in no man’s land,
For causes they did not decide,
Yet bled and broke, yet fought and died.

The city man with silken coat,
Signed a check, escaped the boat,
No battle cries, no muddy trench,
No shattered bones, no blood-soaked stench.

But war does not just take the low,
Its fire burns both friend and foe,
And those who buy their peace today,
May find their sons must one day pay.

A rich man’s war, a poor man’s fight,
The story echoes through the night,
For every war, in time’s cruel hand,
Still claims the toil of common man.

MarkWaldrop