To a humble man, what could this day be, This Resurrection Day, this mystery? Not just a tale from ancient lore, But a promise of life, forevermore.
It means the dawn after the longest night, A second chance to set things right. The stone rolled away, an empty grave, A sign of the power He has to save.
For a man like me, it whispers grace, In every shadowed, forgotten place. It’s hope when despair seems to win, A gentle reminder of victory over sin.
It’s love that conquered death and fear, A call that every humble heart hears. To rise, though we fall, to forgive, to mend, To believe that beginnings outshine the end.
This day, it means that we are not alone, That we’re loved, called, and known. A promise that our faults and our scars, Are nothing to the One who hung the stars.
So, what does it mean, this day, to me? A gift of grace, so vast, so free. A reminder that no matter how small, Through His resurrection, He redeems us all.
Beneath the vast, awakening sky, Where dreams roam free, and spirits fly, An Arizona sunrise begins to unfold In hues of crimson, amber, and gold.
The desert whispers in hushed tones light As stars fade gently into the night. Cacti stand tall, silhouettes cast; in the fleeting moments, night is surpassed.
Mountains grasp the first rays of day; in their rugged arms, light comes into play. The horizon blushes, a radiant smile Casting its warmth over every mile.
Skies painted in a vibrant array, A masterpiece born at break of day. Birds sing in chorus, a symphony of life, Welcoming the dawn, dispelling strife.
A gentle breeze dances through the air, Carrying promises of stories to share—an Arizona sunrise, a moment so divine, A daily reminder that the world is thine.
So here, beneath the wide, azure dome, We’re reminded of the beauty of home. In every sunrise, there’s a new chance to say, Today will be a beautiful day.
In the silent hours of contemplation’s realm, Where thoughts like mighty ships take the helm, There lies a truth, both stark and bare, “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail,” they declare.
Upon the canvas of the night, stars in alignment, Whispering secrets of success and confinement. For those who in foresight’s garden gently tread, Harvest dreams alive, not shadows of dread.
A lesson taught by time, ancient and wise, That only the prepared meet the sunrise. While others sleep in the bed of procrastination, They wake to the storm of missed realization.
It’s the weaver’s loom, the builder’s square, The navigator’s map, through fog and air. A principle, simple, yet profound, In every endeavor, let preparation abound.
So gather your tools, your plans, your might, Under the moon’s soft glow or the sun’s bright light. For the path to victory, narrow and steep, Is found by those who sow, while others sleep.
In this world of chance, of chaos, of storm, Let preparation be your standard, your norm. For in its embrace, you’ll find the grail, And remember, “Failing to prepare, is preparing to fail.”
In the morning light, ’neath mountains tall, A word once foreign echoed a call.“Hillbilly,” they said, with a sneer, a jeer, A label that brought neither joy nor cheer.
My brother returned with stories anew, Claiming that title for us, the mountain crew.“Dumb, stupid, ignorant,” definitions came, But we knew our worth, our spirit untamed.
An insult to those who rose before dawn, Treading paths untrod, faces weary and wan. To the miners and loggers, their strength never fades; to the women, their resilience never sways.
Carrying water, scrubbing clothes clean, Hoeing fields, unseen, yet serene. After childbirth, returning to toil, Their spirit, their love for the soil.
A mockery made by visitors, blind To the hard work and ingenuity they’d find. Laughing at poverty, speech, and ways, Ignoring the brilliance that deserved praise.
Yet, we’ve evolved, caught up in the race, Losing bits of ourselves, our unique grace. But hear this call: to be true, to dare, Embrace your roots, let down your hair.
Paint, write, revive old mountain speech, Cook soup beans and cornbread, a lesson to teach. Fish for catfish, seek hickory nuts in glades, Be your true self, let not the old ways fade.
So today, embrace your past with pride, And tomorrow, let that truth inside. For in being ourselves, we honor those before And bless our souls forevermore.
In the realm where faith and certainty converge, A path illuminated by words softly spoken, “Jesus said, ‘I come that you may know,’” A beacon for hearts, once lost, now woken.
Believing is a journey through the night, A trust in whispers of the unseen, A leap into the abyss, guided by light, Where doubts are shadows and hopes glean.
Knowing, a dawn that breaks with clarity, A sun that rises, dispelling all fears, It’s standing upon the rock of reality, Where truths are unveiled, and God appears.
For belief is a vessel, sailing on trust, On oceans deep, under stars unseen, But knowing is the shore beyond the gust, Where feet touch ground, and souls lean.
“I come,” He said, “that you may see,” Beyond belief, into the embrace of knowing, Where faith and sight in harmony be, And in His light, our spirit’s glowing.
So let us journey from belief to sight, Where His love unveils the eternal dawn; in Jesus’ name, find the greater light, And in knowing Him, we are reborn.
April 1, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In the quiet chambers of my troubled heart,
I lay my disgust, from me, apart.
In the hands of the Divine, I place my trust,
For in this world, discern, I must.
Judgment is not mine to cast or wield,
For the heart’s true nature is often sealed.
From the outside looking in, my vision blurred,
Only God discerns, without a word.
He sees beyond the facade, the masquerade,
To the essence of souls, in light and shade.
With mercy and grace, He understands,
The hidden pains, the silent demands.
In this realization, I find my peace,
Letting go of judgments, allowing release.
For in His trust, my burdens lay light,
Guided by faith, out of the night.
To see as God sees, a gift divine,
To love without judgment, a sign.
That in the hearts of all, there’s more than we know,
And in God’s trust, compassion can grow.
March 31, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
