With gratitude for work I love

This Labor Day
I’m grateful
I get paid
for what I do.
And what I do
means doing
what I love.
When what needs done
aligns itself
with what
you long to do,
what some call work
to you is hand-in-glove.

It is a gift
if what you do
for income
brings you joy.
It’s just a job
if you despise
your work.
If that’s the case
I hope you have
a hobby
(maybe two)
since without joy
you’ll likely go berserk.

Celebrating the land of Israel

To the City of David.
To the City of Peace.
To a tiny nation of cities and towns
where our mighty God revealed Himself
in unique and awesome ways.

To a holy land
in whose soil grow the roots
of our timeless faith.

To the land
of milk and honey,
a land promised to Abraham,
glimpsed by Moses,
conquered by Joshua,
irrigated by the blood of disobedience,
vacated through exile,
yet populated again
by the providence of God
who left His footprints
in this sacred sand
and fingerprints of grace
on the lives of those He touched.

To the land
that has touched our lives
through what our eyes have seen,
what our ears have heard
and what our hearts have embraced.

Here’s to a land
laced with the continuous thread
of redemption.
A land where it all began
and where it all will end.

What has become of our world?

Bulletproof backpacks?
On back-to-school lists?
My God, what’s become of our world?
Our young pint-size scholars
we send off to class
must be mindful of evil unfurled.

Their innocence stolen.
Their Paradise lost.
Their freedom from fear is long gone.
The risk of a shooter
requires they drill
to rehearse what to do if there’s one.

Enough of this madness!
Can’t something be done?
Our children (at risk) are at stake.
It’s time we remembered
what God’s Word declares.
Our need for revival is great!

The madness must stop

Sparks fly heavenward.
Innocent lives once again
have been snuffed out by hate.
We grieve for those now gone.
We pray for parents and children and siblings.
We petition God’s comfort.
We confess our outrage and fear.
We protest the reputation
by which our bloody nation is becoming known.
We mourn together.
Lord, have mercy!

A prayer when your mother dies

Father, my mother is gone
and I’m a child again.
I’m sad (and for good reason).

She gave me birth, she kindled faith.
She gave me roots and wings.
This precious saint who walked with You
first taught me how to sing.
She calmed my fears, affirmed my plans
and filled my heart with hope.
She prayed with me when all seemed lost
and I just couldn’t cope.

They say you never can predict
how much you’ll miss your mom
until you start to phone her
and then realize she’s gone. (They’re right!)
This one who flamed with love for You
(the light of my life) has passed.
Her present is my future.
She’s at rest, with You, at last.