After the feast, the table’s clear, Yet leftovers linger, bringing cheer. I thought I’d never eat again, But hunger returned, as it always does then.
The turkey, the pie, the cranberry spread, Flavors dance anew, though the meal’s long fled. Somehow, they seem to taste better this time, As if patience has seasoned them, oh so sublime.
Imagination turns scraps into treasure, A casserole here, a soup beyond measure. Thank You, Lord, for abundance and grace, For meals reborn, no morsel a waste.
So here’s to leftovers, a second delight, A testament to blessings, day and night.
A kind and gentle man was he, Full of love and honesty. But the mystery of Christ’s descent, To him, seemed strange and poorly spent.
“The incarnation makes no sense,” He said, with logic as defense. God becoming man to save, Felt like a tale the faithful gave.
On Christmas Eve, his family went, To church, in worship reverent. He stayed behind with hearth aglow, Unmoved by truths he didn’t know.
But then a sound, a frantic thud, Shook his peace and stirred his blood. At the window, again it came, A muffled beat, a desperate aim.
He ventured out into the cold, And there, a scene began to unfold. A flock of birds, lost in the storm, Shivered, seeking shelter warm.
His heart, so tender, swelled with care, To save the birds from bitter air. The barn! A haven, safe and dry, He opened the door, the light held high.
But fear had gripped the fragile flock, His human presence felt a shock. He scattered crumbs, he waved them near, But still, they fled in helpless fear.
“If only I could be like them,” He thought, beneath the moon’s dim hem. “To speak their tongue, to share their way, And guide them to the light of day.”
Then from the distance, church bells rang, A holy song the heavens sang. And in that moment, truth took hold, A story ancient, yet retold.
God became man, He stooped so low, To guide the lost through blinding snow. The man, now kneeling, bowed his head, The bells’ sweet song, his spirit fed.
For now he saw what once was dim, Why Christ had come to dwell with him. Like the man and the frightened birds, God showed His love through deeds, not words.
So on that night, beneath the star, The man found God was never far. And in his heart, a fire burned bright, A newfound faith, a guiding light.
Memory believes what the heart holds true, A flicker of light in the morning dew. It whispers of moments we cannot retrieve, The fragments of time that we choose to believe.
Before knowing remembers, the soul still feels, The brush of the past, the wounds it heals. A scent, a sound, or a fleeting glance, Can summon a world in a wordless dance.
The touch of a hand, the echo of laughter, The shadows of dreams we endlessly chase after. For memory sees what eyes cannot find, A portrait of love in the halls of the mind.
So let memory believe and knowing delay, For in its embrace, the past will stay. A bridge to the moments that slip through our fingers, Where the heart remembers and the soul still lingers.
Created by MarkWaldrop
Memory believes before knowing remembers. William Faulkner
The Holy Spirit begins to move, A gentle wind, a sacred groove. Through hearts united, pure and true, God’s love blooms in me and you.
We are His hands, His feet, His light, Guided by faith through day and night. A mission given, a sacred mirth, To share the news of Jesus’ birth.
The world may waver, hearts may stray, Yet love prevails, it lights the way. So here we stand, in joy and worth, Proclaiming Christ, our Savior’s birth.
The brightest days often follow the night, When shadows retreat at the dawn’s first light. Life is a puzzle, a game we play, With trials that shape us along the way.
The path grows steep, the burdens immense, Tests arrive, breaking our confidence. But just as the darkness seems too much to bear, A breakthrough whispers, “You’re almost there.”
Each challenge faced is a door to ascend, A chance to grow, a means to transcend. The trials refine us, like fire to gold, Pushing us forward, brave and bold.
The game of life, with levels and foes, Teaches us wisdom as each chapter flows. Victories come, and the sun shines bright, Until the next test emerges from night.
But take heart, for this is the way we grow, Each cycle of struggle teaches us to know That the darkest moments prepare the soul, To reach higher levels, to become whole.
So hold on tightly, though the storm may rage, You’re turning the chapter, you’re turning the page. For after the night, the dawn will break through, The brightest days are waiting for you.
Created by MarkWaldrop
Psa 30:5 For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.
The brightest days often follow the night, When shadows retreat at the dawn’s first light. Life is a puzzle, a game we play, With trials that shape us along the way.
The path grows steep, the burdens immense, Tests arrive, breaking our confidence. But just as the darkness seems too much to bear, A breakthrough whispers, “You’re almost there.”
Each challenge faced is a door to ascend, A chance to grow, a means to transcend. The trials refine us, like fire to gold, Pushing us forward, brave and bold.
The game of life, with levels and foes, Teaches us wisdom as each chapter flows. Victories come, and the sun shines bright, Until the next test emerges from night.
But take heart, for this is the way we grow, Each cycle of struggle teaches us to know That the darkest moments prepare the soul, To reach higher levels, to become whole.
So hold on tightly, though the storm may rage, You’re turning the chapter, you’re turning the page. For after the night, the dawn will break through, The brightest days are waiting for you.
Created by MarkWaldrop
Psa 30:5 For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.
Unto us, a child is born, A gift of love on earth’s cold morn. A Son is given, a light to shine, God’s perfect promise, pure, divine.
The weight of the world upon His shoulder, A King whose reign grows ever bolder. Yet gentle He comes, with mercy’s embrace, Bringing salvation, restoring grace.
Wonderful Counselor, wisdom’s guide, In Him all truth and peace reside. Mighty God, in strength He stands, The sovereign ruler of all lands.
Everlasting Father, timeless and true, His love endures in all we do. Prince of Peace, His calm will reign, Breaking the chains of sin and pain.
Unto us, this child is given, A bridge to earth, a path to Heaven. Rejoice, for His kingdom will never cease— Jesus, our Savior, the Prince of Peace.
Created by MarkWaldrop
Isa 9:6 For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
A Ford Model A at the crossing stands, Dusty wheels on restless lands. Its engine hums a patient song, While the iron beast lumbers along.
The rails hum low, the ground does quake, A moment of pause for history’s sake. And then it comes—the mournful cry, A steam whistle wail beneath the sky.
Two-tone sorrow, a voice of steel, Echoing stories the tracks reveal. Of journeys made and goodbyes said, Of dreams that rode where the rails led.
The driver waits, hands firm on the wheel, Lost in the sound, the weight he feels. For time seems frozen, past meets now, As the whistle’s howl whispers its vow.
When the train moves on and the crossing clears, The pickup rolls forward, erasing fears. Yet that steam whistle song lingers still, A ghostly tune, a memory’s thrill.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year, When joy fills the air and loved ones draw near. The world seems to sparkle, both far and wide, With twinkling lights and hearts open wide.
The laughter of children, the songs that we sing, The warmth of the fire, the hope that it brings. Snow softly falling, a blanket of white, Transforming the earth in a magical light.
Families gather, their hearts intertwined, Sharing sweet moments that memories bind. Kindness and giving, a season of cheer, It’s the most wonderful time of the year.
Carols resound in the crisp winter air, Reminding us all of a love so rare. A child in a manger, a star shining bright, The promise of peace on that holy night.
So cherish these days, let love take its place, In every warm hug, in every kind face. For this is the season to hold what is dear, The most wonderful time of the year.
How many there are who rest at ease, Believing grace requires no pleas. “Jesus paid it all,” they softly say, While turning their hearts the other way.
But grace is not a passive song, A debt erased, then we move along. It calls us forth, with hands outstretched, To heal the wounds the world has etched.
For Christ, who bore the cross of shame, Did not endure for hollow acclaim. He paid it all, yes, this is true, But left a charge for me and you.
To walk His path, to share His light, To bring the lost from dark to bright. To lift the broken, seek the stray, And show God’s love in every way.
So let us not forget the cost, Or why He came to save the lost. The call is clear, His footsteps lead, A life of love is what we need.
