In valleys deep beneath the starlit sky, He left the ninety-nine to hear my cry. Across the rugged hills, through shadows grim, With lamp in hand, He came to rescue me.
The night was fierce, the winds did howl and moan, Among the many, I felt stark alone. Yet in my soul, a light began to rise, For through the storm, I saw His loving eyes.
He braved the thorns where wolves lay in wait, His shepherd’s heart governed by love, not fate. Through each dark pass and treacherous steep, He came steadfast, His flock to keep.
“Why venture far for one so frail and weak?” The angels asked, for even they would seek.“ It is My love that guides Me through the night, Each lost lamb shines in My sight.”
Now safe within His gentle hold, I see The ninety-nine from heights of Calvary. No greater love has ever been than Thee, Who left the flock to rescue me.
As stars above continue in their sweep, I am the one for whom His love runs deep. In grateful hymns, my soul will always sing, The Shepherd King who is my everything.
In the din of crowded rooms, my voice but a breeze, Whispering secrets none seem to seize. “I’m not their friend,” I confess to the night, A solitary figure, a forgotten plight.
Blind to the burdens that in my heart weigh, They chase after lies that lead them astray. My truth, a lantern dimmed in the fog, Lost to those dialogues, a muddled monologue.
They believe not in the words I propose, But in the echoed untruths that around them close. A world fabricated by the hands of kin, Where falsehoods are draped as truths within.
Alas, I walk this path alone, unseen, Invisible truths with me convene. Yet still I hold the torch up high, A beacon for those who might question why.
For perhaps one day, through the dense haze, A wayward soul will catch the blaze. And see beyond the veil so thin, To where deceit ends and truth begins.
Till then, I wander, an outcast of minds, My solace in the few who seek what they find. Though people don’t listen, don’t see the creed, I carry the truth, not for me, but for the need.
In the weave of life where fates are spun, Where threads tangle under the indifferent sun, Amid the knots and the unruly fray, Lies a simple truth to guide the way.
Things turn out best for those who see Not a wall, but a door where none would be. Turning leaves in a storm, they stand resolute, Crafting fortunes from the soot.
For the world cares not of our silent pleas, It spins unaware of our decrees. Yet in the chaos, the wise discern Opportunities in the way the winds turn.
They dance in rain, and in shadows find light, In the coldest winters, a fire bright. For those who make the best of the play, Life unfolds in a remarkable way.
So take the clay of the darkest day And mold it with joy, as children at play. For things turn out best, it’s known, For those who blossom from seeds unsown.
March 15, 2024 Crested by MarkWaldrop
Things turn out best for the people who make the best out of the way things turn out. —Art Linkletter
In the vast tapestry where dreams weave, There’s a path for you that heavens conceive. Boundless visions and hopes stand tall, Only God orchestrates the rise and fall.
You can be the whisper in the roaring wind, The gentle force where grace is pinned. A painter of life’s vast mural scene, Or a quiet hero, felt but unseen.
The stars chart out your destined way, In celestial silence, they quietly sway. Each journey carved by divine decree, Mapping out what you’re meant to be.
You can be the laughter in sorrow’s room, A light that shines, dispelling gloom. An architect of bridges over fears, Turning the tide of the flowing tears.
Believe in the plan from realms above, Crafted with care and endless love. For you can be anything, vast or small, In God’s grand design, you stand tall.
Embrace the journey, let faith guide thee, For only God has the perfect plan for Me.
In whispers soft and voices bold, Through earthly shepherds, tales are told. Yet human flaws and earthly taint, Can mar the pictures saints might paint.
For power lures with gilded touch, And wealth can tempt the hearts too much; In palaces where jewels bedeck, The shepherd’s path may well deflect.
The flock may stray, the night may deepen, As mortal guides their trust miskeepen. For all are men, and men may falter, Beside the gold-lit altar.
But hark! A call from realms above, Of one pure Shepherd, crowned in love. Jesus Christ, the Son, the Light, Who shepherds with no earthly blight.
No sin in Him, no guile or greed, Perfect in thought, in word, in deed. This Shepherd leads on pathways right, His staff a beacon in the night.
In Him alone, the flock finds peace, From Him, all fears may find release. The living Son, the eternal guide, In whom all hopes and truths abide.
So listen not to human plea, But in Christ’s light, true pathways see. For through His voice, and His alone, The way to brighter pastures shown.
If your life pours forth only a whine, not the wine, Eject the sour, let not the bitter roots entwine; For in the vineyard where faith’s grapes should grow, A Christian stands, not in shadows low.
To dwell in weakness when strength is given, By the mighty hand of the benevolent heaven, Is to commit the gravest sin of all, To see the shield and sword, yet choose to fall.
Harness the power from the Lord above, Embrace His might, endure in His love; Kick out the tremors of fruitless fear, For you are called to be strong, His path to steer.
Let not your spirit to frailty cling, Nor to the dirges of despair sing; Rise, for you have the celestial might, To turn your whine into wine, into radiant light.
Thus, walk in strength, all weakness spurn, With faith as your guide, let your spirit burn; A beacon of hope, a testament true, Of what God’s unfailing strength can do.
In a realm where shadows stretch and wide rivers flow, Amidst the whispers of ancient winds that secrets know, There lies a single path, narrow, with a gentle glow, Where souls, weary and yearning, to seek and grow.
No other way to the divine, no other route to trod, But through the grace of His Son, the blessed Son of God. Beneath the heavens’ expanse, on verdant earth we lay, Bowing our heads in humility as we fervently pray.
Jesus, the bridge over sin’s tumultuous sea, Offers His hand, His heart, to set the burdened free. Through whispered prayers, and tears silently cried, He guides us, His light unwavering, at our side.
The world spins, relentless, in its orbit’s bind, Yet in His presence, a peace we surely find. With heads bowed low, in reverence profound, In the quiet sanctum where His grace abounds.
For no golden idols, nor earthly kings’ decrees, Can lead us to the peace that Jesus freely gives. Only through His love, so vast, so deep, so wide, Can we cross the chasm to stand by His side.
Thus, walk the path, in faith may you tread, Through the Son to God, just as He said. In every bowed head, every prayer’s gentle sway, Lies the sacred passage, the truth, the way.
Wars rage not just on battlefields grim and stark, But in the shadowed corners of every weary heart. Victory claimed by fire and steel’s cold bite, Leaves only ashes, remnants of spite.
True conquest lies not in the silenced scream, Nor in the landscapes of some tyrant’s dream. For every city razed, every mother’s tear, Sows the bitter seeds of another war near.
The mightiest force wields no weapon or shield, But the quiet strength in the human field, Where compassion roots deeper than old enmities, Where understanding breaks chains, sets spirits free.
True peace blossoms through the heart’s own door, A tranquil harbor from the inner war. When hearts are mended, so too are nations’ ties,In the soft, hushing whispers of reconciled cries.
From the heart’s peace, there springs a well so clear, That those who drink may never again fear. For only when the heart’s war ceases to rage, Will peace truly ink history’s next page.
Let us march not to the drums of war, but to the song of peace, Where every note played is a promise to cease. With each heart that chooses the path of calm delight, We find the dawn of love and end the long, dark night.
In valleys deep where shadows dwell, Where human strength succumbs and pales, Beyond the reach of weary hands, In whispered tones, true prayer avails.
It climbs the peaks of somber fears, It crosses oceans, silent, hails The dawn of hope on distant shores, Where human effort falters, fails.
Beneath the weight of life’s harsh trials, When heavy heart like anchor flails, Light pierces through the brooding storm, With gentle force, soft prayer prevails.
For there, within the sacred calm, Where peace resides and love entails, The soul finds strength not born of earth, And in its quiet trust, inhales.
So let us kneel in humble stance, And lift our voices, tell the tales Of how, when human might retracts, A whispered prayer always avails.
