I laid by a pool of rippling waters for many years In hopes of being healed and calming my fears My legs were crippled. I could not walk. People would pass me by and not talk. Then one day the Master came by. Feeling his power. I began to cry. He approached me and said do you believe in Me? Yes Master I do. He said pick up your mat and be free. February 4, 2024 MarkWaldrop
God opens doors and windows every day that Holy Breezes may blow my way Do I go around shutting them as tight as can be Doing this will make the air most stagnant for me Oh to take a breath of cool fresh air instantly sets me free February 4, 2024 MarkWaldrop
If I could only hear his voice again, Through the whisper of the breeze, soft and slim. I'd tell him how much I love him, true and plain, Words flowing like a heartfelt, sacred hymn. Oh, the things I wish I could change, The hands of time, gently rearrange. To seize one more moment, so brief, And in that time, find some relief. I'd listen for the laughter, the joy once shared, For in those sounds, his love was always bared. Each echo, a testament, forever ensnared, In the chambers of my heart, where he is fared. If I could craft from the stars above, A bridge to the past, built with love. I'd cross it with haste, no moment to waste, To speak unspoken words, in a tender embrace. But since time's cruel hand will not bend, I'll cherish his memory, till the very end. And in the quiet, in the still, I'll pretend, That I can hear his voice again, my dear friend. For love, it transcends the boundary of death, In whispered memories, his gentle breath. Though I cannot change what fate has designed, In my heart, his voice forever intertwined. February 3, 2024 Created by MarkWaldrop
https://youtu.be/7LkqyC9dMF8?si=twQh3OX6HXAsPXTs
I'm just an extra in somebody else’s play Being an extra I have few words to say Being an extra is an honor I must say To be asked to be in anyone's play I follow the directions the director gives me Always being ready when he calls on me Maybe I will get a chance one day To be famous in a well-known play February 3, 2024 MarkWaldrop
In unity's embrace, we boldly stand, A creed that shapes both heart and land. Divided, we falter, together, we soar, A timeless truth from ancient lore. Not for self, but for all, we give, In service's call, we truly live. "What can I do?" not "What I receive," A mantra for all who believe. As Jesus for us, His life did pay, A debt of love we can never repay. Yet in His steps, we can proceed, To serve, to love, to plant the seed. Love, the adhesive for every split seam, Holding together life's complex dream. Without its bond, we drift apart, But with it, we mend every heart. The change we seek in the world around, Within our own hearts, must be found. Starting with me, a ripple in the pond, Echoing out to the bonds beyond. Not by the saber is true war won, But by love's power, shining as the sun. Where love abounds, conflict ceases to be, In its warm embrace, we are truly free. So let us walk in love's unending light, Turning every wrong to right. In every action, let love be our war, For where there is love, there is no war. February 3, 2024 Created by MarkWaldrop
Oh Loving Mother where have you gone today I pray you won't be gone long please don't stay My tears cry for your loving touch I miss your warm smile so much I know you can't return to me I can only prepare to see thee February 2, 2024 MarkWaldrop
One day a long time ago in Bible Lands A cattle train headed out to their Homeland Jacob, with his wives and children, mounted their Camels high Heading out under the hot desert sky Following God’s Devine plan, trekking many miles in the hot sand Camels, cattle, goats, and sheep always looking for water and sleep An impossible journey in every way Only with God’s Hand as they pray Reaching their destination and looking in the past Thanking God for his protection that will forever last February 2, 2024 MarkWaldrop Genesis 31:17-18
Life on the farm is relaxing, I must say Sending the cares of the city away The smell of freshly new-mown hay A hot cup of coffee to start the day The midnight hours of birthing a calf It brings happiness and far less strife Life on the farm melts my many concerns away Close to God’s creation is where I want to stay January 29, 2024 MarkWaldrop Penned for my friend Dean Ewing
In the heart of Ohio, 'neath the wide Buckeye sky, Was born Annie Oakley, in eighteen-sixty, nigh. In a log cabin dwelling, near North Star's gentle light, Phoebe Ann Moses, a star in the night. Her childhood was marked by scarcity and loss, Her father, a farmer, died from frost's cruel cross. In a terrible storm, he met his untimely fate, Leaving young Phoebe to wrestle with a heavy weight. A sister too, in time, would pass away, Adding to the hardships of Annie's early day. But from these trials, a sharpshooter arose, With a rifle in hand, she faced life's imposing foes. At the tender age of eight, or so the tale is told, Annie learned to hunt, brave and bold. She'd shoot with a grace, so natural and free, Supporting her kin with game from field and tree. Quail, rabbit, squirrel, her aim always true, In Cincinnati, at fifteen, her renown only grew. A shooting match won, against sharpshooter Butler, Her future husband, none could out-flutter. Annie's skill was such, surplus meat she'd provide, To markets and hotels, her fame did glide. Her mother, resourceful, sold the game with pride, Ensuring their survival, with Annie by their side. Then came the year, eighteen eighty-five, Buffalo Bill's show, where legends come alive. Annie Oakley, the star, in a spectacle so grand, Joined the Rough Riders, a rifle in hand. Sitting Bull, the great chief, with respect so rare, Named her Watanya Cicilla, in the open air. "Little Sure Shot," a title of honor and might, In Buffalo Bill's Wild West, she was a brilliant sight. Outshooting Cody, winning hearts far and wide, Annie's fame soared, on a celestial tide. Admired by all, from McCoys to Hatfields, In an era of feuds, her legend never yields. But time marches on, as all stories tell, In nineteen twenty-six, Little Sure Shot fell. November's chill wind whispered a mournful sigh, For Annie Oakley, under the Buckeye sky. Her legacy lives on, in tales and in song, A woman of courage, undaunted and strong. In the heart of Ohio, 'neath the wide Buckeye sky, Lives the spirit of Oakley, forever to fly. January 29, 2024 Created by MarkWaldrop
We are all allotted a certain amount of time Knowing the exact number would be a crime Being young, my hourglass has what God will allow Grandpa's hourglass is close to being empty now God has a plan for each of our lives Living in His Will brings less strife Thank you, God, for Your Plan that I might see And giving me Grandpa, who always loves me January 27, 2024 MarkWaldrop