Thank you, God, for this day. Please bless it to Your name, I pray. Please bless my mind and bless my eyes That I may learn and become wise. Please bless my heart, that I obey, So I can learn a lot today.
There’s a fire, fire fire, There’s a fire in my heart today. It’s gonna burn, burn, burn, It’s gonna burn all the trash away. They’ll be a pile, pile, pile, A big old pile I’m pulling out. You’ll see it burn, burn, burn, See it burning all about.
Thank you so much for following along with me and subscribing. You have been a big part of this journey since I restarted my blog this year. I am happy to announce my first book, Learning to Love: a Collection of Poetry and 40 Daily Devotions...
'No man is an iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne… Continue reading No Man Is an Island by John Donne
Jesus died not for angels Nor zebras nor the crane. He died not for marsupials Nor tigers just the same. He wasn’t born a monkey Or any other beast, Though He’s called the Lion of Judah The Lamb of God, our peace. He was born a man, a gift to men, Offered to none before. What an honor life becomes To know and love Him more.
A house divided cannot stand. It’s like a castle in the sand. It’s like a palace on the shore With a storm coming to its door. A house divided cannot live. It won’t repent and won’t forgive. It sharpens swords that it has made Against itself, which blunts its blade.
Come and sing God a new song. Come worship! Come join the throng. Let’s dance like David in the street And touch the lives of all we meet. Come, let us climb the mountain peak To shout His name. Come mild and meek!
This is a poem about what death is to believers by a friend and mentor who has preceded me in glory. May God bless what she did with her life and what she leaves behind.
A poem titled "Remembrance" by my great grandmother Florette Kilgore Haguewood, a voice from the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries, a mysterious echo from the past of sadness and hope in the midst of sorrow.
This is a poem and a short biography of my great-great grandfather Joseph Addision Scarboro, American Baptist preacher and missionary during the second half of the 19th century and first half of the 20th century.