A Prayer...

  

In this time of crisis

And uncertainty

Lead us to the well of

Your sufficiency

From the Living Water

Of Your Living Word

May the hope You author

Keep faith undeterred

Amen

© Janet Martin

In Spite of All This...

Right now the future looks foreboding 

in spite of all that is being done to keep things rolling!

 I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. 

In the world you will have tribulation.

 But take heart; I have overcome the world.”

John 16:33

But in spite of it…

Mercy still lights the wick

Hung high above earth’s globe

Though fear cuts to the quick

Faith grasps the Healer’s robe

Though hurt and heartache sear

Hope hoists its hallowed flare

The Comforter is here

He speaks to us in prayer

Where holy fear seems lost

Or sadly comatose

Love does not count the cost

But holds His darlings close

Amidst the shattered dreams

And in the darkest hour

Through broken fissures streams

His glory and His power

His strength sustains the loss

Not to shoulder despair

And failure’s albatross

But full surrender’s dare

Where human nature doubts

Humility beholds

The little seed that spouts

With what God’s grace unfolds

Awake, awake, He cries

Where dead conscience applauds

Deceit, corruption, lies

And worships other gods

As His heart bleeds and breaks

As His tears are unfurled

He will let what it takes

To wake a slumbering world

In spite of hate and scorn

His promises still stand

His mercy lights the morn

His rains water the land

His goodness still prevails

Salvation is still free

Through That which never fails

His love for you and me

© Janet Martin

time to re-share a favorite hymn 

in loving memory of Kenny Rogers who passed away on Saturday.

Babies are born and people still die

no matter what else is happening

We mourn

We rejoice! 

these are the climaxes of love!

What We Recall...

 Isn't it funny how what we most remember (and teaches the most thankfulness)

 is often not the things that went well, but things that didn't?!

Today two of my nieces turn 16. 

Not only can they not go for G1 driver's license due to

non-essential services being shut down (due to COVID 19)

 but one of them is in quarantine after returning from half-a-vacation!

A birthday for the memory-books, for sure!

Here are a few recollections as through looking back
we look forward to days/seasons ahead!
A pictures never tells the whole story
but they capture precious moments.

What we recall

Is often not

The flying leap

But the hard fall

The fist-a-cuff

Of life and love

And then, what we learned

Through it all

What we recall

Is often not

The small talk when

Life hums along

But the laughter

After the tears

After the silence

Sweeter song

What we recall

Is often not

The days that flow

The way we planned

But rather more

The greater good

When looking back

We understand

© Janet Martin

Trustworthy and True

Most of us in this area are inconvenienced rather than suffering...
With limited supplies at the grocery stores

and with social distancing due to COVID-19

...but grand-sonny after a week at home has had ENOUGH 

of no seeing his friends at Sunday School or other 

church programs, no play-dates. 

Even the library is closed.

Twice yesterday he referred to the 'the wost day evoh!' 

Cheer up Grand-sonny!

We are all learning to appreciate more with less!

And what sometimes seems like 'the wost' is often teaching us The Best.

Big hugs and prayers to all the moms and dads

navigating these uncertain times!

Treasure the gift of extra together-time that we often wish for

in those too-busy days

(p.s. Grand-sonny's 'wost day' remark provoked after they dropped a baby-swing off
on one of his best friends porches but they couldn't stay)

He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!”

Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

Rev. 21:5

It's a new week. 

For whatever lies ahead that we know not, this we do;

Romans 8:28
And we know that God works all things together 

for the good of those who love Him, 

who are called according to His purpose.

Dusk's bare bones...

are mantled in white this morning...

To find the courage for the fight

To fit us for the charge

Bids us believe in more than sight

The battle is the Lord’s

From surrender flows strength and pow’r

Such as we never knew

He ushers to the darkest hour

Words trustworthy and true

To find comfort in suffering

We first must yield our will

Beneath the shelter of His wing

He whispers ‘peace, be still’

For there the howling enemy

Cannot invade the heart

And there faith sets the captive free

And shields us from fear’s dart

For they who kill the body, love

Cannot destroy the Soul

And only death will fully prove

The glory of the goal

Thus, we find courage for the fight

Thus, hope will not grow dim

As we believe in more than sight

As we believe in Him

As we believe in Him we seize

Words trustworthy and true

Where only His voice can appease

Fear for what man will do

© Janet Martin

As Seasons Toss Their Manes...

 This poem's rhyme-scheme was inspired by this poem

(full copy below)

the old poems are as relevant today as they were over a century ago

 

The world groans in its strife

Like Woman giving birth

The tides of time run rife

Where ways and woes of life

Claw at the face of earth

As seasons toss their manes

Gold sun and gloss of rains

Glint on the brow of Day

That cleaves with Twilight’s knife

Both black and shining hour

The green leaf and full flow’r

Falls prey to Curtain Closed

Lack and glut juxtaposed

The truth of us disclosed

By what we give and keep

Where human-nature’s bent

Time cannot circumvent

The beast beneath exposed

By trouble’s test imposed

Baring the inner deep

And proving by reply

The heart of you and I

Tossed on turbulent sweep

The rebel riles the meek

That will inherit earth

That which we seek and speak

Pelf or eternal worth

Where grave is not the berth

Of That Which transcends Time

As dust to dust returns

Beneath a wreath of ferns

Delicate filigree

And fretwork of the tree

That spreads its leafy chime

Above death’s chilling clime

And life’s Great Mystery

While bulrush turns to froth

As Winter doffs its cloth

And warm winds woo to wake

The dormant copse and brake

Where ways and means of Want

Emboldens its pursuit

Drawn to forbidden fruit

Or deepens the defense

That keens the soul’s sixth sense

And braves the tempter’s taunt

And glitter of the loot

That soon reveals the truth

How the lean of the tree

And its stability

Begins in tender youth

Winter, spring, summer, fall

Is not nature’s roulette

On earth’s little blue ball

One God is over all

Aha, lest we forget

And fall prey to the dart

That petrifies the heart

And uproots the weak tree

Not upheld by faith’s pledge

Where by the water’s edge

The roots hold firm and deep

Though tempests wail and weep

Like a wolf among sheep

Scattering the flock

Not gathered in the fold

But ignorantly bold

Prefer pride’s haughty leap

(What we sow we will reap)

Pray we take somber stock

Of Soul’s immortal law

While Time’s moments still claw

At the face of the clock

The framework of thin air

Leaves nothing to sheer chance

We have time to prepare

By what its window grants

Before a loved one plants

A posy on our grave

And breath of man returns

Beyond earth’s wreath of ferns

Delicate filigree

And fretwork of the tree

As Soul alone will brave

That last cold tidal wave

Into eternity

© Janet Martin

Listening to Hank snow this afternoon:)

 Psalm 1

 Blessed is the man

who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked,

or set foot on the path of sinners,

or sit in the seat of mockers.

2But his delight is in the Law of the LORD,

and on His law he meditates day and night.

3He is like a tree planted by streams of water,

yielding its fruit in season,

whose leaf does not wither,

and who prospers in all he does.

4Not so the wicked!

For they are like chaff driven off by the wind.

5Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,

nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.

6For the LORD guards the path of the righteous,

but the way of the wicked will perish.

SAINT JOHN

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Ages come and go,

The Centuries pass as Years;

My hair is white as the snow,

My feet are weary and slow,

The earth is wet with my tears!

The kingdoms crumble, and fall

Apart, like a ruined wall,

Or a bank that is undermined

By a river's ceaseless flow,

And leave no trace behind!

The world itself is old;

The portals of Time unfold

On hinges of iron, that grate

And groan with the rust and the weight,

Like the hinges of a gate

That hath fallen to decay;

But the evil doth not cease;

There is war instead of peace,

Instead of Love there is hate;

And still I must wander and wait,

Still I must watch and pray,

Not forgetting in whose sight,

A thousand years in their flight

Are as a single day

The life of man is a gleam

Of light, that comes and goes

Like the course of the Holy Stream,

The cityless river, that flows

From fountains no one knows,

Through the Lake of Galilee,

Through forests and level lands,

Over rocks, and shallows, and sands

Of a wilderness wild and vast,

Till it findeth its rest at last

In the desolate Dead Sea!

But alas! alas for me

Not yet this rest shall be!

What, then! doth Charity fail?

Is Faith of no avail?

Is Hope blown out like a light

By a gust of wind in the night?

The clashing of creeds, and the strife

Of the many beliefs, that in vain

Perplex man's heart and brain,

Are naught but the rustle of leaves.

When the breath of God upheaves

The boughs of the Tree of Life,

And they subside again!

And I remember still

The words, and from whom they came,

Not he that repeateth the name,

But he that doeth the will!

And Him evermore I behold

Walking in Galilee,

Through the cornfield's waving gold

In hamlet, in wood, and in wold,

By the shores of the Beautiful Sea

He toucheth the sightless eyes;

Before him the demons flee;

To the dead He sayeth: Arise!

To the living: Follow me!

And that voice still soundeth on

From the centuries that are gone,

To the centuries that shall be!

From all vain pomps and shows,

From the pride that overflows,

And the false conceits of men;

From all the narrow rules

And subtleties of Schools,

And the craft of tongue and pen,

Bewildered in its search,

Bewildered with the cry:

Lo, here! lo, there, the Church!

Poor, sad Humanity

Through all the dust and heat

Turns back with bleeding feet,

By the weary road it came,

Unto the simple thought

By the great Master taught,

And that remaineth still:

Not he that repeateth the name,

But he that doeth the will!