In the long run, through the night, through the sun,
Whether you call on Him, or the calling's undone,
God's presence, a constant, unwavering light,
Guides you, holds you, through day and through night.
Unseen, yet felt in the breeze that whispers,
In the storm's fury, in the calm that lingers.
In moments of joy, in the depths of despair,
His presence a promise, always there.
Not bound by our calls, nor swayed by our pleas,
Yet, in His compassion, He sees our needs.
A guardian in silence, a comfort in prayer,
Invisible hands, lifting the burdens we bear.
The sun will rise, and the sun will set,
In the long run, His presence, a constant bet.
Whether we seek Him, or in our pride, we resist,
He's with us, within us, in His existence, we exist.
So let this truth, in your heart, find a place,
God's presence, not a quest, but a state of grace.
In the long run, regardless of the path we choose,
He's with us, always, with nothing to prove.
February 4, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
ap777.org
"In the long run, whether you call on him or don't call on him.
God will be present with you."
- Frederick Buechner
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
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
