You can’t control the talents He gives you, no doubt about that.
But you
can control the effort you put forth with those talents.”
- Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher Clayton Kershaw
“I didn’t do anything to deserve this gift,” Kershaw recently told FCA Magazine.
“God gave me an ability to throw a baseball.
He chose me for a reason,
and I want to honor Him with that.
You can’t control the talents He
gives you, no doubt about that.
But you can control the effort you put
forth with those talents.”
'hopefully', (I often remind myself)
'our 'say' is more than word-play!'
What are we doing with what God gave us?
A month ago at a family celebration for our parent's 55th wedding anniversay
my niece Keturah sang the above song in a beautiful, pure
God's gift-to-her voice!
No matter what let's honor God with the gifts He gave us!
Let's not be strangled by the dangling noose of comparison!
There is only one you or me!
Let's be the best version we can be.
'hopefully', (I often remind myself)
'our 'say' is more than word-play!'
What are we doing with what God gave us?
A month ago at a family celebration for our parent's 55th wedding anniversay
my niece Keturah sang the above song in a beautiful, pure
God's gift-to-her voice!
No matter what let's honor God with the gifts He gave us!
Let's not be strangled by the dangling noose of comparison!
There is only one you or me!
Let's be the best version we can be.
The crepuscule of onyx tulle pulls back its ether door
And rains across our gain and loss the albatross of More
As have-and-hold of gray and gold unfolds what none can
see
The fabric of its live-laugh-love, glove of mortality
Time’s joy-and-sorrow, beg-and-borrow-morrow-turned-today
Entrusts to us the Must that teaches dust-to-dust to pray
Where full extent of man’s lament, hard bent with Mercy’s
‘nope’
Cannot out-blot, no
matter what, the God of Living Hope
The knife of life carves from silk scarves of morn, rock-solid
cast
No one can woo a re-do from the avenue of Past
Where streams of dreams and schemes that overflow thought’s
slipp’ry banks
Are not worth much until touch yields its clutch to humble thanks
Today is more than word-play; ‘say’ is nothing without ‘do’
The shuttle of rebuttal does not cuddle/coddle me or you
The matrix of kicks, sticks and stones and pricks of
thorn-nicked woes
Lest we forget, is ever yet, the stem that holds the rose
© Janet Martin
And whatever you do, whether in word or deed,
do it all in the name of
the Lord Jesus,
giving thanks to God the Father through him.
Col.3:17
No comments:
Post a Comment
I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!