Wednesday, May 27, 2009

I have a song that is deep in my heart
Its melody is simple
Yet its words, deep
It’s a song to my Father, my Lord and my King
It is a song of praise
That will last all my days
For can I ever stop singing the praises of Him who I love
The song in my heart is a song for my Lord
A heart song for My God

“Let the Children Come to Me”

There are many children all over the world today, who have been beaten, battered, hurt and torn away from their families. On our own streets, in we see children begging. We see children dressed in rags sitting on street corners. We see children who should be in school, walking the streets trying to earn for their parents. We see children pushed in to immorality for the sake of parental existence and at times even their need for pleasure.

“Children are like flowers”. We have heard this phrase so many times. But have we thought of more deeply about what this really means? Each petal is a stage, is an emotion; is a basic right and a part of growing up. Each petal woven to the heart of the flower makes one of natures most beautiful creations. Rip one petal off the flower, and that beautiful creation is made incomplete. The more you remove the closer the flower gets to being nothing and wanting nothing. Abuse, pain, humiliation, constriction take away the life-essence of a child. It takes away the happiness in a child. It takes away the innocence.

Think about this; be honest. Don’t you wish you want could take those children, those abandoned and hurt, those abused and lonely in to your hands and create a better life for them? Do you pray for those little ones who cry out yet are not heard by those who are busy with their own lives? Do you think about the children of this Nation? The war is over. Victory cries are every where. They drown the voices of children, the next generation who have been maimed and orphaned. Who will hear their voices? Who will wipe their tears?

I want to do so much for each of these children. Yet I am limited. Though I long to see each child happy, I may not be able to archive that in this nation. I will not be able to single handedly save each child. But there is something I can do. I can start by reaching out to those children that I come into contact with. Will you join me in doing so? Will you who are reading this, make an effort to reach out to children in need in your area? If we do not start small, we will never start. Let’s take on this challenge. Let’s do our part to bring hope back into these little hearts.

Remember I said that I am limited in tying my needs to my abilities. I stand corrected. I am limited on my own. But with the LORD on my side I am limitless. I can do all things through Christ who strengthen me. I will take up this challenge today. Will you?

Jesus called the little ones to Him. He loved. He cared. Will you do the same ?

A single candle cannot light up a dark nation. But a single candle can reach out and light another candle, then another and another.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Amazing are the works of Your hand my Lord
From the heavens to the depths of the oceans
Your work I see
With hands that created mighty mountains
You reach out to me
With hands that have shaped the world, the nations
You hold me
With those very hands that have done wonders
You hold me
With those nail pierced hand
You wipe my tears
I am small, but my Lord, my God, You are great
So with humble hands lifted up I give You all the praise

She sits in a corner of her one room house This is what she has left A little hand reaches out Reaches for comfort But is ignored A single plate lies on the ground Few dry rice flakes is all it contains It has been their meal, three days ago Bags under her eyes tells out the sad story One single picture stares back at her from the cracked, moss grown wall A smart man, around 28 years of age stands there proudly Next to him, a young woman dressed in white, smiles An angelic image This had been a happy day This had been a day that two had become one But he is only a memory to her now A little hand reaches out once again Only to be rejected, again She cannot bare look upon the little child The little one whom she bore The little one who was formed through their blessed union This was all she had of him now Yet she couldn’t bare look upon that which brought memories Memories of happier times Fruitful times Shared times A cold wind rushes into the house Foundations shake violently as another storm draws near Rising up she walks slowly Finding the last bit of candle She lights it, knowing it wouldn’t last the night She places it beneath the picture As she stares into it once again Tears begin to flow freely Memories of a dark day He was no more “Died in the battle field, serving the county” That was all that the letter contained His body lay in an un-named grave, in no-mans land She didn’t see him Not even his still cold body All of him that she had now was the child Little hands reached out again This time in tears Wiping her own she reaches out Taking the child to her breast She sat once again Her eyes fixed on the photograph The candle was almost gone

Monday, May 25, 2009

Friday, May 22, 2009

The oceans were carm that day. It was a day where the sky was bright blue and yet something within her said that the day was not going to be as bright for her. The ambulance drove in and upon a stretcher they carried out her father. No words had he spoken since the evening before. As she had sat in the chapel attending the Sunday mass, her father slipped in to deep sleep. Though his chest would move up and down, up and down, there was no response from him.

The oceans were churning that day, as she knelt in her toilet with tears in her eyes and an unexplainable pain in her heart. Her mother rushed in, washed her face, looked at her and rushed out again. She remained on her knees longing for comfort. But there was no one there.

Telephone calls to the hospital confirmed that her father was ok. He was responding to medication and to the doctor’s attempts to talk to him. Her heart lightened up. The day proceeded. She and her mother spent the day with her father’s sister and her family. Trips to and from the hospital brought good news. Things were ok. It was then night. She laid her head on an unfamiliar pillow, but could not drift to sleep.

It was now the early morn around 1am. The phone rang. Her mother told her that her father was not doing well. Dressed she got into the car. She pasted her face against the window and stared at the darkness outside.

Arriving at the hospital, mixed stories were everywhere; mixed storied which made her mad. She wanted to know the truth. She walked into the ICU. As she stood beside her fathers bed, his chest was moving up and down, up and down. But not by his might but that of the machine which was next to his head. Her world ended. All she could do was lay a tender kiss on his, still yet beautiful forhead.

The oceans where rough that day. She talked out of the ICU. Empty. Lonely. She had lost her father. She had lost her best friend.

There are many ways that we can tell of the love of our God. But sometimes it is in the silences in which we praise Him and we proclaim of all that He has done. In this blog you will find writings that depict a life that has been transformed, purely through Divine Grace and Love; expressions of gratefulness and songs of praise