In the heart of Philadelphia’s vibrant hum,
Lies a tale of simple faith, from which great lessons come.
A little girl, with hopes so high and pockets light,
Stood outside a church, a sorrowful sight.
"Too crowded," they said, "No room for you today."
Her heart broke in pieces; she couldn't pray.
But a pastor saw, beyond her shabby frame,
A soul yearning for love, not seeking fame.
With a gentle hand, he led her through the door,
Found a spot in Sunday School, on the polished floor.
That night, her heart light, she dreamed of spaces wide,
Where no child was turned away, no tears to hide.
Years passed, her light dimmed, to heaven, she did depart,
Leaving behind a purse, and an enormous heart.
Fifty-seven cents and a note, scrawled with love so pure,
"This is to help the church grow, of this, I am sure."
The pastor, moved by love, shared her story wide,
A call to hearts of many, letting her spirit guide.
A wealthy man, touched by grace, offered land to sow,
For fifty-seven cents, a new hope began to grow.
Donations poured like rain, from places far and near,
A testament to love, and to a girl so dear.
From her small gift, a legacy was born,
A church, a university, a hospital, dawned.
Temple Baptist Church, with seats for thousands more,
Temple University, with knowledge at its core.
The Good Samaritan Hospital, a beacon of healing light,
And a Sunday School, where no child is out of sight.
Her portrait hangs, a reminder of what faith can do,
Beside Dr. Russell H. Conwell, whose vision saw it through.
Fifty-seven cents, not just a meager sum,
But a seed of faith, from which miracles come.
In Philadelphia, remember this tale so bright,
Of a little girl’s love, shining ever so light.
What God can do with fifty-seven cents, you see,
Is a testament to faith, love, and humility.
March 18, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In a corner of the world, under a window so bright,
Amanda R. Waldrop shares a tale of delight.
Mark, with a thought so tender and able,
Gifted a squirrel picnic table.
Perched outside the window of her home office view,
A scene unfolds, fresh as morning dew.
Where nature's little jesters, in their playful spree,
Feast upon their table, in pure glee.
Molly, the kitty, with eyes wide and keen,
Watches the squirrels, in a world serene.
Together they sit, day by day,
In silent camaraderie, in their own special way.
Amanda, with Molly, finds joy so profound,
In the simple pleasures that abound.
A squirrel picnic table, a window, a sight,
Turns ordinary moments into pure delight.
So here's to the small things that make life sweet,
To moments of peace, our hearts' retreat.
For in the story of Amanda, Mark, and Molly's grace,
Lies a reminder of the beauty in our space.
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop “Grandpa”
Little feet depend on you and me
To direct their path to being happy
Little feet are so tender and bare
Caress them to show we care
Little feet will follow behind our steps
Growing each day in love that helps
Little feet will be grown someday
Other little feet will follow and play
March 17, 2024
MarkWaldrop
In a realm where the skies stretch endless and blue,
Beyond the veil, where each dawn feels brand new,
There's a place, serene, where love's forever true,
A heavenly home where our pets wait, in view.
Gentle meadows under soft, eternal light,
Where the air hums with joy, day and night,
Here, every bond remains unbroken, tight,
In this paradise, every soul takes flight.
No farewell here, just a sweet, serene pause,
Where time's embrace gently softens its jaws,
Every creature basks in love's warm applause,
Bound by a promise, without any clause.
Through the fields, they come running to greet,
With wagging tails and purrs, oh so sweet,
In their eyes, the love we've always known,
They wait for us, in this heavenly home.
So fear not the journey, or the passage of time,
For in this divine haven, everything's sublime,
Our pets, our friends, in their prime,
Whisper, "It's easy to come home, where love's the rhyme."
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In the quiet twilight's gentle dome,
Where the whispers of the evening roam,
There's a solace in the breeze that's blown,
Knowing you will be there, makes it easy to go home.
Through the miles that stretch and vast skies dome,
Past the fields where wildflowers have grown,
There's a path that's lit by the love shown,
Knowing you will be there, makes it easy to go home.
As the stars above start to brightly shone,
And the moon in its full glory is thrown,
My heart beats a rhythm, soft-tone,
Knowing you will be there, makes it easy to go home.
No matter how far or wide I've flown,
To lands unknown, on journeys of my own,
There's a beacon, constantly, brightly sown,
Knowing you will be there, makes it easy to go home.
For home is not just a place of stone,
But where love and warmth are forever known,
A haven where seeds of trust are grown,
Knowing you will be there, makes it easy to go home.
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
St. Patrick’s Day, a sea of green,
A lively spirit, rarely seen.
It’s more than parades on city streets,
More than the rhythm of lively beats.
It’s the warmth of a community’s embrace,
A day where everyone finds their place.
It’s laughter and stories, old and new,
Under skies that seem a brighter blue.
It’s in the shamrock, in the ale,
In every tale of hill and dale.
A reminder of Ireland’s enduring call,
A celebration of spring, loved by all.
To me, it's memories, vivid and bright,
Of friendships forged in soft moonlight.
It’s a promise of renewal, of beginning anew,
A day when the world feels small and true.
So here’s to St. Patrick, to the joy he brings,
To the songs in our hearts that forever sing.
For on this day, no matter where we roam,
We remember the feeling of coming home.
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
n the shadowed lands of ancient Egypt's night,
A time of dread unfurled in eerie light.
A Hebrew boy, in his father's care,
Faced a fearful test of despair.
The angel of death, its shadow wide and low,
Made it hard for sleep's embrace to know.
Yet, in his mind, a lamb did leap,
Its sacrifice, a memory he'd keep.
"Why must the lamb, so gentle and fair,
Leave its life, its blood on our door to bear?"
Through storm and wind, it promised to stay,
But in his heart, he feared it might stray.
To his father, he cried with trembling fear,
"Please, check the blood, make sure it's still near."
His father replied, with comforting tone,
"The blood will protect us, it's power shown.
It won't wash away, nor fade in the storm,
For it's applied with love, its presence warm.
Rest now, my son, in peace and care,
For the blood on the door will always be there."
And so it was, through history's fold,
This story of deliverance, bravely told.
When I see the blood, I'll pass over you,
A promise of salvation, forever true.
In the lamb's sacrifice, a symbol clear,
Of future hope and love so dear.
The blood that stands the raging storm,
A testament of love, forevermore.
So when the night seems dark and fear near,
Remember the blood, and hold it dear.
For it speaks of safety, love, and care,
A reminder that, in our darkest despair,
There's a promise of deliverance, bright and fair,
For the blood is still there, always to declare:
"I will pass over you, when the blood I see,
A symbol of hope, for eternity."
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldro
In a world where irony takes a stand,
A bald-headed man, with a comb in hand,
Stands bemused, amidst life's jest,
Holding a gift that's none but a test.
What use has he for teeth so fine,
When atop his head, no locks entwine?
Yet, in this gift, a lesson's hidden,
In life's odd gifts, wisdom is bidden.
Experience, a teacher both cruel and kind,
Leaves its marks on both heart and mind,
For what's a comb to barren crown,
But a reminder of times once flown?
Yet, let not this symbol despair invite,
For every dusk is followed by light,
In every loss, there's something gained,
In every drought, hope's rain is feigned.
So holds he the comb, not with grief, but grace,
Seeing beyond the irony, a deeper place,
Where every experience, be it odd or grand,
Shapes the soul, like grains of sand.
Thus, with a smile, he accepts life's comb,
A token of times both lost and won,
For in every experience, no matter how odd,
Lies a lesson from the hands of God.
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
There is Divine Hope in the distant air
We share this Hope because we care
Hope brings light into day
Hope is Love along the way
God whispers Hope in difficult times
Hope delivers us from many crimes
Hope brings us out of despair
Because the Great I Am cares
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In the tapestry of time, woven thread by thread,
There’s a truth that dances, softly said:
Jesus, in His wisdom, in His grace sublime,
Moves with a rhythm, always on time.
Not a moment early, nor a second late,
His timing perfect, through every twist of fate.
In our impatience, we may often find,
Doubts and worries troubling our mind.
Yet, in every sunrise, in every setting sun,
His promises unfold, one by one.
For in the silence, in the waiting, we see
The beauty of His timing, precise and free.
When the storms rage fierce and the night seems long,
When our hearts grow weary, our faith not strong,
He whispers gently, amidst our fear and strife,
"I am with you always, in every part of life."
Just at the right moment, He steps in,
Turning our losses into wins.
With miracles fashioned from His love divine,
Jesus shows us, He’s always on time.
So trust in His timing, let go of your fears,
For His plan is unfolding, year by year.
In every season, in every rhyme,
Remember, our Savior is always on time.
March 17, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
