Friday, July 6, 2012
May seem impossible to do,
But if you will try to trust and believe,
Great are the joys that you will receive.
For love makes us patient, understanding, and kind,
And we judge with our hearts and not with our minds,
For as soon as love enters the heart's open door,
The faults we once saw are not there anymore--
And the things that seem wrong begin to look right
When viewed in the softness of love's gentle light
For love works in ways that are wondrous and strange,
And there is nothing in life that love cannot change,
And all that God promised will someday come true
When you love one another the way He loved you.
A collection of Blessings
Helen Steiner Rice
Saturday, June 30, 2012
God speaks to us in many ways,
Altering our lives, our plans, and our days,
And His blessings come in many guises
That He alone in love devises,
And sorrow, which we dread so much,
Can bring a very healing touch...
For when we fail to heed His voice
We leave the Lord no other choice
Except to use a firm, stern hand
To make us know He's in command...
The peace we often sought in vain
Will come to us with sweet surprise,
For God is merciful and wise...
And through dark hours of tribulation
God gives us time for meditation,
And nothing can be counted loss
Which teaches us to bear our cross.
A collection of Blessings
Helen Steiner Rice
Saturday, June 23, 2012
My home, though it's modest, is cheerful and warm,
My pantry is filled, I can ride out a storm.
Around me are family and friends I can see,
I'm so thankful, dear Father, but why me, Lord, why me?
Others are suffering and hungry and cold,
And homeless and lonely with oppression untold.
Why was I born, Lord, with the gift to be free
Instead of those others? Why me, Lord, why me?
All colors, all races, all kinds, every creed,
I know they're my brothers and sisters in need.
I know I'm not better so that's not the key,
And I'm not more deserving so why me, Lord, why me?
As I accept, Lord, these gifts that you send,
I'll thank you so humbly each day till the end,
But always I'll ponder this deep mystery,
Why should I be blessed so? Why me, Lord, why me?
by Cecil Irene Chuck
Monday, May 21, 2012
I was imprisoned and you crept off quietly to your chapel to pray for my release.
I was naked and in your mind you debated the morality of my appearance.
What good did that do?
I was sick and you knelt and thanked God for your health.
But I needed you.
I was homeless and you preached to me of the shelter of the love of God.
I wish you'd taken me home.
I was lonely and you left me alone to pray for me.
Why didn't you stay?
You seem so holy, so close to God; but I'm still very hungry, lonely, cold, and still in pain.
Does it matter?
Saturday, January 14, 2012
With their love, they created a little girl.
She was a bright and cheerful little girl and the great man loved her very much.
When she was very little, he would pick he up, hum a tune and dance with her around the room, and he would tell her, "I love you, little girl."
When the little girl was growing up, the great man would hug her and tell her, "I love you, little girl."
The little girl would pout and say, "I'm not a little girl anymore." Then the man would laugh and say, "But to me, you'll always be my little girl."
The little girl who-was-not-little-anymore left her home and went into the world. As she learned more about herself, she learned more about the man. She saw that he truly was great and strong, for now she recognized his strengths. One of his strengths was his ability to express his love to his family. It didn't matter where she went in the world, the man would call her and say, "I love you, little girl."
The day came when the little girl who-was-not-little-anymore received a phone call. The great man was damaged. He had had a stroke. He was aphasic, they explained to the girl. He couldn't talk, anymore and they weren't sure that he could understand the words spoken to him. He could no longer smile, laugh, walk, hug, dance or tell the little girl who-was-not-little-anymore that he loved her.
And so she went to the side of the great man.
When she walked into the room and saw him, he looked small and not strong at all. He looked at her and tried to speak, but he could not.
The little girl did the only thing she could do. She climbed up on the bed next to the great man.
Tears ran from both of their eyes and she drew her arms around the useless shoulders of her father. Her head on his chest, she thought of many things. She remembered the wonderful times together and how she had always felt protected and cherished by the great man. She felt grief for the loss she was to endure, the words of love that had comforted her.
And then she heard from within the man, the beat of his heart. The heart where the music and the words had always lived. The heart beat on, steadily unconcerned about the damage to the rest of the body. And while she rested there, the magic happened.
She heard what she needed to hear.
His heart beat out the words that his mouth could no longer say.....
I love you
I love you
I love you
And she was comforted
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Bennet Cerf relates this touching story
about a bus that was bumping along
a back road in the south.
- In one seat a wispy old man sat holding a bunch of fresh flowers.
- Across the aisle was a young girl whose eyes came back again and again to the man's flowers.
The time came for the old man to get off.
- Impulsively he thrust the flowers into the girl's lap. "I can see you love the flowers," he explained, "and I think my wife would like for you to have them. I'll tell her I gave them to you."
The girl accepted the flowers, then watched the old man get off the bus and walk through the gate of a small cemetery
chicken soup for the soul
Monday, January 9, 2012
Are the tiny Hands of a baby born one cold December night
- The Hands that stilled the wind and tamed the fury of the sea
- Are the calloused Hands of a carpenter who lived in Poverty.
- The Hands that held the poser to break the binding chains of sin
- Are the gentle Hands that washed the feet of tired and dusty men.
The Hands that cleansed the leper, healed the blind and raised the dead
Are the praying Hands of one who cried, "Not My will, but Thine instead."
The Hands that shaped the universe and flung the stars in space
Are nail-pierced Hands of a dying man who suffered in our place.
The Hands of our Creator, Lord and King of Heaven above,
Are the Savior's Hands, forever reaching out to us in love.