Romans 1:20 (NOG version) tells us something about the relationship between God, His creation and our consciences--something each person suspects:
From the creation of the world, God’s invisible qualities, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly observed in what he made.
I wholeheartedly rejoice in what the Scriptures say here, because I experience this confirmation time and time again, as I travel through Western North Carolina, USA. What a beautiful area; it full
I found the needle
and it pricked my conscience.
Stumbling out of the hay-hill,
there was straw in my pockets.
Straw in my hair,
dust in my eyes and ears.
Sun-baked by exposure to this world's air,
less comfortable with praise than jeers.
Little did I know
how life-changing this find would be!
Knowing Jesus has been like a city boy
smeared in mud while farming.
I’m not like a boy,
but I am mo
I’m starting to talk to You, God, more than I used to.
I want to talk, till I forget to “pray”.[a]
I speak, think and act to form the idea-words,
You have so many more ways to convey.
Your presence, Word, conviction, circumstances,
people of God and those not in the Way,
the leaf that falls and boulders that come crashing ,
poetry and music: all these say,
“Be praised for your greatness in the morning,
“through the moments
Lord, may this early mind
awake to your eternal heart,
gather in—as I set the table,
things I just read from your Word.
The just-loosened jar tops, container
top snaps, coffee pot washing, a
first breath near the window latch:
first works while Faith talks again.
I re-open the garage door and leave
to go into a world of key turns,
passwords prompts, desk keys
and cabinet locks amidst other souls
give us a symphony of zeal,
protected in open, green fields.
Should I question if You've got my back?
You have gifted me to react
to however You will,
in my senses.
You have branded
everything set before us,
helped us to gawk
at the Might of the Lord,
and to gaze upon trees
running like needles
up Appalachian slopes.
Jesus, to know that Y
The road through Samaria,
it must be my phone line.
Daily, I get people who feel
cast off, ignored, misinformed,
Along I come.
I have healing oil and wine
in my journey pack,
but they do not see these.
So, they complain, lash out,
make snide remarks about the
"goodness of man" and expect
no more from me.
What? Shall I, in turn,
spew an insult at a fellow traveler?
are more to the Spirit than mere compliments,
we are telling a Holy God
we have confidence
in His everlasting Love
and . . . want to . . . tell . . . Him . . . that . . . we
that with this life, breath and zeal we will carry Him,
we, singing to Rock of Ages,
will not relent,
and . . . beyond this meeting . . . we . . . will . . . live . . . to
in these sentimen
A loved one once told me before he died,
“I . . . can’t give . . .anything . . .more!”
So it happened, and those who were left behind,
asked, “Why ?”, our spirits perplexed and sore.
Let those who suffer loss answer the question,
“What are we still doing here?”
It’s to give grace once more to clay’s imperfection,
there’s still room if we’re willing to suffer.
Iron sharpens iron and clay sticks to clay,
as the wheel of God’s
Look how the wild flowers grow! They don’t work hard to make their clothes. But I tell you that Solomon with all his wealthwasn’t as well clothed as one of these flowers (Luke 12:27 CEV)
Is it any wonder
that the flower
made God ponder,
that the Son would say Another
has b’yond petals, all power and thunder
(such the glory of the Father!),
Moves to his other side,
but this dream will not end.
Lies upon silk,
still haunts the foul darkness.
Moods mean nothing,
though possessing his own,
for deep down, another's
possessed by his moan.
"cast me out to myself,
"for my spirit is in me,
"where You long to dwell!
"Three times I am captive--to sin, self
"Open our mouths
"to give praise
Based on the account of the two thieves
who were crucified alongside Messiah Jesus,
Luke 23:32-43 (NIV):
Luke 23:32-43 NIV - Two other men, both criminals, were - Bible Gateway
Two thieves around that Cross,
One of them
Had been to the Jordan
and . . . through pain
He could hear the Immerser shout,
“Show fruit that you have repented,
“Come now, time is suspended.
“Have all . . . your sins washed away”
Have you ever thrown a call over a cliff
and wondered at how it didn’t fall,
just spurred on out in all directions
and resounded in your mind, mind, mind?
By and by, you’d throw another
over the airy wall.
I have seen, seen, seen a connection
between the call and the earth below.
Sometimes, God allows tenuous situations
to tell me not to stand on monuments
when I'm lost in reminiscence.
He wants me to call, c
There isn’t much to say
that couldn’t be said in a country mile,
but with You, I don’t hesitate
to sing the obvious,
‘cause we are messengers
of the never-ending, ever-flowing,
work of God,
…so I’m singing…
All I can sing in a country mile
I’ll take today…on my journey’s smile,
at each mile marker, on any kind of day,
there’s a new song:
You are every verse,
I sit at the table,
with my early cup of tea,
send a psalm into
God's resume of pleasure.
I needn't pretend
He’s going to act for me;
He already has…with words
and impressions and deeds.
It would be correct
to hint there isn't enough
of light outside for me to readily see
where, just eventually,
I should plant my steps,
much less go,
whenever I hitch up my motives
and leave for
This is the first in a short series of "Riverboat Praises".
I imagine seeing things through the eyes of a deckhand
on a Mississippi steamboat in the 1800's. . .(the style here was dictated by a folk tune that developed before the lyrics came. . . mental banjo and all)
Tell you how t'cross this river!
Tell you how to cross...the Jordan!
Tell you how to cross that Jordan River:
Old man river, he ain't nothin',
That was Judas alright.
We other apostles didn’t mind.
Why, wasn’t a coin proud
with Caesar on it?
We naturally thought a money man
So much so we asked Matthew
to watch him.
his pride seemed so different.
His zeal pursed his lips,
narrowed his eyes,
drew in his eyebrows,
tightening the purse strings.
We half admired him,
(obviously, I reference a time well into the past.
After all, yesterday was a very filling Thanksgiving
Spirit of Christ
make me lithe at breakfast
as I sheepishly gaze
beyond window panes, for mercy.
Your glint of affirmation makes me chuckle,
between coffee and my praise,
from washing rack to wonderful gain.
I reach the cupboard
On thinking about Bonhoeffer's life, about the
underground Finkenwalde seminary that
he directed before the Nazi regime shut it
down . . . if I had been one of his students.
I walk the halls of Finkenwalde,
Why do I not like the prison from which
prayer longs to break?
Herr Deitrich was right. God’s intervention
is not mechanical;
this is not mere religion.
My prayer must come of age,
(after reading 1 Chronicles 16 -
Cackle you hens this early morning.
Wag the tail of dawn, you pets.
Let jetliners trace their contrails,
in contrast to God’s clouds, fun jest.
Get up, sun, and do the bidding
of the One who shines on hearts.
Although a forecast may say, “Gloomy”,
nearby planets warm with Earth.
Let the aromas of Thanksgiving
What shall I call you,
you shell for my mind?
Here’s a safe monicker:
“Mule,” to be kind.
Our fraternal fibre
obliges my sighing,
we cannot part
unless I am dying.
So with a wink and a nod,
I grant, Brother Mule
you to go at your pace,
whilst I make the rules.
I wish that you’d prance
as fast as my mind,
but like some plodding thorn
you’re a pale pantomime.
Oh, sure the