Where Hope Is...Not

Happy Leap-day!
Especially to those celebrating their birthdays today!

 "Come now, let us settle the matter," says the LORD.

 "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; 

though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.

Isa.1:18

Pink flares and fades beyond plush grades of freshly fallen snow

Soon the whole sky is like a sigh of pastel overflow

The heath above earth’s pristine glove rouses a tender rhyme

Before the air becomes the stair the sun begins to climb

Where hope is not some routine jot tendered to to-do's chase

But God's abiding rod and staff; the autograph of grace

See how dawn’s glow ignites the snow; gold gilds white through and through

As mercy wields, o'er hills and fields, morn's olden orb anew

The showcase of faith, hope and love beams with Time’s practiced grin

The crepuscule of neb’lous wool withdrawn; Dawn wins again

Where hope is not Positive Thought derived by mortal breath

Hope is redemption; the exemption from eternal death

Then with the voice of earth rejoice and praise mankind’s Best Friend

No matter what, the love of God is faithful without end

The beauty we behold unfolds a glimpse of what hope grants

If we believe and then receive Mercy’s inheritance

Where hope is not circumstance-wrought, but purchased at great cost

For God so loved the world He gave His Son to save the lost

Pink flares and fades; care's escapades fuel what prayers become

For none of us can know the Thus ensconced in moment-sum

But we are clean as the pure sheen of freshly fallen snow

If we confess our sinfulness (for God’s word tells us so)

Where hope is not karma’s mascot that lucky stars achieve

Hope is the love that secures us the moment we believe

© Janet Martin

The Onions Are Sprouting!

The onions are sprouting

Thus hope usurps doubting

Where we feared perhaps spring would lose her fair way

Where landscapes are pillowed

With white-capes soft billowed

Like waves made of marshmallow crème and star-fray

High-ho merry maiden

With pots and pans laden

With fresh-chopped ingredients ready for soup

Soon fresh garden salad

Will tickle the palate

Soon all this white mayhem will melt underfoot

Then sing without sorrow

In some soon tomorrow

The field’s frozen furrow will turn like a page

The seed in the packet

Will spill from its jacket

The bloom in the bud will break free of its cage

The onions are sprouting

This humble gourd shouting

From dark cellar corners of bright sunny hours

Then grin at this hinter

Teasing Old Man Winter

With tender green tendrils; the prelude to flowers

© Janet Martin

Thursday-what's-for-Supper was loosely based on this recipe...

(I added black beans, fresh veggies, soy sauce and omitted one can of soup) 

 Last night's supper left-overs are perfect for today's savoury snow-day soup!

While We Feel Oh, So Little (in the Grand Scheme of Today)

How and what ,wherever-in-the-world-you-are, are you doing today? 

Snow-lovers are getting their cups of happiness filled to overflowing the past few days!

Due to all this 'happiness' no kiddos today...

 My head wanted a poem about snow but

 another Whisper usurped...

 Are we in God's Word?

If not, how much  ALL we miss!

 But Christ is faithful as the Son over God’s house. 

And we are His house, if we hold firmly to our confidence 

 and the hope of which we boast.

Therefore, as the Holy Spirit says: 

“Today, if you hear His voice, do not harden your hearts..."

Heb.3:6-8

While we feel oh, so little in the Grand Scheme of Today

Our Father up in Heaven hears each earnest prayer we pray

Then, as we entrust heart’s desires to Hope’s Advocate

What seemed so small becomes a Powerhouse of humble faith

Love’s divine intervention we oft do not recognize

As He draws strayed attention to the grave-ness of The Prize

Our Father up in Heaven, pray we do not disregard

Your Voice until our hearts become indifferent and hard

The death of a believer sometimes precedes the cold grave

When the Deceiver succeeds in making someone sight’s slave

But sight is the opponent to the fight that faith empowers

Our Father up in Heaven’s ways do not cater to ours

The God of love bids us believe; the devil bids us doubt

The God of love bids us receive what none dare die without

How pitiful is the perception of the naked eye

I AM can never be contained in cups thought could descry

The ellipses that gather day by day then year by year

Final exhale eclipses then the Unseen will appear

Then all that fueled argument and hope will be made plain

In the Beginning IS the Word that will forever reign

© Janet Martin 

 Acts 28:23-27

  They arranged to meet Paul on a certain day, 

and came in even larger numbers to the place where he was staying. 

He witnessed to them from morning till evening, explaining about the kingdom of God, 

and from the Law of Moses and from the Prophets he tried to persuade them about Jesus.  

 Some were convinced by what he said, but others would not believe.  

 They disagreed among themselves and began to leave after Paul had made this final statement:

 “The Holy Spirit spoke the truth to your ancestors when he said through Isaiah the prophet:

 “‘Go to this people and say,
“You will be ever hearing but never understanding;
    you will be ever seeing but never perceiving.” 

 For this people’s heart has become calloused;
    they hardly hear with their ears,
    and they have closed their eyes.
Otherwise they might see with their eyes,
    hear with their ears,
    understand with their hearts
and turn, and I would heal them.’^[a]

A Hellish and Heavenly Reality...

 Inspired in part by Ann Voskamp's gripping post yesterday...

  

There is a battle that exists twixt apathy and righteousness

It is not fought with swords or fists but with response to holiness

To disregard God may appear of little consequence, at first

How subtle is the arsenal of disobedience, death-cursed

No red flags wave, no caution lights warn us of second thoughts to give

Only the Word of God abides to teach us how we ought to live

Oh, ye of woven dust to dust, dost thou not feel God’s fingerprint

Oh we, students of lust or trust, do we not see time’s meager stint

If God would part the veil to grant a breath-breadth-glimpse above, beneath

How we would all grow deathly pale to witness weeping;gnashing teeth

How we would all then seek the Lord today, while He may yet be found

One glimpse of heaven’s rich reward would confirm This is holy ground

…and we would love the Lord our God with all our heart,soul, strength and mind

And we would not despise the rod but beg to be tried and refined

To keep us from being deceived by a buffet of blinded sight

Rather, keened to eternity that lurks like a thief in the night

And not be seduced by displays of poisoned peaches, honey-dipped

But prepare for that Certain Day when body from the Soul is stripped

How thin the veil of skin that separates man from his Maker, God

How unalterable The Choice when dust and ash succumbs to sod

Wake up; wake up, all ye who slumber while the Groom is drawing nigh

Rise, fill your lamps and trim your wicks and be ready to hear His cry

When in the twinkling of an eye we will be changed forevermore

Then pray we ponder somberly the soul-goal we are headed for

© Janet Martin

How Commonly The Hour Swells...

How easily the mind wanders and wishes 

while hands tackle daily demands...like dishes

Sometimes, hurriedly I shake off suds and type like mad 

before Think turns into Thought I Had😔

How commonly the hour swells with hello’s impending farewells

How seamlessly the moments meld to a world forever withheld

How suddenly this breath-by-breath can be snuffed like a flame, by death

How tenderly laughter adheres its happiness to sorrow’s tears

How surely we begin to sense the advent of Something Immense

How soberly we ought to be preparing for eternity

How certainly we move toward the veil between man and His Lord

How abruptly these days of grace can disappear without a trace

How verily the hours flow to farewell’s impending hello

© Janet Martin

How habitually we pour tea

Perched on the brink of eternity...

How much more somberly as we age
Do we perceive time's fluttering page...

Unchanging - The Passing and the Abiding - Ravi Zacharias