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.
In the beginning, woven by the Creator’s hand, Spoke into existence, where stars and worlds stand. “God,” the singular artist of cosmos and sea, Crafted in His image, you and me.
United in essence under celestial dome, “One Race,” declared He, the earth our shared home. “Human,” He named us, kin by design, Boundless diversity, yet fundamentally aligned.
Flowing through veins, a river vivid and bold, “One Blood,” the life-force, in crimson it rolled. “Red,” the hue of passion, pain, and power, A symbol of life in its brightest hour.
Yet amidst this splendor, a shadow crept unseen, “One Problem,” whispered, subtle and serene. “Sin,” it hissed, a fracture deep and wide, A rift ’twixt the soul and the Divine.
In the murk and the twilight, hope flickered dim, A chasm unbridged, prospects grim. “One Solution,” proclaimed a voice so bright, Cutting through despair, a beacon of light.
“Jesus Christ,” He came, not in thunder, but in whisper, His life for ours, the ultimate fixer. Through Him the broken are made whole, Restoring peace, reclaiming soul.
Thus the tale unfolds, of love’s grand design, From One Creator’s breath to the end of time. Through One Race, One Blood, and One redeeming Son, Heaven’s perfect answer, where all is undone.
Without pressure, diamonds remain coal, Without pressure, character won’t find its role. Without pressure, fulfillment stays afar, Without pressure, joy but a fading star.
But tempered pressure, wisely applied, Shapes the soul, pride set aside. In this crucible, character grows defined, And through such trials, true joy we find.
Thus, embrace the squeeze, the shaping pain, For in each struggle, there’s much to gain. Refined by pressure, with grit employ, Emerges strength, character, and joy.
A thousand ways to swing a club; which is the right one for me? Is it something learned, or does it come free?
How to uncover that perfect swing, Comfort in one’s grip, oh, the joy it will bring. A fusion of faith and guided hands Shapes the motion as the moment demands.
Many will chant the mantra of repeat To forge their path and not accept defeat. Perfection a divine trait, indeed. Merged with practice, it’s all you need.
To calm the mind and soothe the soul, These are the halves that make the swing whole. Seek wisdom from those who’ve walked this way; Their learned truths will clear dismay.
Listen and learn, for they hold the key; what once was bound will soon be free. In their words, find the swing so sound, And play the greens, with peace profound.
Beneath the vast and boundless sky, We tread with hearts both low and high, Unknown the count of sands that drift, Through Time’s unyielding, ceaseless sift.
We raise our eyes with humble grace, To thank the Lord for His embrace—For mercy poured on earthly stage, In blessings penned on life’s wide page.
Each dawn awakes with softest light, Each star that guards the velvet night, Speaks of a love so vast and deep, A shepherd strong, His flock to keep.
So let us walk with quiet might, Through shadowed vale, in sun’s bright light, And hold each precious day we see, As gifts from One who set us free.
In gratitude, our hearts do swell, For stories only time can tell, A tapestry of woven hues, A life embraced, with days we choose.
Thus, hand in hand with faith, we climb, With hope engraved for endless time, Each moment laced with sacred view, Our thanks we give, forever true.
In fields wide where heaven’s care descends, Your touch upon the land extends; Streams of grace in full array, Waters flow to bless the clay.
With showers soft, the earth is dressed, In furrows deep, its wealth confessed; Ridges smoothed by gentle rains, Crops rejoice across the plains.
The bounty of Your hand so grand, Makes rich the heart of every land; Your carts brim with gifts so vast, A year crowned with wealth amassed.
Where wilderness once starkly lay, Now grasslands dance in bright array; Hills wear joy, a verdant crown, In colors loud, their praise renown.
Meadows quilted with fleecy flocks, Valleys swathed in golden stocks; All nature sings beneath Your skies, A chorus raised in joyful cries.
April 10, 2024 Created by MarkWaldrop
Psa 65:8 The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns, where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy. Psa 65:9 You care for the land and water it; you enrich it abundantly. The streams of God are filled with water to provide the people with grain, for so you have ordained it. Psa 65:10 You drench its furrows and level its ridges; you soften it with showers and bless its crops. Psa 65:11 You crown the year with your bounty, and your carts overflow with abundance. Psa 65:12 The grasslands of the wilderness overflow; the hills are clothed with gladness. Psa 65:13 The meadows are covered with flocks and the valleys are mantled with grain; they shout for joy and sing.
In nineteen twenty-six it rose, a humble, sturdy frame, Grandpa’s hands, both rough and wise, worked wood that bore his name. He cut and milled, each plank and beam, beneath the sky so wide, Crafting not just a house, but dreams, within its walls to reside.
In the living room, in twenty-eight, a new life’s cry was heard, My mother’s first breath, a twist of fate, a future yet unblurred. That room, a cradle of family lore, where beginnings were embraced, A testament to those who came before, and the lives they interlaced.
Years spun like the wheels of time, through seasons, sun, and snow, Until destiny in ‘eighty-seven, whispered soft and low. It called me back to where roots intertwine, to claim what was once sown, To buy that house, that emblem of time, and make it my very own.
It’s not fancy, with its aged wood and doors that softly creak, But it’s home, where love has stood, and walls, if they could, would speak. Of laughter, tears, and moments dear, of family, past and anew, Our old house, through every year, stands resilient, strong, and true.
So here we are, and here we stay, in this house that grandpa made, A beacon through the night and day, where memories never fade. It’s not just a house, but a legacy, a vessel of our story, A testament to what can be, when built with love, not glory.
When the earth comes to an end, the truth will stand, Amidst the rubble and the ruins, stark and grand. In silence deep, where shadows merge and blend, A beacon bright, where all the falsehoods end.
Through fire and storm, through dark and desolate land, Unmoved, unshaken, the pillars of truth withstand. As mountains crumble and oceans retreat, The heart of truth skips not a beat.
In this final hour, as stars dim their light, And darkness seems to claim eternal right, A single flame of truth burns ever bright, A guide, a hope, in the longest night.
So let the earth to ash and dust descend, On truth and love, our spirits will depend. For even when the world reaches its end, The truth, in its glory, will eternally stand.
