In the garden of our efforts, where our toilsome seeds are sown,
Lies the truth, profound and ageless, in the gentle winds, it's blown:
"The more we do for ourselves, in our striving, in our quest,
The more God can, in His wisdom, guide us, nurture, and invest.
For each step we take in earnest, on this earthly, winding road,
Lays a path for grace to follow, lightens every heavy load.
In the sweat of our endeavor, in the work of our own hands,
Lies the key to greater wonders, far beyond what we had planned.
It's not in idle waiting or in silent, passive dreams,
But in active, fervent doing, where divine intervention gleams.
Like a river meets the ocean, like the seed that meets the soil,
Our actions meet with heaven’s grace, in a sacred, timeless coil.
So let us toil with joy and vigor, in the sunlight, in the rain,
For our efforts carve the channels, through which blessings flow, unfeigned.
God’s work begins where ours ends, in a beautiful, divine dance,
Where every effort we put forth gives His miracles a chance.
In the fabric of creation, every thread we weave with care
Joins the tapestry eternal, vibrant, wondrous, and rare.
So, lift your heart and set your hands to the plow of your own fate,
For the more we do for ourselves, the more God’s blessings await."
March 21, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
Isn't it funny how fast time slips away
Tomorrow never comes no matter what I say
I can look back on yesterday I can see things today
The future hides behind a veil of mystery I must say
To change the past I have to change today
To change the future I must prepare and pray
March 20, 2024
MarkWaldrop
The perfect place for you may be different than for me
We're both looking for tranquil places for our souls to see
A place of quiet and rest
A place to build our nest
A getaway from the hustle and bustle of life
A place of serene calmness with no strif
Learning to calm my soul brings peace to my mind
Making the perfect place much easier to find
March 20, 2024
MarkWaldrop
I do what I have to do to continue Marching on
One foot in front of the other, moving right along
Sometimes, being easy when things are going my way
Other times, most difficult with no light, I begin to sway
There is a common denominator that smoothes my path
Keeping my eyes on God’s Son Jesus brings less wrath
March 20, 2024
MarkWaldrop
In Cumberland's embrace, I journeyed forth today,
Through mountains wrapped in winter's quiet display.
Not cold as youth recalls, but chill seeps deep within,
At seventy-one, the frost feels like kin.
These mountains stand, in winter's grasp, serene,
Stark sentinels of beauty, bare and keen.
Awaiting spring's warm blaze, they proudly rise,
Toward the thin light that adorns the wintry skies.
We dread yet long for winter's fierce caress,
Snow, sleet, and biting cold, in harsh excess.
For summer's heat, we yearn, then seek retreat,
In cool, air-conditioned spaces, a respite sweet.
In days of old, the elements, a simpler foe,
With layers worn, through seasons, high and low.
My grandmother, in her feed sack garb, would stand,
Unfazed by cold or heat, in this land.
Winter recalls a time of need and grit,
Searching for coal, in cold, we'd never quit.
Dressed in borrowed warmth, memories unfurl,
Of hardship's face, in a bygone world.
Food grew scarce as winter waned, longing for spring's hand,
Pinto beans aplenty, yet the land seemed bland.
Cornbread and molasses, chicory coffee's brew,
Simple meals, a testament to the resilience we knew.
Reflecting on poverty's changing face,
In Cumberland's embrace, we found our grace.
Through seasons of want and plenty, our spirits soar,
For in each hardship, love was our core.
March 20, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In the hush of mountain air, where time moves slow,
Where funerals once danced to a different song,
A tapestry of life, in shadows cast long,
Echoes of a past, where memories grow.
When I was young, the mountains held a tale,
Of neighbors' hands cleaning, hearts so grand,
Food and warmth shared, a close-knit band,
A vigil through the night, a community's veil.
Around a barrel fire, men would stand and share,
Moonshine whispers, and tales of days gone by,
While inside, women's laughter would fly,
On wings of recipes, gossip, and care.
This gathering of souls, in honor of the dead,
A time of communion, of love spread wide,
From births to weddings, life's every stride,
A collective breath, where communal ties are fed.
But there was a time, in fifty-one or two,
A funeral like none other, a silence profound,
A young man lost, a mystery bound,
In the heart of the mountains, where secrets brew.
No recipes shared, no laughter in the air,
Just a quiet mourning, a family alone,
A wife bruised, a baby's soft moan,
A community's effort to show they care.
In the years that passed, the truth unfurled,
A tale of violence, a life taken too soon,
In the depths of the mountains, under the same moon,
A story of justice, in a close-knit world.
Yet, the spirit of the mountains, strong and kind,
Remains unbroken, a testament to those days,
When community was family, in all its ways,
A reminder of the ties that bind.
So here's to the mountains, and the tales they tell,
Of life and death, of love's enduring spell,
In the heart of the hills, where secrets dwell,
A legacy of community, forever to dwell.
March 19, 2023
Created by
Mark Waldrop
In the gentle thaw of spring's embrace, Where new beginnings softly trace, The outline of the world's serene face, Dear Lord, maybe it's time.
Wes Maybe it's time to slow, to find The simpler joys we've left behind. Cook a meal, let flavors unwind, In the warmth of a kitchen, secrets bind.
Let's play games with the kids, let laughter ring, In each echo, life's joy we bring. Sit for a spell, feel the calm a cat can sling, And sup on a cup of coffee, let your heart sing.
Maybe it's time to kneel, to pray, To wonder, to dream, to stray From paths worn deep, to a brighter day, For we're never too old to dream, come what may.
It's time to think, to truly see, The fleeting moments that used to be. The elders' wisdom, a towering tree, Maybe it's time we gentle, in humility.
Acknowledge we are a Nation under God, In His grace, we are flawed yet awed. It's time to ponder the path we trod, The things we love, the facade we applaud.
As spring unfurls its vibrant hue, Let's rethink the attention we accrue To things unimportant, untrue, Dear Lord, maybe it's time for a view anew.
For it's the first day of spring, a season to cherish, A time for love to grow, not perish. In this rebirth, let's vow to nourish The life, the love we dearly wish to flourish.
In the quiet hush of dawn's soft light,
Where memories linger from night to night,
I penned a tribute, heartfelt and right,
For a simple man, my guiding light.
He wore the colors of Alaskan skies,
In favorite shirt and pants, his humble guise.
A city boy, with twinkling eyes,
Adopted country's simplicity, wise.
His spirit, a testament to living plain,
A life so full, yet remarkably sane.
The essence of simplicity, his gain,
In every act, love was the main.
"He was a simple man," I proudly said,
A soul of depth, where kindness spread.
He sought not praise, his heart instead,
Was a beacon of love, where all were led.
He worshipped God with love so pure,
No need for merits, his faith secure.
A simple love, so deep, so sure,
A testament to a heart so pure.
As I reflect upon my own life's span,
I wish no more than to follow this plan.
To be remembered as simple, to stand
As one who loved, who took God's hand.
To live a life from the heart, to use
Talents for good, to kindly infuse
The world with simplicity, to choose
A path of humility, no grandeur to muse.
Let it be said, when my time is near,
"She was a simple person," let it ring clear.
A life of love, of God so dear,
A simple person, without frontier.
March 19, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
In the gentle thaw of spring's embrace,
Where new beginnings softly trace,
The outline of the world's serene face,
Dear Lord, maybe it's time.
Maybe it's time to slow, to find
The simpler joys we've left behind.
Cook a meal, let flavors unwind,
In the warmth of a kitchen, secrets bind.
Let's play games with the kids, let laughter ring,
In each echo, life's joy we bring.
Sit for a spell, feel the calm a cat can sling,
And sup on a cup of coffee, let your heart sing.
Maybe it's time to kneel, to pray,
To wonder, to dream, to stray
From paths worn deep, to a brighter day,
For we're never too old to dream, come what may.
It's time to think, to truly see,
The fleeting moments that used to be.
The elders' wisdom, a towering tree,
Maybe it's time we gentle, in humility.
Acknowledge we are a Nation under God,
In His grace, we are flawed yet awed.
It's time to ponder the path we trod,
The things we love, the facade we applaud.
As spring unfurls its vibrant hue,
Let's rethink the attention we accrue
To things unimportant, untrue,
Dear Lord, maybe it's time for a view anew.
For it's the first day of spring, a season to cherish,
A time for love to grow, not perish.
In this rebirth, let's vow to nourish
The life, the love we dearly wish to flourish.
March 19, 2024
Created by
MarkWaldrop
I have butterflies when I began to speak
I make them Holy from the spirit I seek
The butterflies slow their wings to a rhythm of love
Sent from My Heavenly Father from Heaven above
Calmness comes from within not from without in a world of sin
Thank you for sending Your Son Jesus to come live within
March 19, 2024
Mark Waldrop
